The Minister's Mask

Several practice dummies stood on the lawn inside Edmund's trunk.

He had made them for testing spell power. If shattered, they would repair themselves after a short delay.

"Guide your magic into the runes," Edmund said. "Let the inscription choose the shape of the spell. You only need to know which spell you are using and what you want it to do."

He had carved nearly twenty combat inscriptions onto Lockhart. Every one of them had to be understood clearly. If Lockhart panicked in class and triggered the wrong rune, he might do something unforgivable by accident.

Fortunately, the method itself was simple. Lockhart only needed a little guidance before he began testing.

The first spell shattered a dummy's shoulder. The second blew its head off.

Lockhart stared, then laughed. It was not his public laugh, polished and bright. It was raw, exhausted, almost desperate.

He cast again and again until the lawn flashed with spellfire.

Edmund watched with satisfaction. The runes worked. The power was close to elite Auror level, and because the inscriptions carried the structure, Lockhart could cast silently and almost instantly. If he built enough combat skill around them, he would become genuinely dangerous.

Aurors were not as common as schoolchildren imagined. Britain had only a few dozen, divided into small teams and saved for dangerous work. The elite among them were team leaders, wizards like Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had already become one of Fudge's trusted people.

A technology that could make even a family's weakest members this dangerous would make pure-blood houses lose their minds.

When Lockhart finally emptied his magic, he staggered back to Edmund with shining eyes.

"Gaunt," he said, breathless, "from this day on, my life is yours."

Edmund smiled. "I do not intend to throw you into danger casually. You have a larger use."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Keep writing," Edmund said. "And in public, show that you are powerful."

Lockhart looked confused.

Edmund tapped one finger against his palm. "I need your influence. When it is strong enough, I want you to run for Minister for Magic."

Lockhart went still. Minister for Magic.

For a man whose fame was his lifeblood, no title in Britain was more tempting. He had accepted the Hogwarts post because it let him spread his books, his face, and his name to another generation of wizarding families. Edmund had just offered him a stage large enough to swallow all his old ambitions.

By the time they left the trunk, Lockhart was almost trembling with excitement.

He sat in his office afterward, turning slowly in his chair and murmuring plans to himself. Then a question struck him.

Why would Edmund do this? The answer he found made him shiver.

Edmund did not want applause. Edmund wanted someone at the top of the Ministry who owed him everything. He wanted a hand on the levers of the British magical world while staying out of sight.

Lockhart inhaled sharply. At such a young age, Edmund Gaunt already had the makings of a future Dark Lord.

Then Lockhart laughed softly. It did not matter. He had signed the contract, and Edmund had given him back power, fame, and a road to a dream bigger than any lie he had ever sold.

"Then let me be your piece on the board, Edmund Gaunt," he whispered.

He pulled out parchment and began writing plans.

Edmund, who had no idea Lockhart had just promoted him into a hidden mastermind, was stopped in the corridor by Draco Malfoy.

"Are you certain?" Edmund asked.

"I am," Draco said. "As the future head of House Malfoy, I promise it. You can visit our family library at Christmas."

Draco had found his price.

Access to the Malfoy library was not a small offer. The Malfoys were one of the oldest pure-blood families in Britain, and old families kept old books. Some of those books would be worth far more than ordinary gold.

"Fine," Edmund said. "Saturday morning, eight o'clock. Wait for me on the seventh floor."

Draco's face brightened before he could stop it. "I'll be there." Edmund waved him off and returned to his dormitory.

His Parseltongue was almost ready. With a little more practice, he could attempt the Chamber entrance again. Before that, however, he wanted another layer of insurance. A basilisk was not something even a professor should face carelessly.

The system had been quiet for nearly half a year. Edmund had saved more than twenty thousand coins.

It was time to draw.

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