December 6, 1981

Ministry of Magic, London

Amelia Bones was annoyed.

No, annoyed was a mild word better suited for when she spilled her tea.

Vexed? No, vexed was for when Susan tried to flush her kneazle down the loo 'to see what happened'.

Angry? Angry was better suited to the times Lucius Malfoy waltzed, care-free, into her office and tried to bribe her.

Outraged? Not yet, but she was getting there.

In short- Amelia Bones was Decidedly Not Amused.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understood you Cornelius. You see it sounded like you said, 'And Black was standing there laughing and crying that it was his fault so I took it as absolute proof he was guilty and arrested him without even reading his rights.' And surely that can't be accurate."

Cornelius Fudge's confidence was draining away quickly, and he squirmed uncomfortably as he stood in front of Amelia's desk. "Uhm, no, that…. That about sums it up."

Amelia's nostrils flared as she pressed her hands together on the desk. "Cornelius, remind me of the position you hold with the Ministry."

"I'm, uhm, assigned to the Hit Wizards?"

"Ah ah ah- let's be specific shall we? You are a member of the Obliviation Department who was assigned to work with the Hit Wizards as a result of the ongoing attacks on the muggle public during the war." Amelia pointed one long finger at the increasingly confused wizard in front of her.

"Same thing, isn't it?"

"It is most definitely not the same thing, Cornelius." Amelia closed her eyes. "Who was in charge of your training when you were assigned to work with the Hit Wizards?"

"Uhm, Crouch was the one who discussed it with me originally, when we were discussing his future career and-," Cornelius cut himself off abruptly, turning bright red and prompting Amelia to roll her eyes with an airy wave.

"I already know he hired you with furthering his own career in mind. The whole department knows that. No reason to play coy now- though I'd urge you to consider how those career ambitions ended for him and to think long and hard about how you answer the rest of your questions."

"Madam?"

"So old Barty did your training. I'll need Penseive memories to collaborate it, but for now answer me this: Did anyone at all ever tell you that you have the jurisdiction to arrest anyone?"

Cornelius's pale expression was answer enough.

December 7, 1981

Chateau Black, France

Cassiopeia leaned close over a pewter pot, breathing in the pink and blue tinged fumes carefully. "Note- Increasing the quantity of fungal spore results in a soft pink color rather than a more pure white."

As she spoke, the words inked themselves down on one of the half dozen pieces of parchment floating through the air behind her.

"Expected results- improved lifetime and decreased potency, a strong occlumens could likely push through the mental fog. May be mildly combustible, note to test in-"

"Missy Cassiopeia!"

The house elf's appearance in the doorway triggered a half dozen different safety wards- bubbles appeared around each individual workstation, parchment and quills were Vanished to a Reinforced Safety Vault, and Cassiopeia herself- looking quite put out- was covered in a glowing gold netting that sizzled fairly close to her skin.

It may have appeared to be overkill, but decades of nearly exploding oneself had taught Cassiopeia well.

"Pip you ridiculous creature, how many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt my research unless the house is on fire? Gracious, it takes me ages to redo the safety wards." Cassiopeia sighed as she looked around the lab, irate gaze finally settling on her house elf.

A normal house elf might have quivered, but Pip fixed her mistress with an equally stern glare. "Missy Cassiopeia was giving Pip conflicting orders."

"Oh- did I do that again? Well, at least this time you won't be floating for a week. Remind me what I said?"

Pip, whose expression strongly suggested that she still wasn't over the exceedingly traumatic week of floating (one cannot clean properly when walking on the ceiling!) waved a thick fold of parchment through the air. "Missy Cassiopeia was ordering Pip to let her know immediately if the Ministry was owling her!"

Cassiopeia flourished her wand through the air as she glided towards the proffered envelope, safety wards and bubbles vanishing as she went. "Who from specifically, Pip?"

"Amelia Bones."

A slow smile crept across Cassiopeia's face. "Well then- sounds like things are about to get interesting. I'll see to the note in the parlor, Pip- bring biscuits."

Pip watched her mistress drift down the hall in dismay, parchment in hand and dragonhide robes dragging behind her. Things were only now about to get interesting? Pip was quite certain things were already more interesting than she had ever asked for them to be!

What else could possibly happen?

December 7, 1981

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

Albus Dumbledore stroked one long finger down his familiar's back as he read the letter Fawkes had just brought him from the ministry.

"Oh, Barty. You had one job."

Fawkes turned his head to stare at his master with one dark eye as Albus frowned at the parchment on his desk.

"I wondered how much trouble Cassiopeia Black would be when Rita Skeeter's first article was published, but I didn't consider anything would come of it so quickly," the old wizard confided in his dearest companion. "Really, you'd think that there'd be a moment to rest with Tom out of the picture."

Fawkes's vaguely reproachful gaze made Albus chuckle. "Yes, yes- no rest for the wicked and all that." Standing, Albus wandered away from his desk.

While the Headmaster's office had always been a tad ethereal, no previous Headmaster had leaned into the eccentric aesthetic quite so thoroughly. Dozens of new gadgets- whirling, spinning, buzzing, tinkling and humming in pattern that reminded one strangely of something by Bach- had been added to the ornate gold shelves on the walls. Portraits of Headmasters past were stuck up on charmed lilac wallpaper (Dumbledore had changed the color twelve times in his tenure so far). And of course the most recent of Ablus's additions: hidden in a tight alcove overflowing with ancient books sat a Pensieve.

It was the pensieve that Albus made his way too, silently pulling the silver strands of a memory from his mind as he went. A gentle swish of his wand sent his thoughts floating into the murky liquid in the bowl- where they materialized into a young man with long dark curls and laughing grey eyes in a leather jacket.

He was holding a baby with bright green eyes.

"My apologies, Mr. Black," Dumbledore murmured as he watched the memory of the man lift the child above his head. "I could not say if I failed you, or if you chose your own path, or if perhaps a terrible mistake has been made as your Aunt now attempts to suggest. Regardless, I'm afraid I can't let you near Harry Potter anytime soon- we must all focus on the Greater Good."

Albus stared into the Pensieve for several long minutes before he turned back to his phoenix, eyes twinkling. "To the ministry then, shall we?"