“Mr Stump, Minister.”

Peter Pickler, Junior Assistant, announced his visitor. He had been reinstated since the unfortunate parcel incident last April. In the short term, Holmes had found Mr Pickler a role that had been less front-line with the Minister. It was lucky Minister Glass did forgive innocent support staff, especially when their sisters were only too ready to cite equality law.

“Minister,” Fendrel Stump acknowledged politely, stepping into the office. “Er, happy new year.” It wasn’t too late to say that, was it? He’d not seen the boss since before Christmas.

“Thank you Pickler,” Edwin raised his voice, “that’ll be all. Mr Stump.” He didn’t get up from his sizeable desk, but did slip his fingers from between the pages of parchment he had in front of him. The office door slid shut and the latch quietly clicked, leaving the two wizards alone. All noise from outside vanished.

“Do take a seat, Stump,” the Minister indicated to the visitor’s seat before the desk. Fenny had hung back just inside the door, knowing his place. At the indication, he crossed the deep, plush office carpet. The chair creaked ever so slightly at he settled and made the bald wizard self conscious.

The majority of hitwizards Edwin had known hadn’t reached their forties. Yet here Stump was, midway through that decade, and leading the containment and protection of one of the most notable criminals in recent times. One of the few alive, considering he counted Ira Almasy and Jebediah Layton in their number. Surprisingly, the last nine months had been a retirement of sorts for Fendrel Stump. He was conspicuously older than the others he had selected for the round the clock supervision on St Mungo’s fourth floor. The rest of them took short stints, Stump was the one who put in the hours.

“You received my report, sir?” Stump offered, polite and careful.
“Yes, Stump,” the Minister confirmed, “regular as clockwork. My thanks as ever for your punctuality and detail.” Since he had been assigned last April, Stump had completed reports directly to the Minister without submitting them to any intermediary.

“I wanted to dig a little deeper,” the Minister explained. His tone remained even and pleasant. He drew Stump’s most recent report to the blotter before him to refer to if necessary. “Christmas. You mention he has begun to write letters.”

Stump nodded, pleased to be asked a question he could answer. Surrounded by aurors and lawyers in his Level Two life, the fact he’d never studied for his NEWTs or been an academic wizard put him on the back foot with such encounters. He wanted to do well, seek early retirement perhaps once all of this was done. Maybe receive honours for his service with this important case.

“Yes Sir. I, er, I believe Mr Morgenthau and Healer Misslethorpe have encouraged it. Part of the recovery.” He had detailed it in his report. He hadn’t had to step into one of the legilimency sessions for a few weeks now. His charge had settled and adjusted to the regular intrusion. Stump stood sentry through the window disguised as a mirror. The research was confidential, even if Stump had the high clearances to assist. Not the highest though, he understood. Well, he wasn’t Minister, was he?

“You detailed these were to his sister and his niece.” Glass stated, not needing to glance down at the report. The letters had been vetted through the very thorough and tight-lipped Harper Graves, so could’t have held anything specific about the research or anything worrying about plans to escape. “Did he discuss the contents with you at all, create any drafts?”

Fendrel’s fingers knotted in his lap, and he looked to one side as he considered the more challenging question. Mr Glass asked the occasional question in months past, but seemed happy enough with the reports. He didn’t call Stump in all that often.

“He…” The Minister waited patiently, blinking twice, one hand holding the corner of Stump’s last report, the other resting flat upon it. “Yes, that was it. His sister was in the Prophet. About the Grants. He saw that and decided to write last thing before Christmas.” Fendrel shrugged, well aware his charge often read the Prophet inch by inch. “His niece came to visit him before he went in, I think they’re close, like.” He remembered Hannah Bombay coming to visit at the Ministry. He’d left them be, waited outside and kept a wary eye given the earlier obliviation injuries.

“As she came to visit Christmas day, I’d say very close.” Glass pointed out in the latter part of the report. Fenny nodded. The paperwork that had involved. Grief.

“Mr Morgenthau was very particular with the Head Healer that it be permitted.” The hitwizard reiterated. He’d come to respect that the Head Unspeakable didn’t give two hoots about red tape that got in the way of progress. Much like his fashion sense, he defied the normal rules. At his level, he could afford to, Fendrel thought. He wouldn’t fair so well against the Minister and Head Healer. At home, Mrs Stump had accepted that even their Christmas day would be interrupted by Fendrel’s duties. He’d been there to let Miss Bombay in but had left them to other hitwixes half an hour into the visit to spend the rest of the day with his wife. She’d bought him so many lovely books!

“You use the word ’chipper’ in your report, Stump. I note this is the first use of such an overtly positive adjective in your reports. Do I take this report’s observations to indicate progress?” The Minister’s gaze studied the hitwizard opposite without a blink. Yavin Morgenthau’s reports were factual, but had not indicated his subject was ‘chipper’ or anything remotely similar in Edwin’s suspicious view.

“He, er…” Fendrel couldn’t help but feel this question was perhaps the most important of all so far. The Minister was paying him very close attention now. “He’s not morose, Sir.” Stump offered, “He’s behavin’ himself. Not set a finger on Healer Misslethorpe in weeks.” Fendrel had been on edge for the weeks following that dementor convergence in October. All that talk of pentrals and the fear the research had been set back or the possibility lost entirely. It had been tense. “I don’t know, Sir. Maybe he’s realised this’ll be his last Christmas out of Azkaban and he’s making the best of it.”

Maybe he’s up to something, the Minister thought inwardly. He’d read nothing but reports of the deeply depressive state their prisoner was in, and he would prefer to keep it there. If he was in the government’s hands, he couldn’t easily move however low he got. Sending him over at St Mungo’s had never made Edwin entirely comfortable, even after the thorough obliviation. He put his trust into Yavin Morgenthau and Sandy Misslethorpe, but this …. discrepancy fed the paranoia in the Minister. It was the same feeling he’d experienced when Evangeline Kuester had secured her post as Carstairs’ second and level the first floor. Considering Kuester’s discomfort at carrying out orders surrounding this case, it was perhaps for the best she relocated.

“Maybe,” The Minister agreed, though his tone made Fendrel Stump believe he didn’t agree with the hitwizard’s suggestion at all. Glass slid the report back into his file and fixed Stump with a hawkish expression. “Weekly updates from now, Stump. Just between us, not a word to the others. You report to me, and I won’t hear otherwise.”



End