Chapter Text
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Unlike the useless Mrs. Coco Fudge, Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge Special-Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic was an immense help to Minister Cornelius Fudge. Dolores was dedicated to enabling the British Minister of Magic's efforts to Make Magical Britain Magical (the new civic pride campaign slogan).
Ms. Umbridge kept the Minister’s social calendar, organized his files, filled out his forms, wrote his speeches, screened his fire calls, hired the staff, appointed appropriate friends, remembered the names he forgot, and most importantly handled the arrangements for all his meetings.
Modern sensibilities dismissed the art of entertaining. However Ms. Umbridge knew from personal experience that the right ambiance, and the right mix of people had an profoundly persuasive effect on even the most suspicious minds and intractable personalities.
After all what a person believed depended a great deal on where they heard it first, who told them, and when.
If someone wearing a tinfoil hat shouted the world is flat! at crowds walking down a city street - no one would believe them.
However if a popular celebrity said the same thing while appearing on a popular media outlet - chances were very good otherwise reasonably intelligent people would believe the rubbish was an established fact.
The East Meeting room with its wainscoting, plush carpeting, and long oval table of polished cherry wood was the perfect place for the Select Committee to meet; after Ms. Umbridge had half the chairs at the table removed. She did not want the committee members close enough to each other to whisper or pass notes discretely.
Ms. Umbridge intended for them to absorb the presented information in its totality before they formulated any opinions.
Ms. Umbridge had Minister Fudge’s throne like Meeting Chair, and her own shorter desk chair installed side by side at the head of the table. The size difference was important. Most of the Select Committee was male, and males generally respected a tall, broad leader more than a small, slim one.
Humming a jaunty tone, Dolores placed a name card, a handwritten meeting agenda, and a self-inking quill in front of each seat. People like potions ingredients reacted differently in different combinations. The effect she wanted could not be achieved if the Select Committee members sat wherever they pleased.
In the center of the table Ms. Umbridge placed a floral arrangement potted in a polished silver vase faintly inscribed with runes that looked like decorative filigree. The bouquet center piece was so wide and so tall that it was almost impossible to look directly across the table; they would only be able to look at their side neighbors.
The white begonias were for truth, and deep thought, the lavender for distrust, and the sprigs from a Rhododendron were for caution. She gently tapped the vase with her wand. It made a hollow tone like a small dinner gong, then the scent of the flowers inside the shiny metal flower pot intensified.
Ms. Umbridge opened the curtains of the window behind the Minister's Meeting chair to make sure the flowers were in full sun light then left the room with her assistant Owen Hearst posted outside the door to make sure nothing was disturbed in her absence.
Not all powerful magic involved easily detected flashy wand waving. A lot of very powerful magic was subtle; like the art of potions making. Requiring only patience, key ingredients, and a exacting attention to the details.
Ms. Umbridge made her way up to the Minister of Magic’s Office and met Cornelius Fudge as he spun out of the fireplace with a clothing brush to dust off the soot. Once Fudge was tidy and seated at his desk Dolores served him a strong cup of tea, and hot buttered scone while telling Fudge what to say to the Select Committee.
When Minister Fudge had finished his second breakfast ( To keep him chubby. Polling showed fat politicians were perceived as trustworthy.) Ms. Umbridge made sure he had a bathroom break and exchanged a friendly ‘good morning’ with ten menials (to maintain his reputation as a people person) before escorting Fudge to the East Meeting room.
On Ms. Umbridge’s order Mr. Hearst kept the doors of the East Meeting room locked until all of the Select Committee members were assembled. This was the only way Ms. Umbridge had found to keep Headmaster Albus Dumbledore from making his usual 5 minute late, disruptive, attention grabbing entrance.
The Minister of Magic was calmly seated at the head of long oval table like a king upon his throne with Dolores Umbridge seated at his right hand. Her hands clasped demurely on top of the table, a welcoming smile on her face.The morning light streamed in behind surrounded them in a warm golden halo.
Everyone had to squint to look directly at Ms. Umbridge and the Minister. She imagined they must look almost regal.
Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement took the seat to Minister Fudge’s left. She was the direct supervisor of the Auror Division, Department of Mysteries Unspeakables, and the host of other law enforcement agencies tasked with keeping the magical commonwealth from devolving into chaos.
Kurtis Mulciber sat beside Ms. Bones. The head of the Goblin Liaison Office was the youngest person in the room He was appointed to his position at the height of the Dark Lord's power the night his predecessor was murdered by Deatheaters because no one else wanted the job for fear they would be next.
Gringotts Wizarding Bank had physically custody of the Ministry of Magic's gold reserves. The goblins distributed payments, and collected revenue as the Goblin Liaison directed. Mr. Mulciber was the de facto Chancellor of the Exchequer. He made sure the Ministry of Magic's accounts balanced, and prosecuting tax evasion.
In Ms. Umbridge’s mind, Kurtis Kane Mulciber was the most important person in the room.
Ms. Umbridge had placed Rufus Scrimgeour at her right where she could keep an eye on him from the corner of her eye, but Rufus could not easily see Minister Fudge. In Dolores' opinion Scrimgeour needed watching. The man was dangerous. He had ambitions.
The former head Auror said he took over the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because he was fed up with the way the former department head had insisted on ‘human rights’ for werewolves, centaurs, vampires, meri-folk, dwarves and the other near-human creatures under her purview.
The truth was Scrimgeour was quietly demoted after the last head of DRCMC, Alanis Burbank went missing. Scrimgeour was ordered to assign a twenty four hour security detail to Alanis because she had received credible death threats in the mail.
Scrimgeour chose to give her eight hours of nightly protection and one morning Alanis did not come to work. Everyone assumed Alanis was eaten by a werewolf because a bit of her flesh was the only piece of her found after days of searching her bloody, ransacked home.
Thankfully Alanis did not have any family or friends to bring attention to her disappearance. Alanis Burbank lived for her work: advocating for the rights the United Kingdom's near human citizens. Her co-workers were either indifferent or secretly pleased she had vanished. It was far easier to cage creatures than address their needs.
Beside Rufus Scrimgeour was Bartemius Crouch, current Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Former Head of DMLE. Although a significant portion of Magical Britain’s revenue came from trade, Mr. Crouch considered his lateral move from DMLE to DIMC a demotion.
At the far end of the table, separated from everyone else by an empty seat on either side, was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Head of the Department of Magical Education and Child Welfare, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Chairmen of the International Confederation of Wizards and one of the most nosey parkers every born on Earth.
The empty seat to Dumbledore’s right was reserved for Lucius Malfoy, Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Malfoy’s position was a title with very little responsibility. The DMT ran itself. It was staffed by life long civil servants who worked with the mindless efficiency of automatons. When the parents retired their children replaced them like house-elves. It was the second most efficient department in the Ministry.
The chair on his left was for Ludovic Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. The DMGS was where careers went to die. It was a cesspool of slackers and nitwits that could not be outright fired. Sport club owners were mostly rich bullies. When they appeared at the DMGS they dictated the policies they wanted to see made law and pitched fits when their demands were not immediately met.
Ludovic Bagman was equally susceptible to bribery and browbeating, and thus totally ineffectual at his job. His only redeeming quality was he was affable and universally beloved because he was the keeper of the last British team to win the Quidditch World Cup.
Lucius and Ludovic were rarely seen inside the Ministry of Magic’s offices beneath Whitehall.
To compensate for his diminished duties, Mr. Crouch had taken over as much of the day to day operation of the DMGS as he could without taking the title of department head. Thus Mr. Bagman was free to roam the world promoting British sports by drinking, partying and gambling with corporate sponsors. The arrangement suited everyone - except the slackers and nitwits Crouch regularly tried his damnedest to fire or make quit.
With Dumbledore’s piercing twinkling gaze at the far end of the table blocked from sight by the lovely fragrant bouquet, Minister Fudge was quite at his ease. He welcomed the present members of the Select Committee, regretted Lucius and Ludovic's the absences, and started the meeting in good form.
“First order of business is a rather pressing matter of finances,” the Minister glanced at Ms. Umbridge who nodded in agreement. “Mr. Mulciber if you would please give your report to the committee?”
Mr. Mulciber stood and cleared his throat.
“When I was confirmed as the new Goblin Liaison a year ago after serving as the acting department head for some years; I warned this committee that I was deeply troubled by my cursory examination of the Official Accounts."
"You said the Ministry needed an official internal review," Crouch spoke up. He had a frighteningly good memory for details. "You said the Ministry's ledger books did not seem to match the goblin's records."
"Yes. Sunday, my staff and I completed an exhaustive audit of all the Ministry's financial records and a physical count of the Ministry's vaults...I regret to inform you, fellow members of the select committee, that if the Ministry continues spending at current levels then the government will be bankrupt in 38 months and five days.”
Mr. Crouch, and Mr. Scrimgeour both jumped to their feet with exclamations of “OUTRAGEOUS!” and “THE HELL YOU SAY!”
Headmaster Dumbledore asked, “Are you quite sure?”
Mrs. Bones who was often silent, raised both eyebrows in surprise.
Minister Fudge – who Ms. Umbridge had already informed of the shortfall, and how best to react to it – frowned gravely.
He leaned forward with his both elbows on the table. “Gentlemen please! We are all alarmed – hysterics will not solve the problem. Do sit DOWN and compose yourselves!” Minister Fudge waved the angry men back to their seats, then gestured for the accountant to go on with his report. “Mr. Mulciber, please continue.”
“Gold does not grow on trees. The income of the Ministry comes from issuing licenses, permits, fines, fees, income taxes, real estate taxes, export and imports duties-“
“We know all that! Get on with it!” Scrimgeour said impatiently.
“The decline in revenue began with the rise of He Who Must Not Be Named. Three tax prosecutors, and our department head were murdered by Death Eaters. Half the department personnel quit as a result. Citizens quickly caught on to the lack of oversight and started paying however little tax they pleased. Some people have not paid their taxes in years.”
“No respect for the rule of LAW," Crouch snapped hotly. "A twist in Azkaban would set them straight!”
“After the disappearance of the Dark Lord and the subsequent mass incarceration of suspected Death Eaters without trial– “
“Would you have murdering Death Eater scum roam the streets?” demanded Crouch furiously.
Mulciber raised his voice and pressed on undaunted, “Droves of England’s wealthiest families – who by the by pay most of the taxes in this country and do most of the investing to start businesses – have taken their gold, their children and in some cases their whole estates with them abroad. As a direct result our finances are now in dire straits. I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore as also notice a decline in the student population of Slytherin and Ravenclaw.”
"We have adapted to the change by stepping up our efforts to recruit the children of ex-patriots living overseas and increased our enrollment of muggle-borns who otherwise would not have had the opportunity to attend Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained.
“I say good riddance to bad rubbish!” Mr. Scrimgeour declared. “As soon as the in-bred blood-bigots started buggering off we finally achieved peace in magical Britain. That's no coincidence.”
“Since there has been such a drastic reduction in crime you will not object to a 75% budget reduction to make up for our appalling shortfall.”
“How the devil to you expect us to maintain order with cuts like that?” Crouch sputtered indignantly.
“According to you and Mr. Scrimgeour, the peace is maintaining itself.” Mr. Mulciber looked at all the faces in the room. “A 75% reduction is the only way to keep the books balanced at the current income levels. Hogwarts will face the most sever budget cuts, I’m afraid, they will get nothing from the Ministry for the foreseeable future.”
Ms. Bones frowned. “Doesn’t Hogwarts have an endowment administered by the Headmaster and Board of Governors that covers its expenses?”
“The operating budget that pays for staff salaries, supplies, and upkeep of the buildings comes from fundraisers, tuition and direct donations to Hogwarts from the Board of Governors,” Dumbledore answered. “We only dip into the endowment for major improvements like our new, rather fetching Quidditch pitch.”
“Every year since Hogwarts opened the Ministry has matched the funds Hogwarts raises with an annual a grant. It covers the cost of educating the very poor and muggle-born students,” Fudge explained.
“Muggles don’t use gold for money, you know,” Ms. Umbridge added. “Without the Ministry’s generosity the poor things could not afford to attend Hogwarts at all.”
“Due to current financial constraints, we can no longer afford to contribute to Hogwarts,” Mr. Mulciber stated firmly.
“That is troubling news,” Ms. Umbridge simpered sympathetically.
The budget problems set the stage for a no-fault purge that would strip the halls of government of all the undesirables. The Ministry would transform from a bloated bureaucracy to an efficient administrator of magical Britain's affairs by filling the limited vacancies with loyal, competent, efficient, hard workers.
As Head of Department of Administrative Registration, Dolores controlled the Central Department and Human Resources among other interesting things.
As an added bonus, with Hogwarts out of the Ministry’s gold pocket the Hogwarts Board of Governors would have the leverage too finally rein in the meddling of the Albus busy body Dumbledore once and for all.
“With your wise leadership Headmaster Dumbledore, and the School Governors support, I’m sure Hogwarts will remain a beacon of academic excellence,” Fudge declared. Ms. Umbridge was proud of him for making her words coming out of his mouth sound sincere and spontaneous.
London theaters missed a gifted actor when Cornelius Fudge gave up the stage for a life of public service.
“The only responsible response to these lean times is austerity,” Ms. Umbridge stated frankly. “We must all do our part.”
“I expect each of you to review your budget from last year and find appropriate ways to reduce spending. By the end of this quarter I expect revised department budget projections on my desk that will bring all departments into financial compliance. All none essential staff are to be stripped from the payroll. Effective immediately.”
“Is there no other way?” Ms. Bones pleaded. “My people have sacrificed so much for public safety. They have families to support!”
“If you can finagle a way to increase and sustain revenue by 75% in the next twelve months I will happily retract my recommendation and issue Christmas bonuses,” Mr. Mulciber replied sincerely. "I had a staff of twenty eight this morning. I have a staff of seven now. Believe me, I do not want to do this."
“Would it be possible for a third party to review the Official Accounts?” Dumbledore asked.
“You want to double check my work Headmaster?” Mr. Mulciber sneered angrily. “If my predecessor – your dear personal friend - never bothered to inform anyone of the dire situation, of course I must be wrong!”
“Kurtis, perhaps with more eyes on the problem we might see a less drastic solution –“
“Let me assure you sir, if Death Eaters had not killed Mr. Vainel Spink, he’d have gone to Azkaban for fraud,” Mulciber hissed. “So by all means Headmaster Dumbledore get anyone you like to look over the ledgers. They are public record.”
Dolores smiled. Dumbledore had tripped himself. Kurtis Mulciber was unnaturally honest for a Slytherin. Everyone knew that. Now that Dumbledore had offended his professional pride, Mulciber would see the law ruthlessly enforced to within an inch of legal cruelty.
“Since you are so keen to check my work, let’s see if your own glass castle can stand up to stones...While reviewing Hogwarts' general account I noted some glaring irregularities. Are you aware Headmaster, that the history of magic teacher, Professor Binns, is dead?”
“I do not hold that against him. He has not missed a day of work in ages.”
The other Select Committee members at the table tittered with quiet nervous laughter.
“Did you know that Binns’ ghost is paid a regular salary in flagrant violation of standard accounting practices, legal regulations, and Hogwarts' charter?”
“An easily corrected oversight, “Dumbledore began.
“Hogwarts also pays the squib Argus Filch at a fully qualified wizard’s rate, and a Mrs. Norris for night-watch duties… Mrs. Norris is a cat!” Mulciber continued nastily. “All Hogwarts staff are paid a generous housing allowance…they live on site!”
“That was to compensate them for remaining on campus during the summer and during breaks when it was not safe for all our students to return home.”
“The Dark Lord has not been seen in years. Why are you still paying the stipend?”
Fudge, Crouch, Scaremonger, and Bones all looked at Dumbledore in disbelief.
Ms. Umbridge wanted to roll her eyes. How did these silly people think Dumbledore paid for his private army, the Order of the Phoenix? Headmaster Dumbledore was not the head of the Dumbledore House with keys to the family vaults.
“That sounds most irregular indeed.” Crouch looked at Dumbledore with suspicion.
“There had better be a reasonable explanation,” Scaremonger growled angrily.
Ms. Umbridge gently nudged Fudge with her elbow before Dumbledore could open his mouth, ”In the spirit of cooperation, the Ministry is happy to loan Hogwarts our Mr. Mulciber for a few weeks to make sure everything is above board at Hogwarts.”
“You are very generous Minister Fudge, but that won’t be necessary,” Dumbledore assured them.
Ms. Umbridge was pleased to note the Headmaster not at all persuasive without a clear line of site. Minister Fudge did not melt timidly as he usually did when Headmaster Dumbledore spoke to him.
“The Board of Governors and I are fully capable –“
“I have quite a lot to do in my own department just now,” Mulciber put in irritably, "With my reduced staff I must -"
“Kurtis, I appreciate all your hard work. We could not hope for a better man to bring our books up to snuff.” Fudge cut in with firm authority. “If it had not been for your tireless efforts when the Death Eaters burned up poor Mr. Spink and his house we might have lost the whole real estate tax record."
“Merlin only knows what he was doing with the official ledgers in his house,” Scrimgeour complained.
“Spink knew those books were never to leave the premises!” Crouch agreed peevishly. “That has always been the official policy!”
“We have every confidence, that if anyone can straighten out the confusion up in Scotland it is you Kurtis,” Dolores praised generously. “There is no one at the Ministry more financially astute than you. We have every confidence you will put everything in order.”
Mulciber – often the unwelcome bearer of bad news - could be excused for preening a little at the double heaping of complements. He was an unappreciated junior staff member until Spink's death; the next youngest department head, Amelia Bones, was old enough to be his mother.
"Very well. I shall go to Hogwarts early tomorrow morning. I expect all necessary records and supporting documents available for inspection and accommodations for three persons, one of whom is female. We need to be away from interference or disturbance. A room with good light, at a comfortable temperature and properly ventilated.”
“That can be arranged,” Dumbledore assured Mulciber.
Dolores could not see his face, but she felt certain Dumbledore was attempting to be charming. Mulciber scowled at Headmaster Dumbledore before sitting down.
“Now that the unpleasantness is out of the way, let’s discuss the upcoming Stonehenge Festival.” Minister Fudge rubbed his hands together gleefully. He enjoyed carnivals, pageantry, and watching sports with the enthusiasm of a child at the circus for the first time.
In that regard there were few things better than the Annual Stonehenge Festival. The three night dueling competition was the United Kingdom’s National Dueling Championship. It attracted famous professional duelist, amateur fighters, and their fans from all over the globe to compete for the coveted Merlin Ring.
Dueling and Hippogriff racing were like fencing or polo in the muggle-world: pastimes only a select few could comfortably afford to enjoy. The crowds that attended the Stonehenge Festive was a tenth of the size of the hordes who amassed for the Quidditch World Cup. However the wealthy dueling enthusiast spent seven times as much gold as Quidditch lovers.
“Thanks to the Stonehenge Foundation’s generosity, everyone on the Special Select Committee gets a complimentary ticket for themselves plus one guest,” Ms. Umbridge announced. “Please come to my office on Wednesday after three to collect your tickets from Mr. Hearst.”
“You don’t have to sit with me in the Official Ministry Pavilion,” Fudge promised. “But please stop by. I’d like for you all to meet my wife Coco. Oh and remember this is considered an Official Ministry event so please remember to wear your work robes. And no drinking! Or lewd behavior -"
"Basically don’t do anything that will embarrass the government in the paper,” Mr. Scrimgeour summarized dryly.
“It’s going to be a year for the record books,” Mr. Crouch declared standing up. “We have confirmed 124 competitors between the amateur and professional divisions. If all the duelist who registered compete this is going to be the biggest Grand Melee in history.”
“My office has negotiated a 20% cut from all the official betting houses,” Mr. Mulciber declared with a proud satisfaction.
“With the legislation passed last week any unofficial bets will be subject to a 125% fine – that should help our short fall considerably,” Dolores added. “And go a long way to curbing moral decline.”
“Those fines will be split between Stonehenge Festival Foundation and the Aurors to cover the cost of security. We need vigorous enforcement of the law.”
Fudge leaned over to see around Mulciber and give Bones a significant look to emphasis the point.
“Considering our circumstances we cannot afford to let anyone off with a warning,” Bones agreed nodding reluctantly.
Off book betting was generally overlooked, but it was one of many Evils Ms. Umbridge meant to have rooted out of England. The profits went straight to the pockets of undesirable factions like goblins, dwarfs, and selfish criminals. The debts encouraged desperate people to commit desperate acts of crime.
Licensed gambling houses could not take bets in excess of the gold their customers had in hand. Unofficial bookies would bet anything: a pound of flesh, a firstborn child, an immortal soul or years of indentured service. Voldemort was famous, but he was hardly the only Dark Lord corrupting England.
Ms. Umbridge personally blamed Albus Dumbledore.
Hogwarts could to a lot to filter the filth out of society but the headmaster wasted precious time obstructing the Wizengamot (who had yet to deal with the all the Death Eaters) and dithering with the useless blow-bags at the International Confederation of Wizards (who had done nothing to stop Voldemort or Grindelwald from rising in power).
“Requests for temporary apparition licenses and tourist visas have hit record numbers as well,” Ms. Umbridge added reading from Lucius Malfoy's report, no doubt written by one of his Department of Magical Transportation minions.
“I strongly recommend handing out a pamphlet with the most important laws our visitors should be aware of at the international entry points. Particularly since we are expecting so many Americans,” Ms. Bones added.
“Why?” Mulciber asked curiously. “They speak English. I should think Americans would be the least of out worries.”
“American muggles have an extraordinary number of guns so the Magical Congress of North America legalized Imperio and Avada Kedavra for self-defense,” Ms. Bones informed them all grimly. “They expect children to master Imperio by age 16. The killing curse by 21. The new law went to effect last month.”
“Is that true Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded. “Why would the International Confederation of Wizards allow such reckless madness?”
“The Magical Congress of North America is a sovereign nation. The ICW does not dictate domestic policy to any member state,” Crouch told them.
Crouch knew about the American laws because he took his position seriously. He even sent out a memo no one on the Special Select Committee but Amelia Bones and Dolores Umbridge bothered to read. Not that Crouch personally cared what the Americans did, so long as they did not affect England in any way.
“Remember we do not allow blood magic of any kind here, while blood adoption is legal in certain parts of the world,” Dumbledore reminded him with the air of a patient teacher.
“The Indo-Chin Empire still has slaves,” Crouch added morosely.
“What’ll we do if a slave runs away while their master is here? Return the human goods or hide the poor wretch?” Mulciber asked.
“The DMLE will make every effort to recover the missing property,” Mrs. Bones replied in an official sounding voice, “However based on past experience, it is doubtful we will be able to find a runaway slave in a country as large as England.”
“I’m sure you’ll try your very best,” Ms. Umbridge agreed smiling.
“Our very best ma’am.”
“On the pamphlets make sure our policy on the unforgivable curses is printed in bold flashing red letters,” Fudge ordered emphatically. “Make it part of the immigration entry speech. Put up posters at the entry points and every hotel. I do not want any incidents on British soil to spoil our international reputation.”
“Of course Minister,” Mr. Crouch agreed readily. He sat down.
“Now that’s settled let's address the last two items on our agenda this morning: the business of the overflowing warehouse of confiscated artifacts and the alleged Death Eaters in Azkaban.”
Mrs. Bones stood up. “Minister, 90% of the cursed items have already been rendered harmless or destroyed by the Unspeakables. With regard to the prisoners,” she shrugged. “Given the violent nature of the crimes they are accused of they cannot be released on bail pending trial.”
“We need money,” Mulciber said bluntly. “I recommend we hold an auction of the processed formally cursed items with any antique or collectible value to coincide with the influx of jet set shoppers coming to town for the Stonehenge Festival.”
“Excellent idea Mulciber!” Fudge declared enthusiastically. “Mr. Crouch please coordinate with Mrs. Bones to add an auction catalog to the promotional material for the Stonehenge Festival.”
“Yes Minister.”
“As for the prisoners of Azkaban, it is high time they ALL had day in court,” Fudge declared. ”Their victims need justice, and maybe some of the people who have fled England because they are scared of false accusations will come home when they see innocent people set free. See to it Headmaster Dumbledore.”
“Minister Fudge, it is difficult to attain quorum at Wizengamot's three annual meetings. Attempting to conduct a marathon of consecutive court cases would be a near impossible, time consuming, exhausting miscarriage of justice. There simply would not be enough time to give each individual case the attention it deserves.”
“145 men and women were sent to Azkaban accused of being Death Eaters, at a cost of 10 galleons a day each. They have served an average of 565 days. That is 819,250 galleons on Death Eaters,” Mr. Mulciber snapped angrily. “There are another 63 other prisoners without a judgment in prison for other offenses.”
“It is outrageous to spend almost a million galleons on criminals because the Wizengamot finds their duty to TIME CONSUMING to get on with,” Crouch shouted in outrage.
“Particularly galling when our hard working Aurors are facing termination because of budget short falls,” Ms. Bones added bitterly. "But I suppose that doesn't matter so long as there is money to pay the Hogwarts teacher's housing allowance."
“- and if they don’t want to sit on juries they should get off the bench!” Crouch's trim mustache bristling with his anger. "The whole apparatus of justice and government is to give way to the Wizengamot convenience? I've never heard anything so blasted outrageous!"
“Give them all the kiss and be done with it!” Scrimgeour advised. "We know they're all guilty. Else they would not be locked up to begin with."
"We can not dispense with legal procedures when it suits us!" Mulciber protested. "This country is ruled by laws! Not accusations! Not suspicions! Not fear or rumors or which ever way the wind blows on Wednesday! LAWS! Laws we have all sworn to uphold to the best of our abilities!"
“We have a fiduciary responsibility to the public we serve to be good stewards of our limited resources and champions of justice! If there are members of the Wizengamot who cannot toe that line I expect you DUMBLEDORE as Ministry appointed Chief Warlock to do something about it,” Fudge ordered pointing an authoritative finger.
Then before anyone could say a word to Minister Fudge’s bold pronouncement he sprang from his seat, stormed out the room, and slammed the door closed.
There was a long moment of shocked awkward silence before Mulciber got up, nodded to his colleagues then glared at Dumbledore.
“I’ll see you first thing, Headmaster. Ladies and gentlemen of the Select Committee. Good day to you all.” Mulciber picked up his agenda, quill and left.
Mr. Crouch stood up and headed to the door as well. He paused at the threshold and turned to Ms. Bones. “I’d like to pick your brain about some security details if you have a half hour to spare?”
“Of course,” Ms. Bones replied, she picked up her agenda and tucked it up her sleeve as she stood up. Crouch asked Scrimgeour, “You’ll join us won’t you Rufus?”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Scrimgeour replied standing up. He followed Crouch out the door.
Ms. Bones paused at the doorway and looked over at Ms. Umbridge. “That was the most productive meeting I have ever attended, thank you Dolores.”
Ms. Umbridge stood up and began gathering the detritus. The agendas Fudge, Crouch and Scrimgeour forgot – the blank sides could be used as scrap paper - the name place cards, a quill and the flower arrangement. The vase was a valuable heirloom, and the flowers were from her garden. After she had gathered everything up, Ms. Umbridge turned to go.
When Ms. Umbridge told Minister Fudge he would shout at Headmaster Dumbledore in front of the Select Committee he had only agreed if she promised to keep him from being alone with Albus Dumbledore ever again.
To make sure the Headmaster would not find him, Minister Fudge had not gone to his office after he left the East Meeting room. He went into the heavily warded panic room. He was not coming out until Ms. Umbridge gave him the all clear.
Unlike the the larger catastrophic room under the Department of Mysteries, that was built to withstand an apocalypse, panic room was only meant to be a temporary shelter in case of terrorist attack and did not have a bathroom.
Ms. Umbridge had to collect the Minister quickly. Fudge had the bladder control of a puppy when he was frightened or nervous.
Headmaster Dumbledore stood up just as Dolores was about to walk out of the East Meeting room.
“Ms. Umbridge?”
She turned, “Yes Mr. Dumbledore?”
“It is a curious thing.” He leaned forward and peering at her with twinkling eyes over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
“In my experience, those who are best suited to wield power do not strive to gather glory or authority to themselves. It is invariably those who have leadership thrust upon them, who take up the mantle of responsibility reluctantly, who most often find - to their own surprise - they bring unprecedented honor and distinction to the office they hold.”
“Indeed? I’m of the same opinion,” Ms. Umbridge agreed smiling widely. “Since we agree, I fully expect we will share a harmonious and productive working relationship.”
“I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, Ms. Umbridge,” Dumbledore bowed in a courtly manner.
Ms. Umbridge caught up and edge of her skirt with her free hand and bobbed a polite curtsy. Just as her mother had taught her decades ago.
“Mr. Dumbledore, I’m sure the pleasure will ultimately be all mine,” she replied with a triumphant smirk, then swept out the door out the door.
Mr. Owen Hearst, who had waited for Ms. Umbridge outside the East Meeting Room door, fell in step behind her left shoulder when Dolores emerged.
“Shall I confirm Minister Fudge's usual table at the Bewitched Sandwich or should I place a take out order for lunch Madam Umbridge?”
“The Minister will be retiring for the day," Dolores said over her shoulder. Her legs were short but her steps were fast. Mr. Hearst had to almost jog to keep pace with Ms. Umbridge. "He has had a very trying morning and needs to recoup his strength for tomorrow.”
“Yes madam...Please recall you have a brunch engagement with Lady Prewett at Hexam Hall. You are expected at 9:00 am. The time is now 8:40.”
“Hmm. I still have plenty of time to dispatch Minister Fudge home to his loving wife before I see Lady Prewett.”
The double doors to the Minister of Magic’s Outer Office swung open as the pair approached. The Minister of Magic's office was the only Ministry of Magic office with a house-elf. Having a magical servant allowed Ms. Umbridge to run the Central Department with only two human assistants. Which saved time, and money without sacrificing security or efficiency.
The outer office was long, and made of black stone with gold veins like the Ministry of Magic lobby. It was dimly lit by bronze pot lights in the four corners. Ms. Umbridge's second assistant Ossef Maloney sat at the high desk in front of the Minister of Magic's Inner Office doors. He loomed like a stern judge presiding over his court.
In front of Ossef's desk were two narrow stone blocks, running parallel down the middle of the room. The frigidity people packed tightly together, flattening their backsides waiting to be seen by the Central Department or the Minister of Magic, had nothing to lean comfortably back on and no choice but to stare across into each other shadowed faces.
Stewing uncomfortably in the Outer Office for a few hours tenderized most people's tempers into something emotionally raw Ms. Umbridge could easily manipulate once they were called into the Inner Office, where the decor was luxurious and impressive and comfortable...except for the 10,000 sharpened swords pointed bladed down from the ceiling.
Everyday, at least three people spontaneously declined to waste the Ministry of Magic's valuable time with their petty concerns after seeing the ceiling of swords suspended above their heads.
Ms. Umbridge considered the ceiling of swords another great time and money saving device.
She intended to install one in the Wizengamot Chamber at the earliest possible opportunity.
As Ms. Umbridge walked into the Inner Office she handed Mr. Hearst the the silver vase, paper, and pens she was carrying.
“Discard the flowers into a mundane fire. Replace them with pink roses and put them on my desk.”
“Yes Madam.”
“Oh, and Mr. Hearst?”
Pip the house elf stood on a chair to drape Ms. Umbridge’s pink traveling cloak over her shoulders, straightened her little hat and help her slide white gloves up her arms before handing Ms. Umbridge her handbag and disappearing.
“Yes Madam?”
“Initiate step two of the Rot Fang protocol...after you and Ossef have had tea, of course.”
“Yes Madam. As you wish.”