In The Heat Of The Night

And I'm redefining what they could not deceive

Upon their big arrival and then she don't think

Take them off to war, if you wanna ask me for some more

I'm taking your days

In her prime

Just in time

In Her Prime, The Strokes

The heat was sweltering, unbearably so. Fudge's feet were slipping around inside his shoes and the sunlight was bearing down heavily on the ground outside. What made matters worse was that his sitting room, already as hot as that delightful tropical country he and Mona had visited earlier in the year, was now made worse by the roaring fire his wife had lit to go and see her sister in Shrewsbury. He wasn't good at dealing with heat and neither were the rest of the Ministry, it seemed. That last battle a little over a week ago had been a nightmare to sort out; the flustered Heads of Department had been more opinionated and restless in the burning heat and therefore a job that should have taken a couple of hours at most was written up for public viewing just an hour before the Prophet went to print. The sweat began to trickle down his face and no amount of wiping would make it stop. Checking his lime hat and pinstriped cloak in the mirror, Cornelius Fudge was most unhappy to see that his headgear clashed horribly with his red face. It was not a look that the Minister of Magic should wear. Sighing, he kissed his wife goodbye and Apparated as she stepped into the fireplace.

Seconds later, he was on the second floor of the Ministry of Magic. Striding past five plain doors, he poked his head around the door of the Auror Headquarters and was greeted with the usual greetings of "Hello, Minister". Even after all these years, Fudge still swelled with pride when he heard his name said with such respect, something that he had only dreamed about as a young man entering the Ministry for the first time. In these troubled times, he knew he had the respect of his Aurors and that was something that he could still claim in the face of all the criticism.. He headed back past the plain doors, and stopped when he reached the third one. Carved into the door were four crests, entirely unremarkable at first glance. He tapped the door three times on each crest and it swung open, leading him to a clinically white room furnished only with two small red leather chairs. On both the left and the right side were two mahogany doors, each with a crest and a motto above them. He headed to the second door on the right, where the crest of a man and woman in a chariot; wands in one hand and weapons in the other, hung prominently. The silver motto 'Oderint dum metuant' shone brightly in the light. Fudge had always been nervous about entering here ever since childhood, when his father had grabbed him by the hand and ushered him away from the doors, telling him that 'the bad ones' were in there. His nervousness increased as he laid a chubby hand on the doorknob, the sweat once again beginning to drip down his face only this time not from the heat. The people within were not as reverent as the Aurors. The people within had no time for the excuses others made or the diplomatic ways of the Ministry. The people in here he would never comprehend. Oderint dum metuant: Let them hate, provided that they fear.

He stepped in and heard the swish of the closing door behind him; it was followed by a slam that echoed down the empty corridor. Then a young woman flew out of one of the four rooms that opened onto the corridor.

"Good day m'dear. I'm looking for your superior," said Fudge to the woman. She didn't smile or greet him. She simply glared at him through the red fringe that fell onto her face and jerked her head back towards the door behind her before stalking back to the room she had appeared from. He felt highly affronted that she had not shown him more respect; this made an uncomfortable addition to the feelings of fear and apprehension this place had provoked in him since childhood. Quietly, he began to walk towards the room at the end, gazing at the portraits on the walls. The men and women painted never ceased to amaze him, in the sense that they unsettled him slightly. A smiling young woman in one held a crossbow in her hands and she winked at him as he passed her. Fudge tried his utmost to avoid her winks and intimidating looks. The blasé attitude was one that Fudge never understood about these people, the way they could mix anger and humour in one. The gold plaque next to her name shimmered brightly in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. 'Helen Wainwright, 1702-1797. Wife of esteemed Auror Operative Harold Wainwright. Killed a total of forty-three vampires in her husband's and the Ministry's service. Order of Merlin, Second Class.' Next to her portrait was that of another wife of an Operative and beyond that was a young man, who had died during his Operative training in 1678. Portrait after portrait of laughing people, whose laughter and smiles seemed to fade as he walked by. He breathed in and smelt the tantalising mix or leather, spice and wealth.

Time and money had been invested into the Operatives, which is why they had more luxurious offices than the Aurors. Most of the fortune had come from the families of those who had been the first Operatives; the long gone Clifford family had poured money into the venture as if it was going out of fashion. Fudge had hoped as a young man leaving Hogwarts to join the Division of Laverna, like his beloved father. However, Fate had stepped in and he had failed his Auror training, forcing him to seek work in the Department of Magical Catastrophes; something he had not enerally enjoyed, the work tended to be boring unless it was a chance to shine amongst the devastation. He was, after all, a Slytherin at heart.

When he reached the door with the huge silver doorknocker, he looked up at the biggest picture of them all. Mars and Bellona stood in a chariot amidst destruction and chaos. Their faces stood with a radiated cruelty, revelling in the catastrophe around them. Fudge stood uneasily in front of it and felt his face begin to flush with nervousness. His father Oscar had not liked the Division of Mars. The deep-seated rivalry between the Mars and Laverna had escalated through the years and had shown no signs of slowing down. The first Operatives of each had strived to outdo each other and their legacy had passed onto the next generation, which had passed it onto the next. Brothers who entered the Operatives together and had been separated into both Mars and Laverna had never spoken again. Oscar's own childhood best friend had entered Mars and from then on the two would cross over the street to avoid being near each other. He pushed the door to Alamus' room open and felt as if his body had been plunged deep into ice as the crash a chair landed where he had stood seconds before, thrown from the room the redheaded woman had entered, it's sound echoing around Fudge's head.

"You should calm your Operatives, Alamus," he said, wiping the beads of sweat from his head. Alamus was not like the others in here, he was easy to mould into whatever you wished him to be. "If I had been a second slower a chair would have crushed my skull." Alamus looked stricken for a moment and then with a deliberate calm stood up, pulled out a chair and motioned for Fudge to sit in it.

"I'm dreadfully sorry Minister, that particular group, well, they have many explosive personalities amongst them. Mr. Bowden and his wife are often at each other's throats, the way couples are. Miss de la Natividad is also quite a character."

"The best Operatives often are, Alamus. My father was a character. However, we are not here to discuss my father, are we? No, I'm here officially to report on Operative losses and unofficially to talk tactics. Now, let's get all this out of the way. Mars has suffered the loss of four Field Operatives, all down to Death Eaters?"

Here Fudge raised an eyebrow conspiratorially, at which Alamus quickly nodded and looked down at his papers. Fudge smiled and signed the parchment Alamus pushed at him. The names of the four dead caught the light and seemed to glow up at him. Repressing the uneasy guilt that surged within him, he pushed the parchment away, turning it over and hoping that if the writing was out of sight it would also be out of his mind. These four dead weren't the Ministry's fault entirely. Circumstances had arisen, which could not have been foreseen. If Alamus noticed his uneasiness he had said nothing, a wise move if he wanted to remain where he was, behind his desk and chair bossing others around. Fudge took his cloak off and leant back in the chair.

"OK, now let's get onto the real business. I've told the others, you're the last one to tell. You-Know-Who has got the support of the Dementors and the giants, now he's appealing to the vampires, promising them a constant supply of humans and torture dens. No doubt Macnair will be the representative there." Fudge shuddered at the memory of the Auror who had attempted to stop Macnair's escape from Azkaban whose left ear would never be the same again. "The girl's still with him, I suppose. Stupid child. Should have left him the moment she knew he was a Death Eater." Alamus simply nodded and began to tap his palms together nervously. Fudge, who was staring at the parchment with Mars' Operatives names, noticed this and simmered slightly at Alamus' demeanour. He had no time at this point for nervousness. He slammed the documents down on the desk.

"It's time to play dirty," he said. "I hoped I would never have to resort to this but the way we're losing our men and women makes it my only option. I want one, two at the most of your Operatives to go to the vampires and while they're at it, the Harlenians. Reason with them, use force if they must, persuade them that we can match what You-Know-Who can offer them. It's that simple."

"Minister, are you sure that's wise? Harlenians, sir, I've seen them kill. Horrible, disgusting things they were. There was blood everywhere. And vampires, they'll kill my Operatives if they decide that they don't like them. One Operative facing a nest of vampires? Sir, I beg you, please. We really can't afford to lose more Operatives. Send Aurors or some others. Please." He looked up at Fudge, a look of desperation in his eyes as well as he said the final word.

"You are the only leader to refuse Alamus. The others gave their Operatives willingly." This was not strictly true. Hortense Forster over in the Division of Pax had begged him to reconsider and Moore in Terminus had sadly signed over his two Operatives, his quill agonisingly slow as he wrote the names. Only Higson in Laverna had done it straight away, smiling as the two Operatives fates were sealed.

"I am beginning to think that maybe you don't value this job and its responsibility as highly as you should."

"No!" the stricken reply came. "Take them. Take who you need Minister. It is their job after all."

Fudge smiled and leaned back in his chair, knowing he had broken Alamus' resolve. After all Fudge was that rarest of all things, a child of a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff. He knew that he had inherited his mother's good grace and friendly nature, however he could use his father's cunning to get what he wanted, when he wanted. It was a useful combination to have when you needed something fast, and he was prepared to use it now.

"I need a strong fighter, a person who can think their way out of trouble and fight, if necessary. A good mind, of course and mostly, I need a diplomat, someone who can calm brewing hostilities whilst being able to look after themselves. 'Iron Butterflies', as my wife calls them. Who've you got who fits the bill?"

"There is Elvira de la Natividad. Age 26. Very strong, quick witted, very charming sometimes. Here is her profile." Fudge looked at the person peering up at him from the photo and was slightly shocked that it was the redheaded young woman. Looking the incident now her name fit her perfectly. Elvira, there was something fiery about it. Fudge had a suspicion that it had been her who had thrown the chair at him. He shook his head and held out his hand for the next profile.

" Jason Bowden. Age 32. Incredibly agile and would rival even Macnair in strength." There was a slight pause as Alamus stalled. "However, he and his wife Keira have a young daughter." He raised his eyebrows hopefully and Fudge understood what it meant. He licked his lips as Alamus' desperation grew and shook his head at the picture of the muscular black man.

"I don't wish to deprive any child of her parents." Alamus smiled gratefully and moved on.

"Robson, I think not. Keira Bowden we have already ruled out. Ah, how about Pierpoint? Miss Catherine Pierpoint. Age 26. Strong and agile, good under pressure, intelligent, can be shy but is very diplomatic. Calms many quarrels within her division. Hides behind Celeste Earnshaw too much, that's Cathy's problem. Good chance for her to come into her own." Fudge looked at the woman in the photo. Her face seemed to ooze tranquillity and luckily she was pretty, which put Harlenian males at ease. Preference towards the good-looking was unfailing throughout all species. It's what makes mankind what he was.

"Call her in, Alamus." Alamus smiled and rushed out of the office leaving Fudge to look at the pictures of Alamus' family on the desk. Never one to pass up nosing into others business (one of his mother's traits), he picked each one up and studied them closely. He was just looking at the young man getting married when Catherine walked in, her hair slightly messy and the hem of her robes upturned. She smoothed both things out and shyly held out her hand. He grasped it and shook it with earnest. She was simply pretty, not stunning but pretty all the same. Perfect for the job.

"Lovely to meet you m'dears" said Fudge "Sit down, dear, sit down. Alamus, stop hovering about, it's irritating me. Well, all settled? Very good. Miss Pierpoint, Mr Clayfield and I have an exciting proposition for you."

"I'd be delighted to hear it, Minister." She sat bolt upright in her chair and her hands were nervously clasped in her lap, however her voice remained calm and steady. Fudge waved his wand and a tea set and biscuits appeared on the desk.

"My dear," he said smoothly, "there is nothing to be nervous about." He waved his hand at the teapot as Alamus poured tea; the noise of the liquid landing in the cup broke the silence that had filled the room. He took his cup and held it to his lips, observing Catherine's blank expression.

"You should know, if Alamus tells you and your colleagues anything that You-Know-Who is sending envoys to the Dark creatures and Intelligence suggests that vampires and Harlenians are next on his list. We need to send out envoys as soon as possible, to try and persuade them that he cannot give them what he needs. This is vitally important. If they go over to his side then my, I mean our, job will become so much harder. Each division is sending out either one or two Operatives and Alamus has decided you are the best one from this division."

He looked hopefully at her and saw that her face had not changed at all. The expressionless gaze was fixed somewhere between him and a cabinet. His throat constricted slightly at this lack of success and his mouth became somewhat dry. This was the reason he hated working with these people. They were either maniacs or took no notice of you at all. He loudly cleared his throat and started again.

"You have an excellent record. Seven Outstanding grades in your N.E.W.Ts, wonderful comments and reports from your Auror and Operative training and a fine work record. Add this to the many personal qualities that Alamus tells me you have and I think you are perfect for the job" She frustratingly emotionless in her chair. If she though silence would deter him then she had another think coming. This needed Slytherin tactics and he leaned slowly across to her, keeping his voice low and level.

"Do you know Walden Macnair, Miss Pierpoint?" She looked over at him, the slightest tinge of emotion crossing her face. He remained passive but tried to keep the gleam from his eyes.

"He is my best friend's fiancé. I don't see what this has got to do with anything, Minister." She looked at Fudge who smiled sweetly at her, moved in for the kill.

"Do you consider him a friend?" Catherine looked at him and smiled dangerously. Taking this to mean that the challenge had been accepted he started to tap his rather warm fingers on the cool desk and waited for her reply.

"I do. Despite what he is, I have think of him as someone I could trust and depend on. Is this really something that needs to be discussed?"

"Then," Fudge smoothly said, " what is the problem? We are almost certain that he will be You-Know-Who's envoy and seeing as we're sending you, I think he would show you leniency. After all, you are his fiancée's best friend, I highly doubt he'd hurt you. Which is why you are perfect for this job. You could reason with him, too. Or at least get Miss Earnshaw to do it." He leaned back in his chair and watched as she began to work out what he had said and consider her options. He waved a plump hand in front of his blushing face and blew the hair from his face. This heat was maddening and he would only get warmer if she carried on dithering.

"Cathy," Alamus said gently, "You don't have to do this, but think about it. It would give you a chance to come into your own, not be pushed behind. And think of the chances for promotion later on. Who knows, if I kick the bucket, you could be in the running." She sat for another minute, gazing out the window into the blinding sun. Then she looked at him and smiled.

"Fine. What do I sign?" Fudge passed her the papers, which she poured over before finally signing her name. She then pushed back her chair and walked out of the room without acknowledging either Alamus or Fudge. Alamus looked at her go and sadly signed the parchment. Fudge stood up and placed his bowler hat back on his head, a triumphant look on his beetroot red face. He grimaced at the thought of Alamus and Catherine together. The idea of Alamus and a lovely young thing like her was disgusting. Besides, it was the lust for power that had persuaded her, as it does to most people. He looked back at Alamus, who had his head in his hands.

"Sometimes, Alamus, we all have to make these choices." His pompous words echoed around the boiling room as he turned and Disapparated.