Chapter 1:

"I won't deny that morale is pretty low at the Ministry," said Fudge. "What with all that, and then losing Amelia Bones."

"Losing who?"

"Amelia Bones. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have murdered her in person, because she was a very gifted witch and - and all the evidence was that she put up a real fight."

Fudge cleared his throat and, with an effort, it seemed, stopped spinning his bowler hat.

"But that murder was in the newspapers," said the Prime Minister, momentarily diverted from his anger. "Our newspapers. Amelia Bones… it was just said she was a middle-aged woman who lived alone. It was a - a nasty killing, wasn't it? It's had rather a lot of publicity. The police are baffled, you see."

Fudge sighed. "Well, of course they are," he said. "Killed in a room that was locked from the inside, wasn't she? We, on the other hand, know exactly who did it, not that that gets us any further toward catching him…"

~ Chapter 1: The Other Minister, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling

Seemingly obligatory disclaimer: I think it's quite clear that I don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock. I wish I did. I'd have all the moneys. But I don't.

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The fireplace in the office of Mycroft Holmes was not purely for decorative purposes. Not that on any official record should he have such a lucrative working space - after all, he only had a minor occupancy in the British government. But there were those who knew better than to believe that. And there were even fewer who had even seen the inside of his office to know of the existence of the fireplace. And there was only one man who knew for what reason Mycroft personally kept this fireplace in working order.

And on this foggy summer's evening, he was scheduled to pay a visit to Mr. Holmes.

Mycroft had lit the fire thirty minutes prior to the hour. He then sent for a pot of tea. Two cups, please. Cream, sugar, the works.

The tea arrived at ten minutes prior to the hour. In that time Mycroft had procured a mock-up for the next day's copy of The Times. Well, he hadn't personally. He had sent for that too.

At seven minutes to the hour, he dismissed his staff for the evening. His detail were to wait for him elsewhere. But not a soul was to be in the vicinity. This was, after all, a sensitive conference call. So they were told.

At five minutes to the hour, Mycroft opened his briefcase. He removed a file, containing three newspaper clippings and laid them each on his desk.

FREAK HURRICANES DEVASTATE DEVONSHIRE

UNPREDICTED FOGS SEND TRAVELERS INTO A TIZZY

MOTHER OF TWO VANISHES WITHOUT A TRACE

And then Mycroft laid out the Times mock-up:

SCOTLAND YARD BAFFLED BY LOCKED-ROOM MURDER. CLOSES CASE.

At two minutes to the hour, Mycroft retrieved his bottle of whiskey from his liquor cabinet. He placed it next to the tea set.

Precisely on the hour, Mycroft poured his cup of tea.

One minute past the hour, the fire blazed and turned an emerald shade of green. A man emerged from the fire, a portly bumbling looking man wearing a bowler hat and dressed in fine black robes. His appearance and demeanor was tired, to put it kindly, but it would be more accurate to say that Cornelius Fudge looked spent.

Mycroft didn't bat an eye. "I thought you might take to something stronger than tea."

"Oh God, please yes." Fudge removed his hat and sat in a chair in front of Mycroft's desk.

Mycroft poured the whiskey. One… two… three. That should tide him over. But he probably had had a really horrid week… Four… five… six.

"The prime minister has been briefed?"

"Yes, thank you." Fudge accepted his whiskey tea cup. "Just came from there. Introduced him to Scrimgeour. Caught him up on what's really been going on."

Mycroft made his way behind the desk, sitting in his chair, and examined the portly and sad little man. "No, I don't think it best that Scrimgeour know about me, so cancel your meeting with him after this one. I'd like to keep my existence in the dark where he is concerned."

That incredulous look of how did he know? that flashed across Fudge's face died just as quickly and it had been ignited. "I learned a long time ago to not question how or why you do the things you do."

Mycroft smirked. "Good." He glanced again at the articles as he took a sip of tea. "Now, I think we have something we need to discuss."

"We -"

"I'm well aware of the growing situation. The patterns are undeniable, obvious even. They have been for years. It's exactly the same as last time. You really should have listened to Albus Dumbledore while you had the chance."

Fudge's face turned beet red, "Now look here! I did not agree to meet with you to be slapped on the wrist like a child!"

Mycroft remained unfazed, "No, you've already done that to yourself. And your constituency has taken care of that too."

"Then I hope you have something that you -"

"Oh yes, Cornelius, it is of great import." Mycroft picked up the Times mock-up. "I have stopped this story from publication in all possible print and digital sources that could possibly have interest. At least until I had had the chance to sit down with you ."

Fudge took the mock up, he let out a sigh of resignation. "Amelia Bones was one of our best. Awful news."

"Indeed. From what I heard of her she seemed to be a fine woman."

Fudge put aside the mock-up, "So what about this requires a meeting? It's an open and shut case."

Mycroft paused, and put down his tea. He readjusted himself in his chair. "My actions thus far have only delayed the inevitable. All eyes are on Scotland Yard to solve this case. Calling this a cold case would be to admit defeat, which is unacceptable. Therefore, they will transfer this case to another team and when they do, there will be a major security breach to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. I felt compelled to warn you, seeing as your Ministry has had a lot on its plate, undoubtedly this would have slipped by completely unnoticed. Only to be too late."

Fudge guffawed, "Ha! As if that hasn't been a worry of ours with any of the previous incidents."

"Cornelius, come tomorrow morning, this case will be re-assigned to Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. I can assure you this will happen. The Yard is baffled. They will put their most competent people on the case to boost the national spirit."

"He's a Muggle? No worries there."

"Quite right. However, Detective Inspector Lestrade will call in a man to consult. And once he is called to solve this case, there is little I can do to keep him from uncovering the truth. I can only give you time, and the foresight that he will not stop until he has won."

"So this breach is - ?"

"You must know that I cannot entrust this information to your current Minister - it is likely that the Dark Lord will be planning an infiltration of the Ministry of Magic on some scale, if he hasn't already. Scrimgeour isn't to be relied on. He's a new variable in the equation. And I intend to keep most parties involved alive."

Fudge took another drink of whiskey, "Then why are you telling this to me?"

Mycroft took into consideration his subject. "We both have our own interests in knowing."

Fudge regarded the man behind the desk warily, "Right. Well then, what's so special about this fellow that's got you all riled up?"

"Cornelius," the corners of Mycroft's mouth curled ever so slightly into what some could call a smile, "how much have you heard about Sherlock Holmes?"

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