"So then when exactly did things begin to change? What was it that stole away the peaceful, stable lives we once enjoyed?"
The sharp accusation rang out through the room like a stone striking a stone floor.
Inside the house, the gathered crowd immediately began murmuring their various opinions in response to this question. But their voices remained low and indistinct, overlapping into an indecipherable buzz of uncertainty and confusion.
John's work-roughened fists tightened unconsciously at his sides. Firelight from the hearth flickered in his eyes, making them seem to burn with inner intensity. He didn't need to think about the answer.
From the very moment the new Minister had seized power without warning or proper transition, things had started going terribly wrong.
"Ever since our kind and beloved Minister Cornelius Fudge was abruptly removed from office, and Amelia Bones and Bryan Watson took the reins of power—the British wizarding world has become utterly unrecognizable!"
Angris's face had gone pale with what appeared to be genuine fury. His voice trembled slightly, lending authenticity to his words.
"Diagon Alley, a historic landmark that has stood for centuries and been renowned throughout the entire magical world, was reduced to smoking rubble in a single day!
St. Mungo's Hospital is packed with witches and wizards wounded in a war the Ministry rashly and unnecessarily provoked—and you, all of you good people, have lost the livelihoods you depended on, the jobs that fed your families, because of their reckless, short-sighted decisions!"
His words hung in the air like an indictment, and the crowd absorbed them in tense silence.
Outside, the wandering wind that had been merely persistent turned suddenly vicious and howling.
The old oak tree standing by the door bent at the waist under the force of the gust. Its leaves collided violently against one another in a rushing, rustling chorus that sounded, horribly and disturbingly, like someone weeping or perhaps screaming.
"But—" The eldest of the Shear boys, Rolf, raised his hand hesitantly like a student in a classroom.
To John's genuine surprise—and apparently to everyone else's as well, given the sudden hush that fell, Rolf dared to offer a word of dissent.
"The Ministry was trying to capture Death Eaters and oppose You-Know-Who, weren't they?"
"Of course they were!" Angris showed no visible irritation at being questioned. Instead, he simply drew the corner of his mouth into a contemptuous smile.
"Fighting You-Know-Who is always the correct thing to do. I would never dispute that. Only—" He paused, letting the word hang.
"I think we can all agree that the specific methods the Ministry chose to pursue this righteous goal were rather less than sound, can't we?"
Another ripple of murmurs spread through the workers. Heads nodded slowly in agreement.
"Bones and Watson gave the Death Eaters an ultimatum," Angris continued, his voice taking on a harder edge, his expression grew stern and disapproving.
"Surrender yourselves to Azkaban or face having your Gringotts vaults seized and your family fortunes confiscated."
He let that sink in before delivering his next point. "First—as some of you may or may not know, the Ministry had absolutely no legal basis for doing any of this. In other words, they acted entirely without the support of a single relevant law or statute. It was pure autocracy, pure unchecked power. Pure tyranny dressed up in the language of justice."
His voice rose with indignation.
"Furthermore, the Ministry chose the most incendiary, the most provocative possible way to antagonize You-Know-Who and his followers. Did they truly expect him not to retaliate with overwhelming violence? Did they think he would simply accept this humiliation lying down?"
Angris spread his hands in a gesture of bewildered disbelief.
"Bones's Ministry gave no thought at all to the welfare of ordinary citizens who would be caught in the crossfire. You can see the evidence yourselves with your own eyes. The merchants of Diagon Alley are still trading out of flimsy canvas tents on an empty lot like refugees in their own country."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across their faces to ensure his next words hit with maximum impact.
"And their reckless, careless decision to publicly brand the heads of certain ancient and distinguished pure-blood families as followers of You-Know-Who, as Death Eaters, without proper trials or evidence—that single act of careless overreach is the direct reason every single one of you is facing hardship today!"
From somewhere in the crowd, a middle-aged man with dull, straw-coloured hair that hung around his skinny face suddenly covered his face with both hands. His shoulders began heaving with suppressed sobs.
"My family has served the Nott household faithfully since my grandfather's time," he said, his voice was muffled and breaking with emotion. "But now the Ministry says Mr. Nott was caught in the Battle of Diagon Alley—that he's a Death Eater!"
"I rather think, perhaps—" Angris spoke with carefully calibrated sympathy, as if he were merely offering an innocent alternative explanation.
"That Mr. Nott was simply there at Gringotts that day to withdraw his own galleons from a discredited bank whose security had clearly been compromised."
He smiled sadly. "I know Mr. Nott personally, you see. Have done business with him for years. He's a thoroughly law-abiding wizard, always punctual with his taxes, always respectful of Ministry regulations. He has absolutely nothing to do with Death Eaters or dark magic."
The grey-eyed gentleman with the walking cane had stood silently by the door since his arrival, face expressionless, watching the dark street outside through the grimy window—keeping watch, it seemed, over this gathering that the Ministry certainly would not welcome if they knew of it.
But even this cold, aloof figure could not help casting Angris a quick, sharp glance at those particular words.
"Now," Angris continued smoothly, "I imagine none of you are puzzled any longer about why I've chosen to help you."
He let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. "I cannot bear to watch the Ministry descend into chaos and tyranny. I cannot bear to watch the British wizarding world—the place I grew up loving—become a laughingstock among other magical nations.
I cannot bear to watch good, innocent, hardworking people like all of you displaced and suffering, with nothing to fall back on, no help from the very government that's supposed to protect you. And naturally, I will be honest with you—I do hope that my own business interests here in Britain can eventually flourish again as they once did."
The admission of some self-interest seemed to make him more trustworthy rather than less.
His voice suddenly rose sharply:
"So, we must make the Ministry hear us! We must hold them accountable for the irresponsible decisions that have brought disaster down on our heads. Accountable for destroying our lives without a second thought!"
John felt his breath quickening, his chest tightening with a mixture of anger and desperate longing for what he'd lost.
In the old days. Back when he could still work his regular shifts in Mr. Greengrass's workshop. Life hadn't been lavish or luxurious. But their small fields had kept enough food on the table to prevent hunger.
And what he earned at the workshop with his hands and skill had let him buy Yvonne a new dress now and then. Had let him pick up sweets and a few basic medicinal Potions for Bona, keeping her healthy and happy.
And for himself, after a long day's honest labour, there had been the occasional luxury of two pints of sharp whiskey at the Leaky Cauldron, sitting at the bar with other working men.
That good life had vanished with every blunder the Ministry made. And it wasn't coming back.
The voices inside the house began to swell and multiply. People shed their natural reserve and caution, leaning together, turning toward one another, pouring out the anger and resentment that had been building steadily inside them.
"But what can we actually do, though?"
A woman still wearing her kitchen apron shifted anxiously in deep worry. "Mr. Angris… I—we—we're no good at magic, most of us. We couldn't possibly take on the Ministry's trained Aurors in a fight. They'd destroy us. And Watson—just one spell from him and he'd finish all of us! We'd be dead or in Azkaban!"
Her voice was rising toward panic.
"Oh, my dear lady—" Angris turned to her with a warm, reassuring expression that radiated kindness and understanding. He moved closer, lowering his voice to a soothing register.
"I never said anything about a riot. I never said anything about confronting the Ministry with wands drawn. Please don't misunderstand my intentions." He spoke slowly, clearly, ensuring everyone heard and understood.
"All we need to do is make our voices heard. Make ourselves impossible to ignore. Naturally, in order for the Ministry to take our concerns seriously rather than dismissing us as irrelevant, there may come a time when we need to resort to more… forceful measures."
He stressed his next words heavily: "But! Our only intention is to fight peacefully for what is fair and just. We mean no harm to anyone. We're not Isn't that right?"
The woman in the apron gave a small, tentative nod. The expression in her worried face settled slowly into resolve.
"The very first thing we must do!" Angris raised a single finger, pointing it toward the ceiling. His gaze swept across the crowd, making eye contact with each person in turn.
Deep beneath the surface warmth in his eyes, buried where these simple people would never see it, lay contempt and cold disdain for these useful fools.
"Is find more people—many more people—who share our frustration with the Ministry's irresponsible behaviour. Only greater numbers can produce a greater voice. Only greater numbers will make the Ministry's lords stop and actually listen to what we're asking for."
"We want work!"
The two Shear brothers surged suddenly to their feet without warning. Their faces blazed with newfound zeal. Their fists raised high before the room in clenched.
"We want stable lives again! We want the wizarding world restored to what it was! We want the Ministry to compensate us fairly for everything we've lost! And if Amelia Bones can't manage to do that, then bring Minister Fudge back!"
The Shear brothers' furious, passionate cry ignited something that had been smouldering for weeks in the hearts of people worn down by hardship and uncertainty and fear.
Dirty, tired faces suddenly burned with anger at those distant figures who held power over their lives but seemed not to care about their suffering.
"Bring back Fudge!"
"We want compensation!"
"We want work!"
The chants began to rise.
Angris watched with concealed satisfaction as the rabble he had so skilfully stirred into motion surged around him.
'They were wretched, these people,' he thought with internal contempt. 'Feeble-minded. Easily led. Desperate enough to believe anything that gave them hope or an enemy to blame. But when their voices joined together in sufficient numbers, even Amelia Bones would be forced to take notice. And when that moment came—'
His thoughts were interrupted.
Whoosh—
The sound was soft but distinctive, cutting through the rising chants.
The crowd was too caught up in venting its accumulated fury and pain to notice it immediately. But Angris and the cold, grey-eyed gentleman saw and heard it at once.
The dead, cold fireplace in John's house which had been empty and dark had suddenly lit with emerald flame without any warning.
In the single frozen second of startled surprise that followed this unexpected development, both well-dressed men drew their wands simultaneously pointing them at the hearth with sharp, wary expressions.
Their sudden defensive reaction silenced the room instantly.
The crowd turned, puzzled and confused, to stare at the fireplace now pouring out green flame.
"Did you invite someone else to this meeting, John?"
Angris narrowed his eyes, his previously warm tone was now carrying an unmistakable edge.
"What… invite… oh, I didn't—" John stared at the emerald-blazing hearth with equal bafflement.
Under the tense gaze of the entire room, a girl tumbled out of the fireplace.
She had dark golden-brown hair that fell around her shoulders, bright silver eyes that seemed to shine, and wore a peculiar pair of earrings shaped like carrots that dangled and swayed with her movements.
"Oh, are you all…"
The girl, dressed in pale pink pyjamas paid no mind to the two wands pointed at her. She looked out at the gathered crowd with lively, curious interest and asked.
"Practising singing?"
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