Poison Pen

Chapter 20: A Call for Treason

The day after Oliver Twist's column appeared in the Quibbler, the atrium of the Ministry was filled with irate people demanding explanations. The witches and wizards manning the information desks had, by mid-morning, called for aurors to guarantee their safety.

As if that wasn't enough chaos, hundreds of owls soon filled the space above the floor, each one fighting for a place to land and be relieved of their letter.

Between the screaming of angry people, hooting of impatient owls and the resultant flurry of feathers and owl droppings, it didn't take the aurors long to close off all entrances to the Ministry. Many repelling charms, along with threats of arrest later and the atrium was quiet once more.

The shell-shocked personnel and weary aurors were given restorative and calming draughts before being sent home.

~~

While the aurors were busy in the atrium, an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot was called for that afternoon. To have their way of life questioned in such a blatantly disrespectful manner offended them deeply! As the membership filed into the Wizengamot chambers, few took note of the many seats that remained empty.

All seats were inherited, passed down through the generations from one pureblood head of house to their heir. The empty seats were sad reminders of the many family lines that had died out, for one reason or another.

Several seats were held by proxy by another noble house as the current heir was either a minor, or had been disowned by the family head and declared as unfit to serve. Many seats went vacant because of the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He had targeted certain families, wiping them out root and branch, leaving no known survivors. No one knew why they had been so thoroughly eradicated save the one who ordered their demise.

Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, held several proxies, including the Potter seat. Many wondered if the old wizard would willingly yield it to Potter when he came of age. It was a well-known fact that Albus Dumbledore held his power close.

~~

"Overlord Ragnok!" A flustered goblin panted, "You are needed on the main floor, my Liege."

Ragnok looked up from the papers her was reading. "What is it Stoneblade?"

"The floor is filled with wizards and witches, all wanting to take the heritage test!" Stoneblade wrung his hands. "Those wishing to actually do business with us are being crowded out!"

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the elder goblin rose from his ornate desk. "Very well, call up another cohort of guards in full armor and meet me on the main floor in five minutes." Stoneblade didn't bother to answer, simply turned and ran from the room.

"Ah, Oliver Twist. I knew you were going to poke the anthill," Ragnok chuckled. Turning to his desk and carefully gathering the papers he'd been reading, he placed them in a small hidden vault for later. He then quietly left the office closing the heavily warded door softly.

The main floor of the bank was churning with activity. Wizards and witches were struggling to get to an open teller, all of them waving a copy of the Quibbler at any goblin who made eye contact.

"SILENCE!" A guttural voice roared. "Those wishing the heritage test will follow me!" The armored and fully armed goblin turned and stalked down a long hall. At the end of it, double doors stood open, revealing a large room with four desks, each manned by a goblin.

When the guard reached the open doors, he turned to face the crowd behind him and snarled, "You will form four lines as you pass these doors. You will wait your turn. If you cause problems you will be removed...one way or another." He then turned to stand beside the doors, rested the shaft of his gleaming halberd on the floor and allowed those behind him to enter. The first people to pass him inched by warily, eyes on the wicked weapon in his hand.