The Gray's Secret: Scene 13 (1-4) (Patreon)

Unusually for a weekend, the floo entrance of the Ministry of Magic was bustling.

Clerks and staff ran to and fro on errand after errand while Lords and Ladies scattered throughout the corridors, walking where they pleased, talking, plotting, bowing, curtseying, occasionally shouting, and even more occasionally, pulling wands.

Every few seconds, the Emerald green fires burning along the entrance hallway flared as another wizard or witch emerged after a roller-coaster ride from somewhere up or down the country.

Lord Malfoy casually stepped out of one of the fireplaces like he owned the place, brushing off an errant speck of soot that had the temerity to befoul his otherwise immaculate Wizengamot robes.

A few moments later, he was joined in quick succession by Narssisa and Virgo.

He nodded to his wife who nodded back, turned with a swish, and moved off on a mission of her own.

Turning back to Virgo, Lucius did his best to act like a man who was in complete control of his family. “Come, daughter,” he said. “And remember what we discussed.”

Virgo said nothing. That was safer. She instead nodded and followed Lord Malfoy in the direction of the Basilisk hearing, idly playing with a tiny box in her pocket – a box connected by a protean charm to an exact replica she’d already placed in Rita Skeeta’s office, a good few months ago – ready to unleash Harry’s identity the moment he appeared weakened, or else threaten mutual destruction if he tried anything against her life.

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Lord Jacob Greengrass stepped out from the ministry floo in a swirl of Greengrass green robes and immediately made a beeline towards some familiar faces. His wife and daughter should be joining him soon, but until then, he planned to get right down to business.

“Smith! Zazo!”

The two lords turned at his advance, Smith decked out in full plate armour under his robes with his customary war hammer over his shoulder, while Zazo was dressed miles better than Jacob could ever recall.

“Jacob!” Zazo answered with a beaming smile. “How many times do I have to tell you, old chap. Call me Russell. Call me friend! For I am now bent in eternal gratitude to your service for as long as I draw breath! And to the service of our inimitable mysterious lord of lords.”

“Shhh,” Smith hissed. “Iks-nay on the Lord of Lords-nay.” But he still had a twinkle in his eyes as he turned back to Jacob.

“All ready for today, old chap? Lots on the docket.”

“About as ready as we can be,” Jacob answered. “We’ll just take it one hearing at a time and see where the chips fall.”

Smith snorted. “On that note. Up for a round of Wizarding Poker after we’re all done here? I know I’m going to need more than a few drinks to unwind.”

Jacob smiled back. “Sure. You in, Russell?”

Zozo grinned. “Do not think that my just-found joy at the delight of débonair discourse will dull my mind in games of chance and bluff! Of course, I’m in.”

Smith’s face turned serious. “Speaking of a Lord of Lords, coming up behind you, Jacob.”

Jacob turned.

It was Albus Dumbledore.

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“Why, Luv, did you insist on bringing that box with you?” Bozo asked, extracting a smouldering dog-eared cigarette from his mouth and putting it out on the nearby ‘Thank you for not smoking here’ sign.

Rita seemingly paid her photographer no mind, scanning the crowds in the Ministry entranceway as she put the box back in her alligator-skin bag. In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure why she’d brought the ominous box herself. Except she had a nose for a story and she knew the box had one.

There were only so many stories people would go to the trouble of planting a box as magically sophisticated as this one with a reporter like her, and every one of the people likely to be the target of such a story was going to be here today.

It stood to reason she’d bring it.

But if it was going to open today, it hadn’t yet.

That was fine. She had another mission – the mission she’d been on for nearly a year now. To uncover Lord Slytherin’s secret identity.

“There!” she declared, pointing towards a likely good place to start. “Come, on Bozo! Move it!”

There seemed to be some kind of argument going on between the Leader of the Gray and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

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Dumbledore stared at the angry retreating back of the young Jacob Greengrass. Such a shame that he’d never managed to persuade the boy to join him. If he had, the whole business with Slytherin might never had happened.

All around him, Wizards and Witches whispered at the exchange that had just passed between them. Maybe he had been a little undiplomatic, but the matter of young Harry was a serious issue! And it wasn’t as though Jacob had any direct connection to the boy. He really thought he’d have been a bit more understanding.

“Getting in trouble already, Dumbledore?" said a voice like marzipan – sweet and possibly laced with cyanide.

Albus turned.

“Ah, Miss Skeeta,” he said in a jovial tone. “This is a non-pleasure I wasn’t expecting.” Though why he hadn’t been expecting it, he had no magical idea.

There was a flash as a large magical camera went off.

“Tell us Dumbledore, what do you think of accusations that there are too many items being discussed today for each one to have the proper weight they deserve?”

“I seem to recall you levelled that accusation, Miss Skeeta,” Albus replied with a twinkle. “And the number is far from unprecedented.”

“So, you would say you strenuously deny the accusations, then?”

“I would say what I said,” he said a little less humour.

“And what about Lord Slytherin? Do you think it fair that someone so important in our political system be allowed to abuse the position of seat proxy just to retain their anonymity and not serve their duty on our legislator, which is the moral basis for all the privileges our nobility enjoys?”

Dumbledore frowned. This was far more tricky territory.

“A seat proxy is one of those privileges, Miss Skeeta,” he said in an admonishing tone of voice – the one that had never worked on her, even when he’d once caught her sneaking into the boy’s toilets that one time with a muggle disposable camera. “And I’ve been in correspondence with Lord Slytherin the last few weeks and he has assured me that he will, in fact, be making an appearance during the course of the weekend.

“Really?!” that resulted in a lot of quill scratching on the parchment the damn witch always carried with her everywhere she went. “Does that mean the Wizengamot will allow him to take the stand while masked? How can we be sure he really is who he says he is?”

Dumbledore’s smile was becoming rather fixed now. “Come now, Rita, I’m sure you don’t need to be told that a noble house ring is as sure a guarantor of identity as any.” In truth, he really had tried his damned hardest to use the situation to force Slytherin to reveal himself—a situation that, with the right preparation, would could all but guarantee a check against the rising power—but the Gray had pulled enough strings to get a special motion passed that allowed him this special privilege.

Which just went to show how much political capital the smallest faction had managed to accumulate in the previous five years.

“And though his presence on the Wizengamot is quite new, no one can deny the good Slytherin has done for Magical Britain,” he said, doing his best not to grit his teeth while saying it, “The economies of quite a few depressed magical towns and villages have been uplifted through his efforts and we’re even quite close to signing an important inport/export defence trade deal with MACUSA, facilitated in no small part by a demand for the artefacts he crafts.”

Another surprising revelation, that Lord Slytherin had been in talks with the American magical government to sell them magical boats that could travel underwater—one that the Department for Magical Trade had enthusiastically jumped on the moment the export license request had been filed—but it did help explain how the Gray Lord had avoided his surveillance efforts around Gairsay Island the previous year. He had to hand it to the man, he certainly knew how to play the game.

Dumbledore started looking around for an exit.

“You are not bitter about your loss of the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts?” Rita asked.

“Not at all,” Albus lied with a chuckle. “I merely acknowledged that my many positions could be better served with more focus on my part, once other, just as capable, individuals stepped forward, ready to take up such an important mantle as the future education of our children.”

Rita looked at him incredulously. “Lockhart?”

“Headmaster Lockhart, dear,” Albus corrected by instinct.

“I heard Slytherin had you booted after you brought a Chimera into the school. Quite ironic, wouldn’t you say? Given the subject of one of today’s hearings.”

“I couldn’t possibly comment on the subject of a hearing before it has been heard,” Dumbledore said, suddenly seeing a possible out. “And now, Miss Skeeta, if you’ll excuse me.” Not bothering to look back, he made a beeline for a wizard he had every reason to intercept on his way to the Basilisk hearing. “James!”

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