minor disruption to the program
Again, they find Ron at his workstation. He catches sight of the crew, and his eyebrows raise. He whistles, “What’s got you all looking so down?”
Someone mumbles, “Auror Lestrange,” and Ron winces.
“Yikes,” he mutters. “Ran into her, did you? She’s a nightmare. We don’t usually see her around the department because she’s glued to the Minister, but she’ll pop up here and there.”
Ron doodles a little picture on a piece of blue parchment and taps it with his wand. It turns into a very familiar little bird before it flies off.
Another crew member asks something, and Ron looks a little surprised. “Harry’s family?” He frowns, “We’re his family. Me, Hermione, Mum and Dad, my brothers and sister, and Sirius. Hell, Parkinson too, even if she won’t admit it because of our dumb school rivalry.”
Ron picks at his hand while he says, “Harry doesn’t need anyone else. Everyone else has only let him down.” He looks a little guilty before adding, “I used to let him down too.”
A crew member carefully clears their throat. “Is that why Head Auror Potter was so quick to defend Auror Black’s pardon and subsequent release from Azkaban?” They shuffle through a few documents before adding, “Auror Black hardly started his mandated mind healer sessions when Head Auror Potter joined him in the Black ancestral home after graduating from Hogwarts; was that due to his home life during his youth?”
Ron sits up straighter and furrows his brows. He looks suspicious as he says, “It’s not like Harry didn’t try to get out of his situation before—you make it sound like he was just using Sirius.”
“We didn’t mean to imply-“
“He even ran away a few times, you know? But Headmaster Dumbledore was always a little harder on him, even if it sometimes seemed the opposite.” Ron scoffs, “He kept saying it was safer for Harry there. Which was total (beep) because I saw how those muggles treated Harry, and there’s no way he was in danger more anywhere else!”
The crew startles; Auror Weasley paints a bleak picture. It’s one thing to hear it from the mouth of someone who has every reason not to like Head Auror Harry Potter and another to hear it from one of his closest friends.
Ron settles back down and sighs, “But who can say no to Dumbledore, right?”
Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore frequents the ministry for many reasons. Among them are his titles as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.
The crew catches him just after a court case in Level Ten. Getting here is the most harrowing journey of their lives, and they aren’t quite sure how they’ll get back.
Albus looks down upon them kindly and with a small smile. “Ah, young Harry? He is exceptionally bright and follows diligently in his father’s footsteps. Had James Potter gotten the chance to grow a little older, without the weight of war wearing him down and taking him from us far too soon, I have no doubt he would have made a fine Head Auror like our dear Harry.”
His eyes soften, and his smile dims. Albus waves a hand over his parchments, organising them into a neat pile. It’s pretty impressive. “There are many things I’ve come to regret in my long life. My handling of Harry’s…concerns as a Hogwarts student regarding his family is undoubtedly one of them.”
It takes some convincing, a shove or three, but a crew member finally asks, “And what concerns were those? If you don’t mind us asking, sir.”
The look on Albus Dumbledore’s face implies that he very much does mind. It takes a solid minute—but it feels like hours—before he speaks again. “Nothing concrete, though the signs were there. And nothing that deserves to be so callously shared with an audience,” he raises his brow and the crew all nod swiftly.
Point taken loud and clear.
Albus ponders momentarily and says, “No, indeed I was far too busy handling my own concerns regarding Harry.” He stands and slowly makes his way down from the towering courtroom seat. He continues, “And though nothing seems to have come to be,” a silent yet hovers in the air with his minute pause, “I was under the impression Voldemort,” the crew flinches, “would return as he once was. I was under the impression he would return and seek his vengeance on Harry.”
On level ground, Albus Dumbledore towers over most of the crew. They feel awfully small—physically, yes, but also small in the sense of presence compared to this wizard who once defeated his own Dark Lord. “At the time, strong wards around Harry’s aunt and uncle’s home had kept him safe during his summers away from Hogwarts. So if Voldemort,” the crew flinches again, “had returned as he was when Harry was younger, Harry would have been safe.”
He sighs, “Alas, Harry is safe now and has grown up with dear Sirius during his years after Hogwarts.”
Someone mumbles, “Chief Warlock Dumbledore, do you know why Head Auror Potter and the Minister don’t get along even though Auror Black was pardoned due to the Minister’s diligence?”
“Ah, yes!” Albus’ eyes take on a sparkly shine as he smiles at the question. “Harry’s famed ongoing dispute with our Minister.”
The crew share a glance. Dispute seems lacking a word.
“I find myself unsure,” he grins wider, “it could be many things. As a student, the Minister was notoriously gifted and stubborn, though not many people know it. And Harry is quite stubborn himself, you see, which could have led to a myriad of points for conflict.”
Albus starts to leave the courtroom and parts with an amused and final, “Why don’t you ask young Harry yourselves?”
As the crew leaves Level Ten, they must pass Level Nine. Naturally, this is what they are worried about.
An Unspeakable stands ominously before them, blocking their path back by roosting in the hall’s very centre. Their cloak is long, not revealing a millimetre of skin, and its hood is pulled over their head, hiding all their features with an eerie shadow.
“Head Auror Harry Potter,” their muffled voice speaks partially distorted, “sends his regards.”
The crew decides to say nothing in response to that. However, one of them does start weeping silently. Unfortunately, their contracts don’t specify or take into consideration the potential for emotional and mental damage obtained during filming. Which is a shame, really.
“You may follow me,” The Unspeakable continues; their long, billow-sleeved arm lifts to direct the crew towards a door that appears suddenly out of nowhere. “Do not linger,” they insist.
So the crew doesn't.
They pass through the doorway and take careful note of their surroundings. The camera pans across tiled walls so deep and dark and glossy, looking like still water, and windowless corridors that seem to stretch for miles. It zooms in on the handleless black doors and blue flamed candles… This altogether combines into a level of awful that seems truly unfair if you ask the crew.
“Through here,” The Unspeakable pushes a door open.
-
The rest of the footage for this room is censored as it is deemed Highly Classified.
-
The camera cuts back to life in a room so unnaturally tall, with a chill in the air so unbearable, and shelves so filled with row upon row of small glass orbs. It is beautiful. It is dusty.
One of the crew tries to reach out and poke an orb, but the Unspeakable uses their wand to smart the top of their knuckles. “Don’t touch them, or you’ll be afflicted with instant madness,” they say.
The crew takes this advice to heart and decides to form a single-file line out of the people who aren’t holding any equipment, putting their hands on the person in front of them’s shoulders, like a small conga line.
The Unspeakable leads them through the rows and rows of dusty orbs until they stop before one. A camera zooms in on its placard, which reads:
- S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. -
Dark Lord
&(?) Harry Potter
Silence lingers until someone asks, “So, uh, not that this isn’t really cool and stuff—what the (beep) are we looking at?”
The Unspeakable sighs, “A Prophecy Record. This record is from Professor Sybill Trelawney to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.”
The quiet air of confusion does not dissipate at the explanation provided.
“This Prophecy Record is highly sought after,” they continue. “The Minister has requested it several times.”
When no one continues to say anything, the Unspeakable’s sigh becomes more long-suffering. “Isn’t that odd?” They goad, “Why would the Minister want a Prophecy Record about Harry Potter and the Dark Lord? It’s odd.”
The crew nods slowly. That is pretty odd. Not as odd as being led through the Department of Mysteries by an Unspeakable just so they could look at a dusty orb, but sure.
“Uh,” a crew member raises their hand like they’re back in Charms getting a lecture, “why haven’t you given it to the Minister, then?”
“Because,” the Unspeakable starts, and their distorted ire truly shines through, “the Minister has no sway here. We do not just handthingsover upon request. The Department of Mysteries is a lawless void of discovery.”
That’s - not great news for the crew. The Unspeakable says it like it’s something to be proud of, but, well, it sounds really threatening.
“And,” the Unspeakable continues pointedly, “the only ones who can take a Prophecy Record are those mentioned in the Prophecy.”
Oh.
Oh. The implications are obvious. And very, very loud. The crew doesn’t know what to say.
Until someone whispers, “Is this considered treason? Should we be worried about treason?”
“You may leave,” the Unspeakable decides and turns away as though the crew has the means or memory retention to work their way back themselves.
They have been walking around the Department of Mysteries for over an hour.
The amount of b-roll they have from this floor alone is impressive. It’s too bad they contractually can’t use a single shot. It’s no hard loss, though, because most of the footage is of the Prophecy Room and in there, all the shelves just kind of start blurring together… They couldn’t find their way around for a while.
Locating the only door out brought them back to a room full of clocks, so they knew they were in the right spot. It’s been hell since.
The camera pans across brains in green liquid and blurs out some items in the background. One crew member sighs, “Well, we definitely didn’t pass brains on the way in. So we’re still lost.”
-
Another camera cuts to a square cavern. Dimly lit, sparse candles float throughout it. Stone steps sink to a pit in the centre of the room, and there, singular and foreboding, stands an archway on a dais.
A black curtain, tattered and moving with some unfathomable slight breeze, hangs across it.
“Uh,” a crew member points at something beyond the fabric, “is that a person?”
The camera zooms in on a cloaked figure standing just beside one of the towering legs of the arch; they turn and face the camera dead on, and the operator nearly drops it in surprise. Unexpectedly, the cloaked person—a possible Unspeakable—waves and gestures for them to come closer.
“Merlin… Can’t get any worse, can it?” They are a small portion of the main crew (the few who had split off to cover more ground), and they all look at the person who spoke in horror. “Right. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll get the others.”
-
Nearly the entire crew makes it to the cavern—they only lost one person to the brains—when the Unspeakable…speaks?
“Hello,” their voice is softer and almost certainly not distorted. Though, there does seem to be a dreamy quality to it. The Unspeakable reaches for the hood of their cloak, and the crew, in unison, holds their breath.
Beneath it reveals a young woman with long blonde hair and pale silvery eyes. Her smile is pleasant as she says, “Are you all lost?”
The crew nods, exhaling a deep sigh of relief. Someone coughs, “A normal person, thank Godric.”
The Unspeakable laughs, “I could tell! The nargles were whispering about you for some time.”
The crew turns to glare at their member.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she continues, content and unaware of the turmoil. “My name is Luna; what made you all come to the Death Chamber today?”
Almost everyone asks, “The what? ”
“That’s where we are,” Luna lifts her hands to display the room, “the Death Chamber.”
“Um, we were just trying to find an exit.”
“Oh, yes,” she nods. “I suppose within the Death Chamber is technically an exit. Though no one that I know of has ever returned through it.”
…
The crew would like to leave now.
Luna starts walking back towards the door to the Death Chamber, “But I don’t believe you all want to try that. You’re looking for Harry, aren’t you?”
They scramble to follow her out and into a narrow hall. One member starts shuffling rapidly through parchment until they sigh and just stuff them back into their bag. “Excuse us for wondering, Unspeakable Luna, but are you close with Head Auror Harry Potter?”
“Harry and I are long-time friends. Sometimes, we come to the Death Chamber to listen to the voices together.”
Immediately.
Immediately, they regret asking.
Immediately.
“I haven’t seen him down here in a while,” she stops speaking to hum a little tune, then suddenly says, “Not since the wrackspurts started bothering him about the Minister.”
‘Wrackspurts?’ Someone mouths.
“Do you know why the Minister and Head Auror Potter don’t get along, Unspeakable Luna?”
She giggles, “Yes! But that‘s not important.” She pushes open a door, and they all file in and nearly cry in relief at the sight of the Auror Department!
Wait. What? How did they get to Level Two?
“You all take care,” Luna waves as she closes the door behind them, “and stay away from any wrackspurt collection areas! They like melting moondrops and white chocolate skulls.” The door sinks into nothingness as the wall returns to normal. And then she’s gone. Just like that.
The one person who may have any idea what’s going on is also one of the craziest they’ve met. And she’s gone.
“Doesn’t this mean we still have to find our way back?” Someone from the middle of the group asks.
Shaken and with barely any wits about them, the crew happens upon Sirius Black.
The camera zooms in on his face, and he’s got a tan now? He looks significantly better since they last saw him. He’s even wearing a floral patterned shirt like he’s just returned from holiday. There’s a glow about him as he stands before the crew with his hands on his hips, “I’ve been looking for you lot everywhere!”
They certainly wish he’d found them sooner. It would have probably saved the crew from whatever the hell the last few hours have been.
Sirius just laughs at their miserable faces. “You won’t believe what happened to me!” The crew stares on, deadpan. “That portkey took me to some sort of tropical getaway.”
Oh, that’s right. The crew wonders how that other clerk is getting on… wait... theymissed out on a tropical getaway?!
“Ah, it doesn’t matter,” Sirius continues, “the folks there were nice enough. Sent me around with a few drinks while they went on and on about the latest breakthroughs in travel or some rot—did you know they’ve found a way to hide international long-distance movement in small bodies of water? Like puddles?”
The crew did not know that. They shake their heads.
They still want to cry.
“I put some pamphlets they gave me out in the break room if you’re interested,” he thumbs over his shoulder towards the break area. “No? Right then, back to business.”
Sirius convinces the crew to follow him down to Level Seven, where they find Ginny in her office. The camera zooms in on an old Cleansweep she’s using as a footrest while she reclines back in her chair. It pans up; she’s reading Seeker Weekly.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” Ginny smiles and waves them in. Her office is still a battleground of sports equipment, and they no longer have their borrowed quidditch gear, so they enter with a fair amount of hesitancy.
Sirius does not share this concern. He waltzes right in, “Ginevra, I need to recruit you for a mission.”
“Damn,” Ginny sighs, “I was just getting to the good stuff,” she waves her magazine before she slaps it down on her desk. She lays her chin on her interlocked fingers. “Okay, what do you want? You never use my full name unless it’s for something completely ridiculous.”
Sirius starts, “I wouldn’t say that-“ and she interrupts, “I’ll just save us all the trouble and say no now then, shall I?”
He pouts, “Come on, Ginny, hear me out; it could be fun!”
She hums and stands. When she does, the Cleansweep drops to the floor, unanimated. “When you say fun, I hear disastrous. You’re worse than my brothers—makes sense, considering they learned from you, wouldn’t you say?”
“No need for all these compliments,” Sirius puffs up, prideful. “I just wanted to see if you’d be willing to distract Parkinson for a while.”
“Pans-I mean-Parkinson?” The camera zooms in on Ginny’s surprised face. “What do you need with her? Why me?”
Sirius props himself against her desk with his hip, “A little butterfly told me she likes your company. We just need you to go an’ chat her up for a while, while I show the crew something.”
The crew pauses; there’s a sudden air of disquiet. Auror Black couldn’t be talking about… the room again? Could he?
Ginny’s face flushes bright red, almost as bright as her hair. She splutters, “What butterfly? What are you talking about? I have a job, you know—and so does she! And what do you mean likes my company? ”
“Great!” Sirius pushes off her desk and leaves the office. The crew rush to keep up as he throws over his shoulder, “Head on up there in the next ten minutes or so—and don’t be late!”
The camera jerks back to catch Ginny’s slack-jawed face.
Back on Level Two, the crew and Sirius nearly walk right into Ron.
“Sirius?” Ron smiles for a moment before it drops to a stern frown, “Wait, where the hell have you been? What are you wearing? There was an update on the Greenwich Case that needs your immediate attention—“
The crew learning, for what is possibly the first time all day, that the Auror Department does actual work is the best and most hope-inspiring thing to come out of this documentary.
Sirius shushes him, “Shh!! Ron, come with us. We’re checking out the room before Pansy catches wind.”
Ron pales and takes a giant step back. “No way in bloody hell am I doing that! Are you crazy? She has wards all over that place like a- a- damn, what’s Hermione call them? Mindfield?”
A muggleborn crew member says, “You might be thinking of a minefield?”
“Oh? What’s that?” Sirius asks.
“It’s like a large field with hidden explosives in the ground.”
Ron points at them with a grateful nod, “That’s it! A minefield.”
“Huh. Nah, don’t worry about her,” Sirius says with a sort of pish-ah sound. “I’ve got your sister on it.”
-
The camera cuts to Pansy.
It turns out there is a crew member who never went to speak with Auror Lestrange, go to Level Ten, or get sidetracked by an Unspeakable. And it’s the sole camera tasked with filming the Secretary to the Head Auror, Pansy Parkinson.
And they’re pretty sure they’ve been forgotten about.
Pansy stares at the camera. This has been going on for the last forty minutes. She finally blinks slowly and asks, “So… Do they, like, pay you well?”
The camera jostles as though the person operating it is shrugging.
“Are you not allowed to talk to me anymore or something?” Pansy squints at the crew member, confused. “We’ve been at this for ages, aren’t you bored?”
Someone clears their throat. The camera turns and zooms in on Ginny leaning against the doorjamb of Head Auror Potter’s main offices. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and looks Pansy up and down. She asks, “You got a minute?”
The camera turns back around just in time to catch Pansy startling, nearly falling out of her desk chair, and propping herself back up by the elbow to faux casually rest her chin on her palm.
Smoothly, Pansy says, “For you, love? More than a minute...”
-
“My sister?!” Ron looks just about ready to pass out.
“Yeah! So chop-chop, let’s go, folks,” Sirius pushes Ron along by the shoulders down the hall. The crew are exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically. But the show must go on.
In the meanwhile, Ron gets caught up on where Sirius has been. “Wait, so you’re telling me you were drinking on an island and chose to come back?”
Sirius puts his hand on his heart, feigning offence. “Of course I did! I do have a job, as I’m sure you’re aware.” Ron and the crew both look doubtful as the camera zooms in on him as he slowly and carefully deconstructs Pansy’s wards with his wand. “And let me tell you, it was a pain to get back into the ministry. I floo travelled in but didn’t have my wand for the checkpoint. Caused a whole scene in the atrium.”
A crew member murmurs, “Wait… isn’t that when-“
-
The footage cuts and rewinds.
It stops.
It plays.
Bellatrix crosses her arms and stands tall, back straight. It seems they’ll be waiting here a while, so the crew spreads out. She continues, “You see when our Minister was elected and changed all of Wizarding England for the better, trials from the war were redone. It’s how you have people like Cousin Sirius and me free again. We were pardoned.”
There’s a slight commotion at the wand checkpoint in the background of the shot, just over Bellatrix’s shoulder. The scene definitely looks like it could use some intervening, but she shrugs and says, “I’m on lunch break.”
It stops.
It rewinds briefly and stops again.
It zooms in on the still footage. And just over Bellatrix Lestrange’s shoulder, there at the wand checkpoint, a floral-patterned shirt-clad Sirius Black is trying to hop the barrier and gets tackled to the ground by some fellow Aurors.
The footage cuts back.
-
Sirius doesn’t hear them and continues, “I was even arrested for a whole hour! No worries though—it wouldn’t be the first time—and Harry bailed me out.”
Auror Black’s dark humour gets a chuckle or two out of a handful of crew members. It lures them into a false sense of security that allows them to ask, “Will whatever’s in here really explain the feud between Head Auror Potter and the Minister?”
“Explain it?” Ron scoffs. “Doubt that. Only Harry has any clue what the hell’s going on in there—“
Please standby. The large explosion from the wards has caused a minor disruption to the program.