The Document
What have I done?
Ginny had been dazed and confused when she’d left the Bonnacord manor, but it seemed that as soon as she was back within the Beauxbatons grounds the confusion disappeared, and only crystal clear guilt was left. She’d let her feelings entirely run away with her. Rescuing Delphine from Mercy Island had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but now it seemed like patronising kindness, at best, and pure self-indulgent self-interest at worst. And Gosse…
When she’d first met Gosse, she’d been wandless, friendless, and desperate. It had seemed entirely natural to end up in Undine’s bed as well as his. And Gosse hadn’t minded; When wrapped in his painting, he’d been entirely complacent – supportive even – of her seeking intimacy with Undine.
But with Delphine, Ginny had entirely run out of excuses. She’d just let herself, thoughtlessly. And she couldn’t blame Delphine. She’d known what the girl was like. Ginny was more and more convinced that there was no evil in Delphine Bonnacord, but, like Jehanne Blavier, there was a wilful self-indulgence. Something that Ginny, as head of Beauxbatons, should have stepped back from, kept away from.
What’s the matter with me? What am I going to say to Gosse?
The school was unnaturally quiet; A glance at her watch solved that mystery: Everyone would be eating. Which was a relief, as she was convinced that anyone seeing her would realise that she’d been with Delphine Bonnacord, that she’d been intimate with a girl who was permanently sixteen, with a woman many times her age.
Something silver and wolf-shaped flicked into existence in front of her. She flinched and reached for her wand, but then the wolf was speaking, with Auguste Ragno’s voice.
“Madame Weasley? I need to see you,” said the wolf. “Immediately,” it added. “I am at the gate.” Ragno sounded unusually impatient.
Ginny realised only now how tired she felt - how stressed, and hungry - yet somehow the idea of seeing Gosse, and feeling his eyes on her, was less attractive than dealing with the First Minister’s latest problem. She raised her wand – her arm felt leaden – summoned her own Patronus, and at a second attempt managed another brief message to Gosse, and then she was turning towards the gate.
As she walked, her tired mind tried to grapple with what Ragno wanted, but came up with nothing, and his face when she reached the gate told her no more.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her arm, and they were Twisting.
They were in front of a huge building. She’d been here before; This was the French Ministry of Magic, of white marble and endless windows, where two years ago Apolline had told Ginny that her dreams of becoming an Auror were impossible, and instead sent her to Beauxbatons. Ragno was still preoccupied, and led her silently into the building, and down the central corridor.
Now they were ascending wide, red-carpeted stairs and entering a large and beautiful room. There was an imposing desk in front of one window, and he led her towards this. He sank into the throne-like chair behind the desk and wearily gestured her to the chair opposite.
This had to be the First Minister’s own office, she realised. There were paintings on the walls of wizards and witches she didn’t know; They frowned down at her. For a wild instant she wondered if this was to do with Delphine, because she’d kept the Hidden Countess from jail. She remembered being arrested for helping Goblins; had she broken the law again?
More likely, had they decided that she was guilty of causing the death of Poseidon Bonnacord, and all the others? Auguste Ragno was still in danger of rebellion within his own ministry and maybe throwing her in prison was a way of regaining that control.
Ragno took a deep breath, sat forward and studied her. She found she had the courage now to meet his eye, and say nothing, and not plead, or try to explain.
“When I first reached this office,” he said eventually, “I believed I was here to protect the French Magical community. I soon learned the truth. The job of the First Minister needs not bravery, but compromise. It is about accommodating others. About giving up what we cherish, for what must be done.”
He sighed. “That is the only way I can pacify the warring elements within the Ministry. Everyone has their own needs. Their own agenda. And to get anything done, I need favours. To earn those favours, I need to grant favours, even when they are not what I would wish.”
He looked at her broodingly. “And, I regret,” he said slowly, “You will have to compromise too. To give up what you cherish.”
Freedom? Is that what he means? Is he going to jail me? She wanted to get to her feet, to protest, to walk out, but something kept her in her chair. Have I too much pride? she wondered. Or guilt, because of Delphine Bonnacord?
“When you called for my help,” he said then, “In the War Museum, I described to you the depth of feeling, the prejudices I was fighting. The distrust our people have of other Magical Races, of other nations. I told you how I had underestimated that. And those prejudices still exist. And so here we are.”
He reached for a scroll that was lying on his desk. He pushed it towards her, but kept his hand flat on the parchment. His eyes met hers.
“Are you proud of being British?” he asked.
She could only gaze at him in surprise.
His eyes stared into hers. “I am compelled… to ask you to sign this. It is a certificate of citizenship. I am asking – I am insisting, because I have no choice, and nor do you – that you become a citizen of France, and give up your British citizenship.”
She could speak now. “Why?”
“If you returned home,” he said, still gazing at her, “You would be arrested. They don’t want you. Of course I understand you were born there, that your family is there. But you must sign this. You must compromise.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You have already adopted this country,” said Ragno. “Is it such a step? And I do not ask you lightly.”
He was urging a quill towards her.
She felt a sudden, reckless impatience. She reached out and took the quill, and hurriedly scrawled her signature across the bottom of the document. It was a terrible signature; shouldn’t she have been more careful, for such a significant decision?
“Aren’t you going to read it?” Ragno asked in surprise.
“I trust you,” she said, mechanically. Somehow her voice sounded alien to her, a stranger’s.
Ragno’s mouth twisted, and he gave a wry laugh. But then he nodded. “In that case we can proceed,” he said, more businesslike now.
He took back the certificate and placed it next to him, but his eyes were still on hers. “You have another sacrifice to make now,” he said.
“Sacrifice?” My liberty? Did I have to sign that document, just so they could arrest me? I should be arguing now! But her pride made her stay silent, and accept her fate. How stupid is that?
His expression was unreadable. “When you first came to this country,” he said eventually. “You were sent to protect one man. Instead, that man died, and you saved an entire school.”
He continued to study her, calmly. “You were then appointed Headmistress, to protect Beauxbatons Academy, and hundreds of our children. Once more you took your own path, and now guard three schools, and in excess of a thousand souls.”
How was that wrong? she asked herself indignantly. What is this?
“And this week you came to me, asking for help, but instead you fought your own battle.” He shrugged. “I could do little, but I asked you to do the best you could, under impossible circumstances. To lose as gracefully as you could. Instead, you have rescued our country.”
“I never meant…” began Ginny, her head reeling.
“And now you are responsible for a treaty between three Magical species, and have reduced at a stroke our greatest fear. You take on difficult tasks, and you succeed. Always.”
His eyes were fixed on her. “I owe you a great debt. This country owes you that debt. But instead I am about to ask more of you.”
“More…?” Is this a polite way of sacking me?
“You must surrender your role as Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy,” he said.
It was if lightning had struck the desk between them. “No!” She was on her feet, the chair was against her legs, and she was kicking it away so she could step away from the desk. All I’ve worked for! “You can’t!”
He didn’t stand to confront her, but merely looked up at her. “I told you about compromise, Madame Weasley. And sacrifice. Those weren’t empty words. I am not that sort of politician.”
“But I signed that f… that document! What are you playing at? Is this your idea of gratitude?”
“I have approached the board of Durmstrang School, and they have agreed to the transfer of Henri Sendulla to Beauxbatons, to become Headmaster. I remind you that he was your choice for the rôle, a year ago, and I believe he will perform his new responsibilities well.”
“But you can’t…”
“Durmstrang have already decided that your friend, Madame Anquetil, can assume the full rôle of Headmistress of Durmstrang, as well as Visendakona. And Mr Sendulla will aid her to the best of his abilities.”
It was as if Ginny was falling, endlessly.
Ragno was reaching out across his desk, but not to another document; There was a bell push there, which he pressed. She could hear a musical chime behind her, and then the doors opening, and steps, several sets of heavy steps.
She whirled. Several figures in red cloaks were marching into the room. Aurors…
“I have a favour to ask, Madame Weasley,” Ragno was saying behind her. “And what I am about to ask won’t be easy for you. It wouldn’t be an easy task for anyone.”
The Aurors gathered in a group in front of her. And there was nowhere to run.
The First Minister was still talking. “I appointed Poseidon Bonnacord to be Chief Auror of this great country of ours, and it led to his death. He died bravely, and I think in part that bravery was because of you.”
“No!” Ginny said suddenly, turning to him in desperation. “I didn’t mean him to die! Or the others! I… We were desperate! I should have… thought of a better idea. I’m sorry, First Minister…”
He was shaking his head. “Please, Madame Weasley. I am not here to judge...”
“I’ll be more careful next time…” But there won’t be a next time, she told herself desperately.
Ragno ignored that. “I want you to join our Aurors.”
Ginny’s head reeled. This is where I came in. This is what I wanted, when I was here last time.
But is this what I want now?
There was someone next to her now, and strangely it was Criste, the Auror who had arrested her when she’d first reach France, and again after her predecessor had died.
“Repeat after me,” Criste was saying. “I swear to obey the First Magical Minister of France…”
Is this another trick? But in the darkness that seemed to surround her she could hear her own voice, mechanically repeating the words that Criste was saying, words of obedience and loyalty.
Suddenly her words were loud in her own ears. “…To perform my duties, to protect the Magical People of France…”
Something rebelled within her, and she was uttering her own words now.
“… And… and… protect the other Magical races of this country, and… the Muggle People of France…”
“Those aren’t the right words,” objected Criste beside her. But through the darkness around her she could see the First Minister’s eyes on her, and he was nodding.
“OK, then,” said Criste, sounding confused. “…to the best of my abilities,” he recited.
Her voice was stronger now as she echoed him now, her eyes fixed on Ragno’s.
”Thank you, Auror Weasley,” said Ragno, when she had finished. “Carry on, Mr Criste.”
Criste was draping something over her shoulders, something red. An Auror’s cloak, she realised. She was powerfully reminded of Adenet placing his own cloak on her shoulders, on the battlefield outside Beauxbatons. But this one seemed heavier. Because this one’s mine, she decided. The weight of responsibility.
The weight seemed crushing now, because she was already missing her role of Headmistress, a job that had always seemed to weigh her down. But it wasmine. Not Henri Sendulla’s. I don’t want to do this. I want things to be as they were.
But that wasn’t possible, was it?
Criste’s hand was on her arm, turning her around, and she could see the other Aurors now, gorgeous in their red robes.
“Perform the introductions, Mr Criste,” said Ragno, behind her.
Criste gestured to a small, portly man with unruly brown hair and a piercing stare. “Commander Blanchet of the First Brigade of Aurors…” Blanchet drew himself up, his eyes full of aggressive pride, and nodded – a bow, Ginny realised.
Criste indicated a craggy-faced women with greying blonde hair. “Commander Laurent. Second Brigade of Aurors…” Laurent bowed her head gravely.
Criste was gesturing to a younger woman now, with stylishly cut hair and a quirking smile. “Commander Prevel, Third Brigade of Aurors.” The woman gave her a comradely head-flick.
Next to Prevel was an elderly Asian wizard, tall and stick-thin. “Commander Yan, Fourth Brigade of Aurors…” Yan clicked his heels together and nodded his head, stiffly. His face was stern and unfriendly.
“Commander Prevel is a new appointment too,” Ragno put in. “Her predecessor has… decided to seek other employment. And Mr Criste is your personal aide-de-camp.”
“Personal what…?” echoed Ginny in confusion.
Criste was talking again. “I swear…” Ginny, dazed, found herself echoing him. But then he nudged her heavily. “Not you,” he said.
“Not…?”
The brigade commanders were repeating Criste’s words.
Then there was silence.
“One more signature,” said Ragno, behind her. She turned, and his gaze was on her, and she still couldn’t read his expression. He slid another document across his desk towards her. The quill she’d used earlier was still there, and she reached for it automatically. Once more, she couldn’t bring herself to read the closely-written words, and she recklessly made ready to sign.
Then her hand froze, and her head swam. The end of the document read:
… to the best of my abilities.
(Signed)
Ginevra Bathilda Weasley
CHIEF AUROR
Magical Ministry for the State of France
“What?” asked Ginny, blankly. “I don’t...”
“Please sign,” urged Ragno quietly. “Then we can announce your appointment to the rest of the world,” said Ragno.
“Wait,” said Ginny, stupidly. “Me? Don’t I get a vote here?”
“Of course,” said Ragno. “You can turn your back on your adopted country. That is your right. But we do not ask you out of gratitude. We ask you out of need. Your country needs you, Madame Weasley. I need you.”
“And I need time…” Ginny managed.
“We have little time to give you,” said Ragno. “But we will give you all we can. We have placed a great deal on your shoulders, Ginny,” he went on. “As long as you accept, there is time for a proper handover. I suggest you continue with your present duties until the end of this academic year. Is that acceptable?”
“But I don’t know what the job is,” said Ginny, desperately.
Ragno nodded. “In a word?” he asked. “Leadership. I was there, you know.”
“Where?” asked Ginny in puzzlement.
“I was on the Hogwarts Express,” said Ragno. There was a gleam in his eye. “I shouldn’t have been, I know, but I wanted to play my part. And I did. I Stunned several British Aurors who had invaded our beautiful country, through the carriage windows. I survived the crash of the train. But then… Then, I was on a battlefield, with my compatriots, and all was confusion. I saw the Poles arrive, and I thought everything was lost.”
His eyes were burning unto hers.
“But then you came. La Nue. Joan of Arc. You knew what to do. You knew how to fire us, how to lead, how to find victory. I was one of those who ran, who followed you. I would have followed you into the teeth of death, I think. We are in a time of war, Ginny, a war with Britain, with Poland. A real war, not just the noise of threat and counterthreat. A war of beliefs, a fight for liberty, ours and for others. And for that we need a leader who knows how to fight.”
Auguste Ragno wasn’t a physically impressive man. He was small, greying, his face was lined. But there was something in his eyes, a determination, a fierceness, as he gazed at her in triumph.
“And now,” he said, “We have one.”