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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 1 year

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“I’ll admit,” Percy Weasley starts. He’s hardly paying attention to anything outside the documents he’s perusing, throwing occasional glances at the small, constantly updating graph shimmering in the air beside him. “When Granger came to me with this idea, I thought she had finally gone mad.”

He snorts to himself and flips to another page, “It’d be about time, honestly. Dating my brother really should have done her in sooner. But Granger is smart. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. So, even though I thought the time had finally come to declare the one sane addition to my family, insane—I gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

Someone off camera clears their throat, “Mr Weasley, could you clarify what idea Ms Granger had that you’re referring to?”

Percy looks up with furrowed brows. He tilts his head and asks, “What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

“It’s obvious to us but not to the audience.”

“Ah,” Percy nods sagely. “I understand. Right. I am referring to Hermione Granger’s idea of filming a documentary about life inside the Ministry of Magic in an attempt to raise recruitment across various departments, of course.”

“The ministry gets a bad rap,” Hermione Granger says while walking briskly down the halls of Level One. The cameras jostle as their operators and the rest of the crew rush to keep pace. “People think we’re secretly dark. They think that underhanded things are happening in the underbelly of our ministry. They think we don’t have their best interests at heart,” she sighs, dismayed.

“As Junior Undersecretary to the Minister, I oversee many finer details of our departments here. And, lately, overall interest to work for the ministry has suddenly declined.”

She pauses before a door. It causes a small traffic jam as the crew suddenly stop with her. With one hand on the knob, she turns to address the camera head-on, “Each year, more and more students graduate from Hogwarts. The wixen population in England has flourished, but we’re not seeing an influx of CVs.”

A parchment bird flaps its folded wings, gliding its way past the heads of crew members, and lands on the little bridge Hermione’s wrist makes, pecking at her sleeve for attention. She glances down at it and plucks the bird up; her magic smoothes out the folds until all that’s left is a small piece of blue parchment with a brief note scrawled in decidedly messy handwriting.

She reads it as she continues, “That’s where you all come in. PR is Percy’s job, but with the Minister’s upcoming reelection push, he hasn’t got the time to spare. So I’m counting on this inside look on the ministry to soften our public image and make us more approachable…,” her voice trails off as she finishes reading.

Hermione’s head lifts slowly and warily. “As an aside, please do not speak with the Head Auror until further notice,” she stresses and enters the doorway leaving the crew behind.

“Welcome to the DMLE. Can I help you?” The reception Auror frowns, “Wait. Is that a camera? This is a restricted area with highly confidential—“

A crew member holds up a document.

“Oh.” A quick spell is cast over the parchment, and all seems to be in order as the Auror simply shrugs, “Well, I can’t argue with that. What do you want, then?”

“We were looking for the Head Auror?”

“Head Auror Potter?” There is a sudden disquiet from the crew. Potter couldn’t mean Harry Potter, right? “He’s in T6. Follow the arrows, and don’t touch anything, please.”

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Head Auror Harry Potter, stands casually in a training hall. He’s overseeing the strict regimen for the sparse few new Aurors. His robes are draped over his shoulders and not quite worn in accordance with uniform regulations, but no one has the guts to point it out.

He easily replies to the quietly asked question, “Hermione doesn’t want you speaking with me because she thinks nothing shifty is happening in the ministry. She also wants this documentary to go off without a hitch.”

Before he continues, Harry carefully shrugs, “Whereas I’m the opposite, really.”

Silence lingers before someone is brave enough to ask, “The opposite, Head Auror Potter-sir?”

Harry catches the eyes of the cameraperson who spoke up—they all flinch with the intensity of his stare—but he smiles softly and says, “Yeah. And just Harry is fine if you wouldn’t mind.”

A look is shared between the crew. Of course no one is ever going to address Head Auror Harry Potter as just Harry. That’s ludicrous.

There’s a brief moment where it looks like Harry is contemplating how to word his following sentence delicately, but his straightforward attitude seems to win out.

“Our Minister is a Dark Lord in disguise,” the unsaid ‘duh’ is loud and jaw-dropping even over the sounds of training spellfire, “so anyone with half a brain cell would be smart to keep away. And if we’re going to have a whole documentary trying to prove otherwise, I plan on doing everything I can to stop it.”

The camera slowly zooms in on Harry’s pleased little grin. And no one knows what to say for a long, long while.

Ron Weasley adjusts himself in the tall folding chair the crew set up in the Auror Break Area. He’s holding a small bag of crisps and diligently makes his way through it before straightening up in his seat.

His proper posture lasts all of three seconds before his shoulders droop like he’s carrying the weight of the world. Finally, Ron takes a deep breath, leans forward in his chair and cups a hand over one side of his mouth, preparing to whisper.

He looks very concerned and a touch manic as he says, “Harry is obsessed with the Minister.”

The Minister for Magic is unavailable for an interview at this time.

Draco Malfoy scoffs outside the Minister’s main offices. “Of course. The one time we finally get to have cameras following us around, and it’s for a bloody hiring campaign.”

A crew member mumbles a question off lens, and his eyebrows raise. Draco’s smile is wide with amusement when he says, “Oh? Haven’t you heard? Potter hates the Minister.”

He sets aside the Witch Weekly he’s reading to give the crew his undivided attention. “Truly, you don’t understand until you witness it first hand. Potter can be a bit of an idiot, a Gryffindor in the worst of ways, a bit of a hot head, a complete disgrace to the ministry, a—“

Someone clears their throat.

“—Potter is a disagreeable person by nature. He was probably born that way. But even I know that Potter has never hated someone as much as he hates the Minister. And you think it’s obvious now, but when they’re both in a room together,” Draco pauses to shake his head and lean back. His face takes on a dreamy sort of look like he’s lost in a memory, “the tension is absolutely ridiculous.”

The crew hasn’t seen any blatant hatred from either party. Though they’ve yet to meet the Minister, and looking back on Head Auror Harry Potter’s pleased face, maybe they should be a little more concerned.

Draco suddenly starts out of his daze, “Everything between them had been fine for years, supposedly. But then something happened the day Potter was invited to the manor to meet with Father and the Minister, and since then, he’s barely refrained from pursuing all-out war.”

The camera cuts to Lucius Malfoy. He crosses his legs and grips his cane with unexpected force.

“I refuse to think upon that dreadful day without copious amounts of alcohol,” he says and declines further comment.

“Strangely enough,” Draco ponders. “I don’t think the Minister really minds it.”

He reaches for his magazine once again, “Potter is probably like a small yapping crup to the Minister. Amusing and pitiable with floppy ears and a wagging tail.”

The crew waits silently for Draco to continue, but he seems to have gotten bored of the conversation and forgotten they are here.

“Harry’s relationship with the Minister before?” Ron asks. He’s still in the break area, and it seems he never left.

He scratches lightly at his cheek in thought. “Well, I guess Harry didn’t really talk to him much? They only saw each other rarely. Like during special Wizengamot hearings or ministry parties or for any Auror protection detail the Minister might need while travelling. From what I remember, there weren’t really any complaints. Hermione was more likely to have things to say with the Minister being her direct boss and all.”

A crew member mumbles quietly, “Would you say they were amicable, then, Mr Weasley?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ron shrugs. “They weren’t best mates or anything—Harry would never do that to me anyway—but Harry definitely wasn’t completely bonkers like he is now.”

Sirius Black walks into the room with a mug and halts. “Oh?” His eyes roam over the crew and Ron, “What’s going on in here?"

“Hey, Sirius,” Ron greets with a slight wave. “Don’t mind them; they’re just interviewing everyone about Harry.”

The crew debates whether they should correct Ron and diplomatically decide to see where this leads instead.

Sirius’ head cocks like a dog hearing a squeaking toy. He smiles something mischievous and plotting when he announces, “I happen to be Harry’s godfather.”

The crew quickly pans half their cameras toward Sirius.

“What exactly are you trying to learn about my dear godson?”

Ron snorts, “They want to know why Harry’s obsessed with the Minister.”

The crew really thinks someone should correct them before this gets out of hand. But…

Sirius whistles low and ominous. “I’m guessing you lot haven’t seen the room yet.”

The horror that alights Ron’s face at the mention of it is warning enough. But that doesn’t stop one of the crew members from asking, “What room?”

Pansy Parkinson stands before the alleged room with her hands on her hips.

“Listen to me and listen to me carefully,” she starts. Her tone leaves no space for hemming and hawing, “None of you will be stepping foot into this room. My boss would kill me.”

Ron nods quickly, bobbing his head up and down too many times to count. “She’s right. Harry won’t like it if we go in there. Especially without him.”

“Come on, Parkinson,” Sirius goads, “don’t tell me you’re scared of my little godson. Harry wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

The cameras cut to a scene from earlier this morning. Harry is filmed stunning a buzzing mid-flight fly with terrifying accuracy.

He shakes his head, “You’ve been faster, Harry,” and mumbles on about needing to get back into his twice-daily routine. Whatever that means.

Pansy looks at Sirius like he is dirt beneath her heels. “Black. He has explicitly instructed me that you shouldn’t even be within six metres of this door,” she pulls out her wand, “and that if I saw you, I’d have free reign to neutralise you however I see fit.”

A camera quickly zooms in on Ron, who does quick work of leaving the immediate area. He two-finger salutes the camera crew as he slips out of the hall. He’s gone long before Sirius takes out his wand and spellfire is exchanged.

The crew decide over a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors who will stay to film the impending damage. A sacrifice is chosen and mourned. The rest break off before being caught in the crossfire or killed.

Percy sighs. “I’d like to take this time to remind you all that anything filmed for this documentary that paints the ministry in a bad light and doesn’t pass muster must be vanished or incendioed immediately.”

He pauses to jot something down on a piece of parchment and taps his wand to it, waiting as it arranges into a charming butterfly. When it flutters away, he continues, “The Minister and I may find some value in this idea, but we draw the line at anything potentially harmful to the reelection campaign.”

Percy stands and gathers his things; some additional ministry documents and that shimmery graph float beside him as he walks. “Granger thinks this is solely a recruitment push, but the Minister and I agree that this could also be great exposure to showcase how strong the ministry is under its current leadership.”

He pauses momentarily and speaks slowly and deliberately, “It is imperative that nothing untoward is shown to the public.”

The camera cuts. Sirius and Pansy are battered and bruised, nearly bloody. The floor around them is missing large sections, looking like moon craters or Swiss cheese, and somehow the door to the room still stands untouched.

Pansy blows a strand of hair out of her line of sight. “Sirius Black, you absolute (beep) (beep) of a (beep). I’m going to (beep) you (beep) and leave you out on the streets of muggle London where your body will (beep) (beep) (beep) (beep)—”

The rest of the footage is muted for general audiences.

“In fact.” Percy continues, “I recommend the whole documentary crew avoid the Auror Department altogether.” He shakes his head, “It is a wonder how Head Auror Potter gets anything done. The man is really a saint.”

Percy walks ahead of the crew and into a lift as he quietly mentions, “His numbers speak for themselves, though. It’s no wonder he’s the Minister’s favourite,” and the doors slowly close shut.

Someone from the back of the crew proclaims an eloquent, “What did he just say?”

The Minister for Magic continues to be unavailable for an interview at this time.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #pov: multiple #my fic #mockumentary au #fic: life inside the ministry of magic #it's still unnamed but if i were to put it out in chapters this would be chapter one #i hope this is fun #i almost feel like i should delete the og post because this is pretty different

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