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One Hundred Muggles and Muggle-Borns


Nobody looked twice at the nice dressed man in the fine pressed suit. He walked through the center of London, looking about with a quietly disapproving stare, his lips puckered in disdain. He moved through the crowds smoothly, unnoticed, calculating.

Ahead on the sidewalk, a little boy tugged at his mother’s arm, pointing up into a shop window, where a great many toys were displayed - toys with moving parts and colorful paint. “Look mother,” the boy said, “Look!” And so she did, pausing to let the boy stare at the display, a smile on her face as she gently ran her fingers over the little boy’s head lovingly.

The man scowled as he passed by, meeting the boy’s eyes. The boy shrank away, hiding behind his mother, clutching her skirts, quieting. She turned to look what had frightened him, but the man had already moved on without pausing and was never to be suspected. But the little boy would have nightmares that night about a man with red eyes and a sneering face…

Having arrived at his destination - a red phone box - the man lifted the telephone receiver and quickly dialed a number. Nobody noticed as they walked by, but the man slowly lowered into the ground, descending beneath the streets of London in the phone box.

He emerged a moment later in the entry-way of the Ministry of Magic. The wide golden hall hummed with activity - floos that lined the walls popped and hissed as employees and visitors came and went through the grates with bright green flashes of light. Others emerged from halls that led off to the peculiar bathroom entrances that were sometimes used for employees who could not afford a direct floo line. The main entrance hall was illuminated by a great big chandelier that hung overhead, looming and magnificent, with hundreds of tear-drop shaped lights that twinkled and sparked.

“Please present your wand for inspection and registration,” murmured a bored-sounding ministry official, sitting beside a gate that led into the bank of elevators. He said the words to each person that passed him. They would pause, laying their wands on a small device that looked like a scale, and a print out would pop out of it and he would rip it off and hand it over to them, then wave for the next person, repeating the process. “Thank you…. Please present your wand for inspection and registration… Thank you…”

The nice dressed man walked boldly toward this official, his posture nearly perfect, and his face as cold as it had been outdoors. His stride oozed with confidence.

“Please present your wand for inspection and registration,” the official said as the man approached him.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, really, do you?” the man asked.

A funny look came over the official’s face and he stammered, “Not necessary, no sir… Thank you..” he waved the man on and on he went, then turned to the next person, “Registration… the… your wand… thank you…” he murmured incoherently.

“Are you quite alright there, Walt?” a witch asked.

But Walt only nodded numbly and murmured some hosh-posh about pickled herring.

Upstairs, the Minister for Magic was preparing her speech when she was interrupted by a hard rapping knock on the door. She ignored it at first, desiring to finish the sentence she was on, at least, but the knock came again and a blot of ink smeared across the page and she threw down her quill in annoyed frustration. She had told her staff to leave her be while she constructed the right words to say to address the current situation. People were positively bats over the latest attacks from the so-called Dark Lord and his followers and she, as Minister for Magic, needed to address them and calm them all down until the bloody aurors could clean up the mess. It took a great amount of concentration to write a speech telling the world there was nothing to fear when she herself hadn’t slept in a week in fear of the attacks.

She wrenched open the door. “What is so bloody important that it couldn’t wait until ---” Eugenia stopped, her jaw dropped.

“I do apologize, Miss. Jenkins, for coming in unannounced, but I was afraid that you wouldn’t see me if you had known I was coming… You have declined no less than five meetings with me, I do believe.” Eugenia stared up at the tall, lean form of the man who they called Lord Voldemort. He was dressed finely, though not in the traditional muggle robes, his brown hair slicked back against his head, a smile - though a cold one - on his lips. His brown eyes searched hers. “I do hope that I didn’t interrupt anything too important?”

Her heart in her throat, Eugenia shook her head. “Nothing important… no.”

“Well splendid!” Voldemort said, “Then I should think we should move into your office… don’t you agree? We wouldn’t want to be interrupting your poor secretary from her work, would we now?”

The secretary was stupefied, her eyes glassy as she shuffled papers about on her desk.

“No… we wouldn’t want to interrupt her,” Eugenia murmured.

Seeing that she wasn’t about to step out of the way, Voldemort stepped around Eugenia into the office and took a seat without being offered. He withdrew his wand from his pocket and waved it at the desk and a decanter with a couple of matching goblets spun out of thin air. “Have a drink, madam,” Voldemort said.

“No, thank you,” she said, “It’s a bit early for me. Not even ten o’clock.”

He watched her closely as she sat down at her seat, and then he waved his wand so that the decanter filled one of the goblets, which floated through the air to him. He caught it deftly from the air and smelled the contents deeply, breathing a contented sigh, and then took a sip. Lowering the goblet, he said, “You are missing an extraordinary bottle. I got this while I was visiting Albania, in search of some old… heirlooms.”

“I am sure it is quite fine,” replied Eugenia Jenkins.

Voldemort nodded.

The most terrible thing about him, Eugenia thought, was the way that he played with his victims. She felt a chill move through her spine - she had very little reason to believe that she would ever leave this room. She decided to play this as bravely as she could, and she leaned forward, lifting her quill from her desk, slipping it between her fingers. It was a phoenix feather, red and purple like fire, and she took a deep breath, drawing strength from it. Her eyes met Voldemort’s. “And to what do I owe this visit?”

Voldemort smiled and he held the goblet of mead in his lap primly. “I think that we are both fairly intelligent, wouldn’t you say? You were in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, were you not?”

Eugenia nodded slowly. How did he know that?

“We went to school together. You were in my year, in fact. But I myself was in Slytherin,” he explained, seeing the question in her eyes. “You wouldn’t recognize me now, I’ve changed myself in great ways and shed the old me as a snake sheds his skin. I’m better for it. Don’t go troubling your head about that for now, though. For now, I should much prefer to discuss politics with you.”

“Politics,” echoed Eugenia Jenkins, still a bit hung up on who he was before this so-called shedding of his former self. Now that he had said it, there was something vaguely familiar about his eyes - though it was so very vague that the familiarity was but a shadow beneath their current state, something about the way he spoke…

Voldemort smiled, “Ah Miss. Jenkins, we are of a very different political mind, I am aware, but I believe that perhaps we can come to a compromise. At this very moment, you see, there are nearly a hundred muggle and mudblood homes that I could destroy with but a small signal to my followers. One hundred homes, one hundred families… all gone in a flash. I do believe you would have a very hard time publishing that rubbish --” he waved at the speech on the desk, “-- should so many deaths occur all at once on your watch.”

Eugenia glanced at the parchment, then up at Voldemort. “Are you threatening me?”

“Not at all,” Voldemort said. “I should like to get out of this war with as little magical blood spilled as is possible. But you, my dear, need to understand that I do not give a damn how many of your muggles I must slaughter to get your attention.” He smiled, wide, with perfectly straight, very white teeth that seemed to glow at her. “Do I have your attention?”

Eugenia Jenkin’s throat felt rather tight. “What do you want?”

“A good deal of things,” Voldemort said, “Which means what I really want is power.”

“I cannot give you power,” said Eugenia.

“You could give me your cooperation.”

She shook her head.

“Why, my dear Miss. Jenkins, you haven’t even heard my proposal just yet and you’re already saying no?” He didn’t wait for her to stop him again, he continued on, “Here it is. What I want is full power. Control over the laws and such. You, being the Minister for Magic, have that power. Oh but don’t worry, I don’t covet the title of Minister. I would simply tell you what is and is not acceptable. You would report to me and what I say would be would be. Do you understand?” He paused, but she didn’t say anything. Her hands were shaking. His eyes traversed over her fingers, tightly spun about the phoenix feather quill. “Miss. Jenkins,” he said lowly, “I should like an answer. Do you understand?”

Eugenia drew all of her breath, all her courage, and she stood up to face him. “You’re a coward, Mr. Voldemort; a coward, I tell you. You hide behind a false persona, speaking in - in riddles - and in threats. You don’t have any respect for life. Why should I, the minister of magic, help you - who is nothing more than a common bully?” She stared into those red eyes.

Something changed in them. The cordial attitude melted away like butter left in the sun. His features rearranged themselves and what had once been an almost good looking face had contorted into an expression of unfathomable evil. The change made Eugenia tremble. Despite the cold, murderous look on his face, however, Voldemort did not react by flaring up, which honestly terrified her more than an attack might’ve done. She would have preferred that it be over quickly, rather than drawn out…

He moved his wand hand and she flinched. He chuckled softly, “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “Tonight, anyway.” Gently, he laid the wand upon his wrist, never once moving his eyes from hers. After a moment, he released the touch of his wand from the wrist and returned to smiling benignly at her. Several long moments passed by as he allowed her to contemplate exactly what it was he had done - or, perhaps, to give enough time that she would know there would be no undoing it. Voldemort cleared his throat. “Why would you want to cooperate with me, Miss. Jenkins?” he repeated her words back to her, “There are a hundred less muggle and mudblood families in London tonight because of you.”

Eugenia’s jaw slacked and she shook her head, not wanting it to be true.

“You see, I already have some power… and I will get the power that I request from you, whether you cooperate with me or not. I shall take it from you if I must. You see, I don’t want to do all the paperwork that comes with being Minister. Someone will sit in your chair, and it could be you… or it could be someone else that will cooperate with me. The choice is yours, madam.” He rose slowly.

Eugenia flinched once again as he waved his wand to disappear the decanter and goblets.

“I already told you I wasn’t going to hurt you tonight, Miss. Jenkins,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I am a man of my word… usually.”

Voldemort turned to leave and Eugenia Jenkins clutched the edge of her desk, her hands shaking, staring after him as he walked to the door. He reached for the handle and paused, turning back to look at her. “I’ll be looking forward to hearing your speech tomorrow,” he said cordially, “I am sure it will be very comforting to so many.” He dipped his chin as though to bow his head, and opened the door.

The secretary had woken from her stupor and Eugenia could see her look up in surprise at the man coming out of the office… and then the surprise turned to fear as she recognized him from the papers. Voldemort paused in front of her desk, looking down at her. Eugenia’s blood turned to ice as she hurried around her desk to the door, desperate to help and distract Voldemort, before he could hurt the girl - her niece.

“Are you a pureblood, my dear?” Voldemort asked her.

The girl nodded meekly.

Voldemort smiled. “Very good.” He turned and bowed his head again to Eugenia, who had just come rushing into the outer office. “Good day to you both,” he said, walking to the elevator. The golden grate slid open and he stepped aboard and he turned to face them once again as they slid closed… and waved with just the tips of his fingers, winking, and the elevator disappeared from sight.




The evening edition of the Daily Prophet bore the news. Photographs of collapsed houses... the green glowing skull of the Dark Mark looming in the sky above them… old family portraits of the victims… their names in a great long list. Massacred by the Dark Lord’s Followers the headline read. Hundreds of muggles and muggle-born families… The wizarding community shivered in their homes at the words, and when the address came from the ministry, it was delivered on the airwaves of nearly every radio from south to north. The minister of magic, Eugenia Jenkins, called for peace and for everyone to stay calm and to trust in the work of the aurors. “This act of hate comes from a place of fear,” she said, her voice unwavering, “The Dark Lord knows we can defeat him, and he lashes out against us. We must stay strong as one community. Magical blood does not run cold.”

In the seventh year dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, Derek, Bilius and Alex were surrounding their radio, their eyes wide as they listened, staring at the little speakers as they crackled and popped. Bilius whispered, “Bloody hell.”

Alex held the evening edition of the paper in his fist. The owl that had delivered it had been as grim as if he understood the news he carried and had flown away without payment. Now, Alex had been holding it so tight that the ink was beginning to smudge on the newsprint and stain his fingers. “My mum’s going to pull me,” he said thickly. “There’s no way she’ll overlook this.”

“She can’t pull you,” Derek argued, “She just can’t.”

“She will,” Alex said with a shrug. “I fought with her last time and she agreed to let me finish the year only so long as if nothing else like this happened.” He shook his head, “She’s not going to overlook this.”

Bilius frowned, “You work for the bloody Resistance now and she’s afraid of you being in a school?”

“Well she doesn’t know about the Resistance, does she?” Alex said pointedly, “She would die on the spot if I told her about it.”

Derek sighed heavily and held his head in his palms.

“Mark my words,” Alex said. “Tomorrow, I’ll be pulled.”