Ministry of Magic, second floor underground, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Tonks sat at her desk, flipping through materials distributed by the Auror Office.
To celebrate her transfer from Azkaban, she'd used her Metamorphmagus abilities to adopt a fresh look. Dressed in the standard black Auror robes, her purple hair tied in a high ponytail, she radiated youthful vibrancy, standing out even in the corner of the department.
The materials outlined the work plan for the new year.
It was a complicated matter. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement hadn't used such documents before. Kingsley Shacklebolt, after serving as an aide to the Muggle Prime Minister, noticed that Muggle governments regularly compiled work reports to adjust future plans, boosting efficiency and cutting redundant tasks. Excited, he proposed the idea to Madam Bones.
And so, the department ended up with these baffling documents.
They made Tonks' head throb, as if she were back at Hogwarts slogging through Professor Binns' lesson plans. It was the first day back after the holidays, with snow piling outside and a cozy fireplace inside. The atmosphere sapped her energy, and these sleep-inducing papers didn't help. She was on the verge of face-planting onto her desk.
"Strengthen patrols in Knockturn Alley…"
Tonks struggled through a page, forcing her heavy eyelids open. As she reached for the next, a sudden jolt shook the ceiling.
"Enemy attack!!"
The young Auror sprang to her feet, instantly alert.
"Someone's bold enough to attack the Ministry!?"
Equal parts shocked and thrilled, Tonks drew her wand, ready to fulfill her Auror duties. Before she could take a few steps, a muffled roar echoed through.
"Cornelius Fudge, who do you think you are…?"
Thanks to the Ministry's excellent soundproofing, the Howler's voice filtered through the floor, dulled but audible if you listened closely.
"Oh, just a Howler cursing out the Minister. Thought we had a dark wizard attacking," Tonks said, disappointed.
At that moment, Kingsley emerged from the next office, and Madam Bones pushed open her door, both apparently startled by the noise.
Their eyes met. Kingsley and Bones glanced at Tonks' wand, falling silent.
Kingsley paused. "Nymphadora, get back to your work."
"I told you, it's Tonks," she muttered, slinking back to her desk. This job was starting to feel less exciting than watching Dementors and prisoners at Azkaban.
Tonks resumed flipping through the materials.
"Hm!?"
She widened her eyes. Had she read this page before? It felt unfamiliar. Where was she?
The wall clock ticked on. For the entire morning, Tonks couldn't finish the document. The relentless Howlers berating the Minister continued, muffled just enough by the floor to be bearable—not too shrill, but clear enough to hear.
Regional slang, varied accents, and witty, forceful metaphors filled the air.
Tonks learned obscure word usages, her eyes wide with amazement.
It wasn't until near lunchtime that the verbal onslaught subsided. Rumor had it the Minister's office sent a letter ordering the post office to stop delivering Howlers to the Ministry.
…
Lunchtime
The Ministry halted operations, hanging up "Closed" signs. Staff trickled out, the atrium's fireplaces finally quieted, and the floors fell silent.
Fudge deliberately lingered before leaving his office, hoping to avoid running into other staff.
"Level Eight, Atrium."
His ears still buzzed faintly, muffling the cold female voice announcing the floor.
Stepping out of the lift, Fudge noticed a few staff lingering for lunch duty. There was no avoiding them. He put on a neutral expression and strode through the atrium as usual.
Normally, some staff would greet him, but today, none did. They silently turned away, pretending not to notice the portly Minister.
Fudge hurried past, catching their sidelong glances filled with complex emotions.
Those unreadable looks stung. An inexplicable anger welled up inside him.
"Wright, Dumbledore! You think I'll cave?"
"Just you wait! I'll show you who runs the Ministry!"
…
The specifics of the Department of Magical Transportation's application were laid bare in The Daily Prophet, known to every wizard in Britain.
Quidditch fans, parents, and supporters of a certain Boy Who Lived were especially eager for the Floo Network to connect to the Mirror of Shadows, letting them watch desired footage at home on repeat.
Howlers poured in, but the Ministry remained silent, and relevant staff couldn't divulge details.
Thexton, The Oak Barrel Pub.
Old Will was busy behind the counter when the bell above the door jangled, and a crowd of familiar faces poured in—his old friends.
Ada from Godric's Hollow, Alfie from Tinworth, One-Eyed Jack from Upper Flagley—pub owners, all familiar. There were also retired Aurors from his younger days and former Ministry staff from various departments.
These were mostly old drunks. After a gulp of Firewhisky, they slammed their glasses down, flames bursting from their mouths and noses, their voices booming.
"Have you seen it? The follow-up in the papers!"
"Madam Eckmore submitted the application again, and it's been rejected every time."
"'Security risks,' 'immature technology,' 'Muggle cultural influence'—utter nonsense!"
"Some Wizengamot members' brains must be riddled with dragon pox to buy Fudge's excuses. Rubbish!"
Old Will grinned as the pub owners joined in. "They're just stirring the pot, but you lot are pub owners. You support Wright's plan too? If folks can watch the Mirror at home, will your businesses still thrive?"
That gave them pause. They'd been so caught up in supporting the Mirror Club they hadn't considered the deeper impact.
"Think it through," Will said. "Don't jump in blindly and then blame Wright later if it works out."
His words stunned them. Was this the same hot-tempered old Auror? Joining the Mirror Club seemed to have changed him—he'd never have said something so measured before.
Alfie, the former commentator, nursed his drink until only froth remained. "In the 13th century, Bowman the goldsmith invented the Golden Snitch, perfecting Quidditch rules. He could've monopolized it, but that would've made Quidditch a fleeting fad. By sharing his craft, Quidditch became a global phenomenon."
Jack, owner of the White Ink Pub, nodded. "Folks, we've got two choices: cling to the Mirror for short-term profit or give up some Galleons to make history!"
The patrons exchanged glances, the Firewhisky's flames seeming to spark in their eyes.
"I've got old colleagues in International Magical Cooperation who could file an application!"
"For Quidditch, the British and Irish Quidditch League could step in."
"For Muggle culture concerns, the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee can clarify!"
The pub's atmosphere heated up as ideas flew.
Old Will's weathered face broke into a smile.
…
Friday
Tonks sat in her corner, poring over materials, propping them up with a folder to hide half her face, looking studious.
Kingsley stood behind her unnoticed.
Tonks was engrossed, but not in the materials—she was reading a newspaper. Rita Skeeter's articles were far more interesting than her boss's paperwork.
"Ministry bombarded by Howlers, unnamed official furious, orders post office overhaul, owls protest…"
"Multiple departments jointly submit applications, unnamed official staunchly opposes, ranting in office that the Ministry won't bow to public pressure…"
"Managers of several Quidditch teams publicly endorse the Mirror, citing its benefits for viewing, post-match analysis, and training. The Mirror Club's efforts rival goldsmith Bowman's Snitch… Chudley Cannons players say the Ministry should erect statues of Wright and Monkstanley…"
"Madam Marchbanks claims senior officials used underhanded tactics to block her Wizengamot vote, calling them despicable…"
"Haha…"
Tonks chuckled at a particularly juicy bit, recalling the crude slang she'd overheard recently. Learned something new!
"Enjoying it?" a voice asked softly.
"Love it!" Tonks replied, then froze. She slapped the file on the desk. "I mean, your materials are great—so clear, I know exactly what to do next!"
Kingsley nodded. "So, what's your next task?"
"Uh…" Tonks faltered.
Kingsley fixed her with a supervisor's stare. After a moment, he said, "There's a meeting at three. All department officials will attend. Madam Bones wants you prepared."
"Me, prepare?" Tonks' eyes widened. "Shouldn't Madam Bones or Mr. Scrimgeour handle that?"
"You're assisting, taking notes."
"Oh, right, sir…"
Tonks tidied her desk, hiding the newspaper, and headed to the meeting room with paper and quill.
The room was already filling with officials, but Minister Fudge, seated at the head, stood out most.
As other department heads arrived, some who'd read the recent papers stole glances at Fudge. The subtle looks piled up, impossible to ignore.
Fudge's nostrils flared, his mood visibly sour.
When Madam Eckmore from the Department of Magical Transportation took her seat, the room fell silent for a moment, all eyes on her, watching her every move.
Fudge cleared his throat, preparing to chair the meeting.
It was a routine Ministry meeting, with each department presenting topics. The Minister's office had two items: first, to quash the Mirror issue once and for all; second, to solicit public feedback on the Anti-Werewolf Bill.
Dolores Umbridge, still just an office director, wasn't senior enough to attend. If all went well, she'd be promoted to Senior Undersecretary.
The thought of his loyal ally becoming a key player in the Ministry eased Fudge's foul mood.
"Minister, this application needs public discussion."
Before he could speak, Madam Eckmore pulled out the repeatedly rejected application, saying firmly, "Your reasons for rejection don't hold up, Minister. Perhaps you should review it again."
Fudge's face flushed with rage. "Follow meeting protocol! Madam Eckmore, it's the Minister's office's turn!"
Tonks nearly laughed, ducking behind Madam Bones to hide her face.
"My apologies, Minister, I got ahead of myself," Eckmore said, her face expressionless. "But since it's raised, let's not waste time on protocol. Let's discuss it.
"Minister, I've consulted experts and department heads. Your reasons don't stand. Here are the main points…"
Eckmore calmly presented her case, and the mentioned officials chimed in, confirming her points—even Crouch and Bones, two department heads.
Fudge's anger grew, tinged with fear. He tried to assert authority. "Bones, Crouch, what's this about? Do you know what you're doing? Is the Ministry bowing to a foreign wizard?!"
He snarled, "This is a betrayal of Merlin, a betrayal of every past Minister!"
Eckmore stayed silent, sliding the application to the table's center.
"It's not betrayal—it's carrying forward their vision," Bones said softly, adjusting her glasses. "They built the Ministry, created the Hogwarts Express, established St. Mungo's, preserved the Leaky Cauldron. The Secrecy Law isn't about isolating wizards from Muggles."
Crouch spoke up. "Minister Fudge, you were more open-minded when you worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
Fudge sneered, refusing to respond.
Bones took a quill, opened the document to the last page, and passed it over. "This is the consensus of the Ministry's departments. If you persist in opposing, we can call a Wizengamot vote."
Fudge's face shifted from ruddy to pale.
Only now did he realize the newspaper reports weren't isolated, nor were the Howlers purely spontaneous. The Mirror Club had orchestrated a meticulous campaign, securing even neutral figures like Bones and Crouch.
Fudge gripped the quill, reluctantly signing his approval.
Breathing heavily, he glared at them. "Next item: the Anti-Werewolf Bill drafted by Director Umbridge!"