nothing untoward is shown
Draco Malfoy scoffs outside the Minister’s main offices. “Of course. The one time we finally get to have cameras following us around, and it’s for a bloody hiring campaign.”
A crew member mumbles a question off lens, and his eyebrows raise. Draco’s smile is wide with amusement when he says, “Oh? Haven’t you heard? Potter hates the Minister.”
He sets aside the Witch Weekly he’s reading to give the crew his undivided attention. “Truly, you don’t understand until you witness it first hand. Potter can be a bit of an idiot, a Gryffindor in the worst of ways, a bit of a hot head, a complete disgrace to the ministry, a—“
Someone clears their throat.
“—Potter is a disagreeable person by nature. He was probably born that way. But even I know that Potter has never hated someone as much as he hates the Minister. And you think it’s obvious now, but when they’re both in a room together,” Draco pauses to shake his head and lean back. His face takes on a dreamy sort of look like he’s lost in a memory, “the tension is absolutely ridiculous.”
The crew hasn’t seen any blatant hatred from either party. Though they’ve yet to meet the Minister, and looking back on Head Auror Harry Potter’s pleased face, maybe they should be a little more concerned.
Draco suddenly starts out of his daze, “Everything between them had been fine for years, supposedly. But then something happened the day Potter was invited to the manor to meet with Father and the Minister, and since then, he’s barely refrained from pursuing all-out war.”
-
The camera cuts to Lucius Malfoy. He crosses his legs and grips his cane with unexpected force.
“I refuse to think upon that dreadful day without copious amounts of alcohol,” he says and declines further comment.
-
“Strangely enough,” Draco ponders. “I don’t think the Minister really minds it.”
He reaches for his magazine once again, “Potter is probably like a small yapping crup to the Minister. Amusing and pitiable with floppy ears and a wagging tail.”
The crew waits silently for Draco to continue, but he seems to have gotten bored of the conversation and forgotten they are here.
“Harry’s relationship with the Minister before?” Ron asks. He’s still in the break area, and it seems he never left.
He scratches lightly at his cheek in thought. “Well, I guess Harry didn’t really talk to him much? They only saw each other rarely. Like during special Wizengamot hearings or ministry parties or for any Auror protection detail the Minister might need while travelling. From what I remember, there weren’t really any complaints. Hermione was more likely to have things to say with the Minister being her direct boss and all.”
A crew member mumbles quietly, “Would you say they were amicable, then, Mr Weasley?”
“Yeah, sure,” Ron shrugs. “They weren’t best mates or anything—Harry would never do that to me anyway—but Harry definitely wasn’t completely bonkers like he is now.”
Sirius Black walks into the room with a mug and halts. “Oh?” His eyes roam over the crew and Ron, “What’s going on in here?"
“Hey, Sirius,” Ron greets with a slight wave. “Don’t mind them; they’re just interviewing everyone about Harry.”
The crew debates whether they should correct Ron and diplomatically decide to see where this leads instead.
Sirius’ head cocks like a dog hearing a squeaking toy. He smiles something mischievous and plotting when he announces, “I happen to be Harry’s godfather.”
The crew quickly pans half their cameras toward Sirius.
“What exactly are you trying to learn about my dear godson?”
Ron snorts, “They want to know why Harry’s obsessed with the Minister.”
The crew really thinks someone should correct them before this gets out of hand. But…
Sirius whistles low and ominous. “I’m guessing you lot haven’t seen the room yet.”
The horror that alights Ron’s face at the mention of it is warning enough. But that doesn’t stop one of the crew members from asking, “What room?”
Pansy Parkinson stands before the alleged room with her hands on her hips.
“Listen to me and listen to me carefully,” she starts. Her tone leaves no space for hemming and hawing, “None of you will be stepping foot into this room. My boss would kill me.”
Ron nods quickly, bobbing his head up and down too many times to count. “She’s right. Harry won’t like it if we go in there. Especially without him.”
“Come on, Parkinson,” Sirius goads, “don’t tell me you’re scared of my little godson. Harry wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
-
The cameras cut to a scene from earlier this morning. Harry is filmed stunning a buzzing mid-flight fly with terrifying accuracy.
He shakes his head, “You’ve been faster, Harry,” and mumbles on about needing to get back into his twice-daily routine. Whatever that means.
-
Pansy looks at Sirius like he is dirt beneath her heels. “Black. He has explicitly instructed me that you shouldn’t even be within six metres of this door,” she pulls out her wand, “and that if I saw you, I’d have free reign to neutralise you however I see fit.”
A camera quickly zooms in on Ron, who does quick work of leaving the immediate area. He two-finger salutes the camera crew as he slips out of the hall. He’s gone long before Sirius takes out his wand and spellfire is exchanged.
The crew decide over a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors who will stay to film the impending damage. A sacrifice is chosen and mourned. The rest break off before being caught in the crossfire or killed.
Percy sighs. “I’d like to take this time to remind you all that anything filmed for this documentary that paints the ministry in a bad light and doesn’t pass muster must be vanished or incendioed immediately.”
He pauses to jot something down on a piece of parchment and taps his wand to it, waiting as it arranges into a charming butterfly. When it flutters away, he continues, “The Minister and I may find some value in this idea, but we draw the line at anything potentially harmful to the reelection campaign.”
Percy stands and gathers his things; some additional ministry documents and that shimmery graph float beside him as he walks. “Granger thinks this is solely a recruitment push, but the Minister and I agree that this could also be great exposure to showcase how strong the ministry is under its current leadership.”
He pauses momentarily and speaks slowly and deliberately, “It is imperative that nothing untoward is shown to the public.”
-
The camera cuts. Sirius and Pansy are battered and bruised, nearly bloody. The floor around them is missing large sections, looking like moon craters or Swiss cheese, and somehow the door to the room still stands untouched.
Pansy blows a strand of hair out of her line of sight. “Sirius Black, you absolute (beep) (beep) of a (beep). I’m going to (beep) you (beep) and leave you out on the streets of muggle London where your body will (beep) (beep) (beep) (beep)—”
The rest of the footage is muted for general audiences.
-
“In fact.” Percy continues, “I recommend the whole documentary crew avoid the Auror Department altogether.” He shakes his head, “It is a wonder how Head Auror Potter gets anything done. The man is really a saint.”
Percy walks ahead of the crew and into a lift as he quietly mentions, “His numbers speak for themselves, though. It’s no wonder he’s the Minister’s favourite,” and the doors slowly close shut.
Someone from the back of the crew proclaims an eloquent, “What did he just say?”
The Minister for Magic continues to be unavailable for an interview at this time.