The Falcon and the Hawk

Chapter 1: A Swift Sunrise

Deputy Vice Chancellor Minamoto looked out of the windows of his office, staring quietly at the rolling green fields of Oxford University. A few students rushed by on broomsticks, and off in the distance he thought he could see some people in the distance conjuring up a cooking fire. He mused quietly over wizards not being able to operate the electric ranges he’d had installed in the dorms and the fire safety hazard they posed before snapping out of his reverie at the sharp rapping that sounded. “Come in,” he called, turning around to greet his visitor.

Minister Percival Weasley walked into the room, quickly, snapping the door shut on as “But Minister-”

“Can’t get away from them can you Weasley?” Minamoto smiled quietly as he held out his hand. “It’s been far too long. Take a seat, won’t you?”

Weasley shook hands vigorously. “I’m afraid I can’t sit and chat. It may be the first day of classes, but I’m just here to make an appearance and leave. Things are stirring up with Premier Ministre le Magie and his rather vocal disapproval of us Brits revealing ourselves.”

“I could make a few calls if you’d like.” Minamoto sat down at his desk and crossed his smooth pianist’s hands, and took a careful look along the carefully manicured nails. His gray suit shone a little into Weasley’s face, and the Minister was forced to blink a few times as the bright spring sunlight bounced into his eyes.

“I’d rather you not. The anniversary of Rufus Scrimgeour’s death is coming up along with the anniversary of Lord Voldemort’s defeat. I’ve invited him to that event, along with the Magical Prime Minster of Bulgaria Peter Asen Radoslav, and Olympe Maxime, Headmaster of Beauxbatons. The Headmaster of Durmstrang, Vladetz Radean has refused for the time being.” Weasley did not meet Minamoto’s eyes, and he had taken off his cap and was shuffling it nervously in his hands.

“Alright then,” Minamoto said, rising from his leather chair, “Perhaps a quick jaunt over to the commons for your public appearance, and then we can speed your departure.”

Weasley nervously continued to look at the cap in his hands. “I was actually hoping if I could host the Ministry’s celebration of Voldemort’s defeat here at the campus where Professor Potter could take part.”

Minamoto looked piercingly at Weasley through his calm grey eyes. His Japanese face betrayed no emotions save for his British nose, which displayed the barest twitch of disapproval. “You’ll just have to ask him.” Reaching down to the telephone on his desk, he jabbed a button without breaking his stare. “Elaine? Could you tell me when Professor Potter’s first class is?”

The speaker crackled a little, and the slow clacking of inexperienced hands on a keyboard was heard. “Professor Potter’s first class is…at eleven today in the Severus Snape Memorial Dark Arts Research Building.”

Minamoto sighed. “Weary already on the first day? Well that’s not a good start, “he thought to himself. “I’ll escort you there personally,” he said out loud. Weasley’s eyes leapt upwards, hopeful. “I won’t help you convince him.”

Chapter 2: Clouds on the Horizon

“I do hope he’s in his office,” Weasley said. He had become rather uncomfortable sitting in the back of Minamoto’s car, where his robes had gotten caught in the door multiple times on getting in, and were now bunching up rather uncomfortably everywhere. “How do muggles tolerate these things?”

“They don’t wear robes Minister. I was sure that your father informed you of this during your years with him?” Minamoto’s mouth bore the barest hint of a laughing smile about his lips. Had he a moustache, its tickling might very well have set him off on a rollicking chortle. “Are you doing alright back there Longbottom?”

Ernie Longbottom, Neville Longbottom’s son and the bodyguard and aide of Minister Weasley, looked thoroughly as uncomfortable as Weasley did, and for much the same reason, though he was enthusiastically trying to hide it, albeit failing rather spectacularly. “I’m alright sir, thank you.”

Minamoto twirled the steering wheel gracefully, maneuvering the silver Camry perfectly into the reserved parking space. Ernie Longbottom lurched forward slightly and immediately grabbed the seat belt, which locked and hit the unfortunate, short man in the neck. “Guh!”

“We’re here. Everyone out.” Minamoto unbuckled himself, and lightly stepped out, correcting his tie and gray jacket on the way out. The Minister had a much harder time getting out, as he didn’t know how to take off his seat belt. Ernie figured it out rather quickly, but sadly had to go digging through the seat cushions for his wand. It had fallen out of his pocket during the drive.

The Severus Snape Memorial Dark Arts Research Building loomed high over them, its modern brick architecture making it seem utterly unassuming at first. Only the large sign next to the sidewalk indicated it as what it truly was. As Minamoto led the Minister and Ernie through the doors, a yellow sign stood out in the window next to the lobby door that read, “Please present your ID at the front desk upon entering. Only those with the appropriate security clearance are allowed beyond the first floor. Anyone found in restricted zones without the appropriate authorization will be detained by campus security.” With a swish the door swung open easily, and the receptionist looked up.

“Deputy Vice Chancellor! I didn’t know you were coming!” She quickly rose to greet him. “And the Minister of Magic too! What an honor sir.”

“Don’t worry Martha, you don’t have to get up for us,” Minamoto replied quickly. “We’re just here to see Professor Potter. Is he in?”

“Of course sir. He’s in his office, punctual as ever.”

“As ever. I’ll be taking the Minister up to meet with him. Ernie I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay here.”

Ernie’s round race grew red and puffed up, mildly like a puffer fish. “Wherever the Minister goes, I go. Especially in a Dark Arts research building!”

Weasley patted Ernie on the shoulder, “It’s alright. Just stay here for now Mr. Longbottom. I’ll be back shortly.”

Ernie’s face was one of protest as they departed. Martha on the other hand remained in awe of the Minister’s passing through, and her mouth hung open slightly.

As Minamoto tried the door to the second floor he found it locked. “Martha? You forgot to unlock the door!”

“Oh, right sir!” The door unlocked with a click, and opened without a whisper.

As they ascended the staircase upwards, the silence between them grew wider. Minamoto counted the dust that floated through the beam of light that fell through the skylight. Weasley stared at his hat, which he clutched in his left hand while his right hung on to the railing. Upon reaching the top of the staircase he looked up.

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

“It’s up to him, but personally I would not have even tried.” The cold of Minamoto’s voice made the dust seem like snow, and Weasley could almost swear that he saw his breath.

“Now that I’m here I might as well,” he responded. He rubbed his hands together and they both opened the door to the sixth floor of the Snape.

Walking down a brightly lit hallway with black and white linoleum tiling, Minamoto’s straight back and confident gait accentuated his visible youth while Weasley’s haggard appearance and obviously weary walk made him only seem twenty years older than his face betrayed. The swirling of robes was deeply punctuated by the clicking of well-heeled shoes.

They arrived at an office with the door slightly ajar, room 617. There was a steady sound of clicking emanating out of the open door. After a few seconds a clear voice drifted out of the room, “Bloody…muggles have to do everything in the most complicated way imaginable.”

“You’re not supposed to call them muggles anymore,” Minamoto said, as he lightly knocked on the door. “Your colleagues take offense at that now, especially those in the applied physics department.” He stepped into the room without a sound, lightly pulling the door shut behind him.

“What are you doing down here then? I thought you’d be busy what with it being the very first day of class and all.” Potter stared down his spectacles at his old new friend.

“I’ve been meaning to come down here to check how the department head is doing with the new equipment.” Minamoto eyed the desktop on which a large yellow triangle with an exclamation point was shown in a grey box.

“I can’t understand it for the life of me. Perhaps a second training session for the staff would help.”

“I’ve been considering it actually. A few of the staff have blown theirs to bits in frustration. The repair techs have been complaining about computers reassembled incorrectly with hasty repairing charms.” Minamoto’s mouth twitched.

“Yes, but what is the real reason you came down? After all, I do seem to recall you actually have a press conference at the campus commons…right now actually.”

“The Minister is here.” Potter’s face froze.

“He knows that I won’t speak.”

“It would certainly be memorable. The great Harry Potter spoke today at the fiftieth anniversary of the Voldemort’s defeat.” Minamoto looked quietly at the paintings on the wall. One showed a still painting of Albus Dumbledore and below that a still picture of Severus Snape. He wondered why Professor Potter had not endeavored to make the images enchanted rather than simply still oils on canvas.

“I never wanted it! Everyone always talks about what a great hero I am, how much of a leader and a symbol of freedom from tyranny, from pain, from fear! They forget about the price paid! It’s not thousands of people who died, it’s Colin Creevey, it’s Fred Weasley, and it’s leaving Teddy Lupin an orphan! That’s the price that we paid!” His breath was ragged and he coughed once.

“I’ll just tell the Minister for you then. But that’s enough of St. Mungo’s for now. How about I schedule you for a meeting with the Oxford doctors?”

“Thank you,” Potter coughed. “Meeting with the doctors here might help with my cough.”

“Alright. Don’t frighten your students too badly today now. When will the rest of the faculty be arriving?”

“Within the hour. I always get here an hour or two ahead of everyone.”

“No problem then. It seems I should get out of my office more often. Good luck today.”

“Thanks.”

Minamoto closed the door silently shut the door. Weasley was sitting on a bench in the hallway, his head in his hands.

At the clicking of shoes on the tiling, Weasley’s head perked up immediately. Minamoto simply continued walking past, and Weasley hurried to follow. Together they both walked briskly back down the hall without saying a word. The attempted clacking started again barely a few seconds after they had left.

Back on the first floor, Ernie quietly followed in their wake while Martha continued preparing the building for its first influx of students as she laid out maps of the first floor on her desk. The leather seated lounge area to the left of the door was now occupied by Professor Macmillan struggling with the coffee machine. He nodded to both the minister and Minamoto as they left the building through the glass door.

As they stepped back into the sunlight outside, Weasley turned to Minamoto. “Why does it have to be a Dark Arts research center? The Wizengamot are breathing down my neck.”

Minamoto sighed. “You know full well the Dark Arts require research if we are to design defensive mechanisms against them. Why do you think that I offered the post of the department head to Harry Potter? He’ll make sure they don’t do anything out of control, and that they remember they are trying to discern defensive mechanisms. Our goal is not to promote the use of the Dark Arts for any reason, but rather to prepare ourselves for the day that another Lord Voldemort or Grindelwald may rise to terrorize us all.” He paused for a moment. “How was it?”

Weasley thought for a moment. “I think the Daily Prophet will buy it at the very least. It will certainly give me a little more breathing room at the Ministry.”

Minamoto unlocked the car with a beep. “Then I’ve accomplished something worthwhile.” He motioned towards the car.

Weasley shook his head. “I’m afraid I must be off. I’d very much like to avoid the reporters today, regardless of how good an opportunity this is for good press. I’ve some rather pressing matters to attend to, such as the case of a rather blasted attack in Northern France. It has some rather obvious signs of dark magic about it.”

Minamoto shook his head gently. “I’ve already granted the both of you clearance to apparate to and fro, so have at it. I’ll be seeing you later then.”

The Minister and Ernie waved a hasty goodbye and then disappeared with a pop as they both raised their wands. Minamoto looked at his car and smiled for a moment. “With gasoline prices as they are, I’m afraid I can’t keep driving you around old girl,” he said. He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a long, slender wand. “Rowan; 18 inches; flexible and whip-like motion; white tiger hair and phoenix feather core, tortoise shell handle and dragon pearl inlay…” he muttered, his hands caressing the beautiful wand gently. Then, with a swift and precise motion, the car disappeared without a sound. He turned around and set the wand down upon a lectern behind him. The crowd in front of him had been stunned silent. With a swift nod to the technical crew to the right of the stage, he began the press conference.

“I am sure that most of you know that this is the first day of class here at the Oxford College of Magical Studies. This school represents the future of the world, with wizard and non-wizard working together for the betterment and progress of all. There will never be a greater moment in history, when the modern world works together to understand both the mysteries of physics and prognostication and the relationship of the muggle and the magician. Here at this institution we hope to bring the non-magical and the magical together in a way that has never been seen before. That is our mission, and that is our goal.” He paused for a moment, preparing himself for the onslaught, stilling his mind into a sea with no waves. “Questions?”

The sudden explosion of noise bounced off buildings surrounding the wide commons grounds, drowning everything else out. Minamoto answered all the questions thrown at him with the same smoothness and calm that was required by one of his stature, and even laughed off the Guardian’s question as to how he had appeared out of nowhere. “No more questions,” finally came after an eternity of Q&A and he raised his wand upwards.

“I hereby declare that the Oxford College of Magical Studies is now in full operational status!” A large bang went off, silencing the crowd, and the sunlight dimmed visibly as a cloud blocked it. As everyone waited with bated breath, the cloud began to rain red and green sparks which exploded into a shower of golden sparks that floated down gently into the grass and amongst the reporters and then melted into a flowery aroma.

“I have some pressing matters to attend to. The college’s public relations liaison Jeremy Corner will take care of all your questions and concerns from this point onward,” he said, motioning towards a smartly dressed young man with black hair and a slightly pudgy nose. He nodded in affirmation, and Minamoto once more faced the crowd. “I thank you all for attending this momentous occasion and for giving me your undivided attention. I bid you all adieu.” Then with a raise of his wand he was in his office once more.

A click filled the room. “Elaine?”

“Yes sir?”

“Could you include the report on the French incident the minister mentioned on my desk? And do I have anything else on the schedule today?”

“No sir, the press conference was everything you had today.”

“Good. I can actually take care of my college for once.” He sat down at his large mahogany desk and began to retrieve large stacks of papers and began reading through them. He sighed to himself. “Truly…being an administrator is nowhere near as emotionally rewarding as being a professor…” he thought to himself as he started on “Taxes and Liens Report 227-8A”.

Chapter 3: A Red Dawn

He sat alone. This little old shack offered him little in the way of comfort, but he cared little for that. His quill scratched on the parchment as he continued to think. In a fit of anger, the parchment caught aflame and immediately went into the rubbish heap. Without turning and with a flick of his wand the fire was out. Finally after hours of scratching with dusty air and sunlight drifting in the window he raised it to take a better look and nodded. He stood, pocketed the parchment, and quickly grabbed a large red cloak that he slipped over his robes of the same shade. Breathing in deeply, he steeled himself for the task to come.

“The idea,” he thought to himself, “is to make an impact. To make the voice of the magical community heard when its government will not listen.”

He then raised his wand and disappeared with a pop.

Chapter 4: The Dusk Before the Dawn

Alfred Wallace was having a perfectly average day. Well, as average day as you possibly could have when you’ve just been informed that witches, wizards, and all those nutty blokes are actually real by your own government. He’d been listening the moment the news reports and live feed started streaming out of the campus of the Oxford College of Magical Studies. The barber had commented on how things would be better now with magical cures for everything. He’d remembered his hair being ruined in the excitement of the moment and demanding a free haircut afterwards.

“Wizards or not, I’ll still have to go to work tomorrow in the morning,” he’d muttered to himself as he left. He had no idea how wrong he was.

As he walked past the Indian restaurant he took a long look inside. Inside, customers were enjoying themselves, laughing, and dining on exquisite treats from faraway lands. He loved the food, and wished he could stop for dinner. With a sigh he turned away so he could continue walking to his car only to find a rather tall, slender, red robed man in front of him. “Well who the bloody hell are you?” would be his last words.

With a quick jabbing motion the wizard cast Alfred through the window of the Indian restaurant, and with another silent wave the glass was directed into the rather surprised diners, Alfred thought he caught a glimpse of a hawk-like mask underneath the hood of his assailant. As he bled to death in the broken glass and remnants of a plate of chicken tika he groggily observed the wizard setting someone on fire, and then blasting a store front apart.

“What a violent man,” he thought, and then nothing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which is a trademark and copyright of J.K. Rowling and associated publishers. I thank her and her publishers and do not claim ownership of her work in the making of this piece.