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Sirius arrived early as usual at the Ministry of Magic, the floors of the grand atrium echoing softly with his footsteps. The golden fountain at the center splashed gently, casting shimmering reflections on the high ceilings. The halls were quiet at this hour, only a few witches and wizards scattered here and there, the ones who made it a point to be in long before the crowd, the unsung cogs that kept the Ministry running smoothly day in and day out.

Sirius relished these early mornings. They gave him time to gather his thoughts before the demands of the day began. But more importantly, they gave him a chance to work on a different kind of magic - the kind that wasn't learned in books or wielded by wands, but rather, the magic of personal connection, of politics, of people.

As he made his way through the corridors, he greeted every staff member he encountered by name. There was Harold, the night guard who always kept his cap tilted a little too far to the left. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.

"Morning, Harold. Rough shift?" He asked, his voice full of easy camaraderie.

Harold straightened up immediately, his previously slouched posture correcting itself at the Minister's attention. "Morning, Minister. Oh, you know, same old, same old. But it's good to see you up and about so early, sir."

Sirius smiled warmly. "Always good to see someone keeping an eye on things while the rest of us sleep. Keep up the good work, Harold."

He moved on, offering a firm handshake to Lydia, one of the facility witches, who had been repairing one of the banisters with her wand with a critical eye. Her eyes widened slightly when he stopped to talk to her. "Lydia, good morning! How's everything going? How's your little boy?"

Lydia's face lit up, obviously surprised that he remembered her. "Oh, he's doing well, Minister! Just started at Hogwarts he did!"

"Ah, he must be excited. What house did he end up in?"

"Ravenclaw," She said with a proud beaming smile.

"Smart kid," Sirius said with a wink. "Takes after his mum, I'm sure. Keep in touch, I'd love to hear how he's getting on."

She nodded, beaming as she returned to her work, standing a little straighter now that the Minister had taken an interest in her family.

Sirius continued down the hall, greeting others as he went. A few early-rising clerks from the Department of Magical Transportation were passing by, and he made sure to give each of them a moment of his time.

"Bernard, good to see you. How's the Floo network upgrade coming along?" Sirius asked, his voice as casual as if he were asking about the weather.

"Coming along just fine, Minister," Bernard replied, though his tone had a hint of exhaustion. "We've got the northern territories linked now, just smoothing out some of the kinks."

Sirius smiled. "Excellent. Let me know if you run into any more problems - I'm always just an owl or floo call away."

Bernard gave a small smile, clearly buoyed by the personal attention. "Will do, sir."

For each person he encountered, Sirius used their names. It had been a painstaking task to memorize them all, to match faces with titles and personal stories, but it was worth it. The Ministry ran on the 'little people' - the ones who stayed late, who worked through their breaks, who kept everything moving while the higher-ups played their power games.

None of them would ever be powerful, they'd never have the attention of the rich and powerful who moved the world. But they had a soft power of their own.

Purebloods, with their insular view of the world, often forgot that. They treated the lower ranks as faceless servants, but Sirius knew better. He intended to ensure that the little people only looked up to him. If they saw him as their champion, their leader, he would have more power than any other Minister had ever managed.

The cogs of the Ministry would run like a well oiled machine, and people wanting to inconvenience him, who wanted to drown him in inconsequential bullshit - might suddenly find it difficult to navigate through the bureaucracy, where before it was simply a few gold coins in a hand and the job was done.

To people on the low end of the totem pole, recognition was worth more than a few galleons.

Which of course could be sometimes offset by a lot of Galleons, but he couldn't fix everything.

By the time Sirius reached the corridor that led to his office, word of his early arrival had already spread. A few more staff members straightened their robes, standing a little taller as he passed. He could see the looks of pride in their eyes, the sense that they mattered because the Minister himself had taken the time to ask about them, to show interest in their lives. It was a subtle but powerful magic - the magic of loyalty, of being seen, being recognized.

As he entered his office foyer, he wasn't surprised to see Evelyn, his personal assistant, already seated at her desk. She glanced up from her parchments and offered him a polite smile, as if she had been expecting him all along.

"Good morning, Minister," She said smoothly, her quill already scratching across another document.

"Morning, Evelyn," Sirius replied with a grin, his voice warm but amused. "You always seem to know when I'll be in early. Tell me, are you bribing Narcissa? Or is it Remus you're bribing for my deviations from the schedule?"

Evelyn didn't miss a beat. "A good assistant never reveals her sources, Minister."

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. Evelyn was sharp as a tack, and he suspected she was right in step with everything happening in his life - both personal and professional. She'd been an excellent choice for the position.

He was just about to head into his office when Evelyn drew his attention to a familiar figure waiting in one of the plush chairs in the foyer. Sirius paused, his eyes narrowing slightly in recognition before a slow smile spread across his face.

"Well, well. Lord Briarwood," Sirius said smoothly, his voice practically purring with satisfaction as he strode across the carpeted foyer, his footsteps muffled by the luxurious fabric. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit at such an early hour?"

Lord Briarwood, a red-faced, broad-shouldered man, stood as Sirius approached. He was dressed in the finest silks, the deep emerald green of his robes shimmering in the light. Despite his well-fed appearance, there was still a hint of muscle beneath the layers of fabric, suggesting that he hadn't always been the sedentary noble he appeared to be now. His eyes, however, were hard and flinty, glaring out from beneath thick brows as he extended his hand to Sirius in greeting.

"Minister," Briarwood said stiffly, his voice strained with a forced politeness. "It seems there's been some... Issues with my family's rights and privileges according to your Ministry. I have come to clear things up."

Sirius nodded affably, clasping the man's hand firmly in his own. "Of course, Lord Briarwood. I'm sure this is just a minor misunderstanding," He said, his tone light. "Come, let's sort it out in my office."

As he guided Briarwood with a hand on his shoulder, gesturing toward the doors to his office, Sirius's mind was already working through the details of the meeting ahead. He wasn't surprised that Briarwood had come in person. In fact, he'd expected it. The little 'issues' Briarwood mentioned - the mysterious fines, the sudden suspension of his family's apparition licenses, the revoked portkey permissions - were all things Sirius had orchestrated. They were bait, designed to lure the elusive Lord Briarwood out of his heavily warded estate and into Sirius's domain.

Sirius had been chasing Briarwood for too long, ever since realizing that the man's shares in the Daily Prophet were the last piece of the puzzle needed for majority control. Briarwood had been clever, hiding behind his ancestral wards, evading direct confrontation. But here, in the heart of the Ministry, he was vulnerable. Here, Sirius could apply pressure in ways that Briarwood had never anticipated.

He hadn't had much choice but to show, or he'd lose face in the Pureblood community. Yet the man must have known he'd face pressure. If only he wasn't so prideful, he could have foiled Sirius yet again, by simply staying home.

Sirius guided Briarwood through the door with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "As Minister, it is, of course, my duty to see to any such issues immediately," He said smoothly.

He turned to Evelyn as they passed through the threshold. "Evelyn, be a dear and bring us only the finest beverages. Then, if you would, seal the office for privacy. Lord Briarwood's status demands nothing less."

Evelyn nodded, already moving to fetch the drinks, while Briarwood visibly perked up at the mention of his status being honored. Sirius hid his smirk. How easily they played into his hands. Briarwood may have been clever enough to elude him for a time, but here, in the Ministry, separated from his fortress-like estate, he was like a fat juicy lamb separated from the herd just as the big bad black wolf came in for supper…

They entered the office, the heavy door closing behind them with a soft click. Briarwood's eyes flicked around the room, taking in the understated elegance, the polished Elderwood desk, the art on the walls, and the sweeping enchanted window showing the grounds of Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest beyond. He seemed to relax, settling into one of the leather chairs in front of Sirius's desk.

"Nice office," Briarwood commented, his voice attempting casualness but strained with tension. "I see you've made yourself quite comfortable, Minister."

Sirius gave a small chuckle, settling into his own chair. "It's important to be comfortable in one's surroundings, don't you think? After all, this is where most of the work gets done."

Evelyn returned moments later, silently placing a tray of fine crystal glasses and a decanter of aged firewhisky on the table between them. She poured the drinks with the precision of someone who had done this many times before, then quietly exited the room, sealing it with a flick of her wand. The wards hummed briefly in response, ensuring that no sound could escape the office.

Once they were alone, Sirius leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass to Briarwood. "To a productive meeting," He said smoothly.

Briarwood lifted his glass as well, his fingers tightening around the crystal in a way that betrayed his tension. "To a productive meeting," He echoed, though the words seemed to weigh heavily on his tongue. He took a sip of the firewhisky, its warmth doing little to ease the stiffness in his posture.

Sirius swirled the amber liquid in his own glass, watching Briarwood over the rim. The man was trying to maintain an air of control, but Sirius could see the cracks in his composure. His eyes darted around the room, and his shoulders were hunched slightly, as though anticipating an attack. The pressure was already starting to get to him, and they hadn't even begun.

Sirius set his glass down with a soft clink and leaned forward, his expression one of casual interest. "Now, Lord Briarwood, why don't you tell me exactly what's troubling you? I'm sure we can resolve whatever bureaucratic mishap brought you here."

Briarwood cleared his throat, clearly not eager to get to the heart of the matter. "It seems that... Several aspects of my family's status have been, shall we say, disrupted," He began, his tone strained but measured. "Our apparition licenses have been revoked, our portkey permissions suspended, Floo access... And there are some rather substantial fines that have appeared out of nowhere."

Sirius raised his eyebrows, his face a picture of polite concern. "Really? That's quite odd. I can't imagine how such an oversight could occur. Rest assured, Lord Briarwood, I'll personally look into it. But in the meantime, perhaps we should discuss something else while I have you here."

He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. The warmth and friendliness in his voice remained, but there was a sharper edge beneath it, a hint of steel. "I've been meaning to talk to you about your holdings in the Daily Prophet, after all..."

Briarwood stiffened, his grip tightening around his glass. His flinty eyes darkened. "The Daily Prophet? What about it, Minister?"

Sirius smiled, a slow, measured grin that did little to hide his true intent. "As you may know, I've been consolidating certain... Interests. The Prophet is an important tool, and I believe it's time it had some new leadership. A fresh perspective, if you will. You hold a significant number of shares, Lord Briarwood, and I'd like to make you an offer for them. A very generous one."

Briarwood's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn't respond. Then, slowly, he placed his glass on the table and leaned forward, his face reddening. "Minister Black, with all due respect, my family has held those shares for some time. I have no intention of selling them."

Sirius's smile didn't falter, but his eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "I see. That's a shame. But surely, Lord Briarwood, you understand the importance of ensuring that our nation's most prominent publication is in the right hands - especially in times like these, when we all have to work towards healing, from the ravages of war."

Briarwood's expression hardened, and he sat up straighter in his chair. "I won't sell, Black. My family's name is tied to the Prophet now, and I have no intention of relinquishing control of our holdings. Not to you, and not to anyone."

Sirius sighed softly, swirling the firewhisky in his glass before taking another sip. "I respect that, truly," He said, his voice soft but carrying a dangerous undertone. "Family legacies are important. But so is progress. And we both know that the Daily Prophet is... Well, let's say it could use some modernization. A change of direction, one might argue."

Or a direction in general, really. The multitude of shareholders had really made the Prophet come across as schizophrenic at times.

Briarwood's face flushed deeper. "I don't care what direction you want to take it in. The Prophet is fine as it is, and I won't be bullied into selling. You might be Minister, Black, but you don't control everything."

Not yet, no, he thought darkly.

Sirius's smile finally faded, replaced by a cool, calculating expression. "You're right. I don't control everything... Yet. But what I do control, Lord Briarwood, is the Ministry. And I have to say, it's remarkable how many little complications can arise when someone isn't cooperating with the government. Licenses revoked, permissions denied, fines piling up as you said... It would be quite the headache to deal with if that got even worse, wouldn't you agree?"

Briarwood's hand clenched into a fist on the arm of his chair, his knuckles turning white. "You think you can intimidate me into selling? You're no better than the Death Eaters."

Sirius leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, cold and unyielding. "No, Lord Briarwood, I'm not a Death Eater. But I am someone who gets things done. And if you think that hiding behind your family's name will protect you from the full weight of the Ministry, you're mistaken."

It was also funny to hear that from a man who possibly was a Death Eater, possibly wasn't. But who definitely had a child who was. He definitely shouldn't throw Death Eaters through glass houses…

Briarwood's breathing quickened, but he held his ground, glaring at Sirius. "You can't touch my family. We're protected by the Wizengamot. They won't allow you to bully us."

Sirius's eyes gleamed with dangerous amusement. "The Wizengamot? Oh, I wouldn't count on them stepping in to save you, Briarwood. They've got their own interests to protect above all, and none of them will risk exposing themselves by intervening in your little legal... Complications. You see, what I'm offering you is a way out. Sell me your shares, and all of this goes away. The licenses, the fines, the Ministry audits. You walk out of here with more galleons than you could ever need, and your family's reputation stays intact."

Not necessarily true, but Sirius didn't need truth here, he needed to just keep pushing, showing the man all the disadvantages to continuing his stubbornness, and then show him a carrot, dangling it in front of his greedy face.

Briarwood's face flushed with anger, his eyes blazing as he leaned forward. "And if I don't?"

Sirius's smile returned, but this time it was colder, more menacing. "If you don't... Well, then you'll find that the Ministry can be a very difficult place to navigate when it wants to be. Those 'issues' you've been having? They'll only get worse. And I can assure you, the longer they go unresolved, the more your family will start to feel the pressure." He leaned forward, "I will not stop, I can tell you that now…"

Briarwood was silent for a moment, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. His mind was clearly racing, weighing his options, calculating the risks. His family had long been a powerful one, if not at the top of the heap exactly, but Sirius was right - the Ministry had ways of making life difficult, and the Wizengamot would likely turn a blind eye to it as long as it didn't overly affect them.

In the end, most Pureblood families were allies on parchment only. Only those with close marriage connections in the last generation usually cared about the other. As long as the issue didn't concern them, it was hard to get them moving together.

It was still a risk, if Briarwood had a loud enough tantrum… But Sirius could likely mitigate any fallout.

But still, Briarwood wasn't ready to concede. His pride wouldn't allow it. "You think you can force me out, Black? You think the Black family can just push us around?" He said harshly.

Sirius's smile widened. "Oh, I think you'll find the Black family can bring quite a bit of pressure to bear. But this isn't just about my family, Lord Briarwood. It's about power. You know as well as I do that the winds are changing. And if you don't adapt, you'll be left behind, you'd rather have me as a friend, then an enemy, I can assure you…"

He stood up and moved around the desk, placing a hand on Briarwood's shoulder with a mockingly reassuring gesture. "But I'll be generous. I'll pay you top galleons for your shares. Enough to set your family up as kings elsewhere, if you wish. Think of it as a way to... Diversify your interests."

Briarwood stiffened at Sirius's touch, but he didn't pull away. His eyes narrowed as he considered the offer, but his pride still held him back. "And what if I say no? What if I choose to stay and fight?" He said challengingly, "You really think you can move me with fines and bureaucratic nonsense?"

Sirius's expression darkened, his voice soft but dangerous. "Then let me ask you this, how secure do you think your family's wards are, Briarwood? Would they hold if the Dark Lord returned? If another Dark Lord rose in his place? Because make no mistake, there will always be someone else. Someone darker, someone more dangerous. And those nice wards of yours? They'll be worth nothing when the time comes." He grinned darkly, "I wonder, what will the dark families think if I trumpet our close collaboration? After all, you snuck in here early for a meeting, did you not?"

Briarwood paled slightly, the unspoken threat hanging in the air like a sword over his head. The mention of the Dark Lord, the subtle reminder of the chaos and destruction he had brought... It was enough to make any wizard pause. Even one as proud as Briarwood. Especially if he could be painted as a possible turncoat.

Sirius honestly had thought the other threats would have been enough, but Briarwood had more steel than he thought. This though… He had a feeling would be enough he could deploy the carrot to end things.

Because Sirius saw the shift in his demeanor, the flicker of doubt in his eyes. And so he pressed on, his voice smooth and persuasive. "Or, you could just take the galleons I'm offering. More than enough to protect your family. More than enough to set yourselves up somewhere far away from all this - somewhere safe. Somewhere like... Peru."

Briarwood's eyes flicked to Sirius, a spark of curiosity breaking through his stubborn resistance. "Peru?"

Sirius smiled again, this time with genuine amusement. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a parchment, unfolding it slowly as Briarwood watched. "Yes, Lord Briarwood. Peru. The International Confederation of Wizards recently recognized a new magical enclave there after some opportunistic wizards carved it out of the muggle world, one with a great deal of opportunity for a family like yours. With the kind of wealth I'm offering, you could be running the place as a king within a year. Instead of hiding behind wards, fearful of what might happen next, you could be ruling."

And most importantly, be out of his way, with the Prophet firmly in his hands.

He laid the parchment out on the desk in front of Briarwood, letting the man see the details for himself. It was all there - the recognition of the enclave, the potential for growth, the political openings. Sirius had done his homework, and he had prepared this particular card for just the right moment. Now, watching Briarwood's eyes flick across the document, he knew it had landed perfectly.

Briarwood swallowed hard, his fingers twitching slightly as he reached out to touch the parchment. He scanned it, reading through the opportunity Sirius had so carefully laid out. For a man of his stature, power was everything, and the prospect of being a major player in a new, untouched magical enclave was an alluring proposition.

Britain was set. So was most of the magical world. A new enclave almost never happened any longer, the muggle world too vast. It was one thing to be a Pureblood Lord amongst many. Quite another to rule like a tyrant somewhere with absolute authority.

The room was silent for a few moments, the only sound the soft rustle of the parchment as Briarwood considered the possibilities. Slowly, a flicker of greed flashed in his eyes, and Sirius smiled inwardly.

So predictable.

Greed was always the trump card with men like Briarwood. Pride and fear could be worn down over time, but greed - greed had the power to override almost anything.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, giving Briarwood space to think, but his voice was low, a final push to seal the deal. "Think about it. No more hassle, no more Ministry interference. Just freedom. Power. A legacy somewhere new, far from Britain's uncertainties. I'll make sure you and your family get the start you deserve, if you sell."

Briarwood's face twitched, indecision clear in his eyes. After a long, agonizing pause, he looked up, and Sirius knew he had him.

Two hours later, Sirius sat in his office, a fresh set of signed parchments before him. The Black family now held majority control of the Daily Prophet.

His work could truly begin.

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A few days later,

Sirius leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he glanced across the room at Arthur Weasley, who sat at a newly placed second desk in his office. The rich green upholstery of the chair and the finely carved Elderwood of the desk clashed slightly with Arthur's rumpled robes and perpetually disheveled appearance, but Sirius thought the contrast rather fitting. Arthur was one of the few in the Ministry who, despite his outward appearance, was capable of handling anything thrown at him with genuine integrity and hard work.

Arthur was now officially Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, a title Sirius had practically forced upon him, and though Arthur had his own office close by, Sirius was keeping him close for now. It wasn't about control - Arthur was more than capable of handling himself - but Sirius wanted him to get a feel for how things ran. Arthur needed to see firsthand how Sirius operated, how he thought, how he moved through the minefield of politics and endless bureaucracy that made up the Ministry. Before Arthur could fly on his own wings, he needed to see the machine from the inside.

Both men were staring down at piles of parchments, the light from the enchanted window behind them casting shadows over the parchment work. Outside, the magical view of Hogwarts shimmered in the early morning light, the grounds peaceful compared to the chaos within these walls.

Sirius groaned in disgust, slapping a particularly offensive parchment down with more force than necessary. "No wonder the Ministry was always strapped for cash," He muttered, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off an oncoming headache. "How in Merlin's name do we have seven wizards employed solely to track vampire movements on the isles?" He glanced over the report again, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "And between those seven, there's been a grand total of - get this - four reports… In twelve years."

Sirius probably met more vampires than that during his school years while sneaking out to pubs with the Marauders!

Arthur winced at the revelation, though his expression was more resigned than surprised. "That doesn't shock me as much as it should," He admitted ruefully. "I've never really thought about how many members some departments actually had. I suppose I'll have to now."

Sirius, irritated, scribbled terminated with a flick of his quill over all seven names. "And while we're at it, let's add the sub-department head too," He muttered, scratching out another line over the name of the unfortunate soul in charge of those seven. He paused, tapping his quill thoughtfully. "Best not to touch Amos Diggory, though. Politically unwise at this point. I'll deal with him later." He muttered.

Although a switch in departments would definitely be necessary at some point for the man, who obviously had no idea what was going on in his fiefdom.

Arthur nodded, watching as Sirius efficiently handled the termination of an entire team. His own stack of parchment work felt like it was growing larger by the minute, and he glanced at the untouched pile with a heavy sigh. "You've got to be careful with how far you take this, though, Sirius. The Wizengamot won't allow too many sweeping changes at once."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, casting Arthur a contemplative glance. "Unfortunately, you're right. They won't let me rip out the roots just yet." He frowned, clearly dissatisfied. "But we can at least lay the groundwork now. The moment we have the leverage, we can rewrite every single aspect of how this Ministry functions."

Arthur's face lit up at the thought. The idea of modernizing the Ministry, especially with a few muggle ideas thrown in, excited him. Yet there was a momentary hesitation as the weight of it all sank in. "Still, you're right. The framework is the first step."

Sirius nodded, already half-focused on the next set of reports. "Speaking of frameworks, I'll be sending you to a seminar. Muggle-based. You'll find the whole thing fascinating, I promise. We need to bring some of that efficiency in here." He waved a hand over the piles of parchment as if to say just look at the state of it.

Arthur's eyes lit up at the mention of a muggle seminar, but he couldn't help the flicker of uncertainty that passed across his face. "I'd love to go, but won't the Wizengamot resist muggle methods?"

Sirius snorted, a dry chuckle escaping him. "Of course, they will. They'll fight every progressive step we take, but that's why we do this incrementally. Let them argue over the small things while we put the big pieces in place." He also glanced dryly at Arthur, "We also wouldn't tell them it's muggle procedures in the first place…"

They could just call it ancient Greek Pureblood systems and they'd all eat it up…

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, though his gaze drifted back to his own towering pile of parchment. "I never realized how much of this stuff there would be," He muttered, picking up a particularly thick file and flipping it open. "And it just keeps coming."

Sirius barked a laugh, his tone sympathetic but amused. "Chin up, Arthur. You could always be dealing with mine." He gestured toward the towering stacks of unsorted parchments near the door, eight massive piles of documents, all waiting to be reviewed. His own desk was already covered in four thick stacks, each one threatening to spill over at any moment.

Arthur grimaced, eyeing the papers. "Moody's really going at it, isn't he?"

"Moody's a monster of efficiency," Sirius agreed, shaking his head in bemusement. "He's tearing through the Ministry like a dragon in a china shop, rooting out every bit of corruption he can find. It's impressive, but Merlin's beard - it leaves a lot of parchment work in its wake."

Arthur dipped his quill into the inkpot and began scribbling notes on one of his parchments, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a few minutes, Sirius broke the silence with a casual question.

"How's the Ministry gossip taking things?" Sirius asked, not looking up as he scrawled terminated over yet another name. The report in his hand detailed a rather unsavory incident involving misuse of house elves that made his skin crawl. Amos, what the hell is going on in your department? He thought grimly. When it comes to house elf regulations. These things were ones he was quite certain the department wasn't meant to be regulating…

Dear Merlin was he glad he didn't have a Hermione type person around for this mess. He was honestly thinking about Obliviating himself just from reading about it.

Arthur glanced up from his own stack of parchments. "Mixed," He said slowly. "A lot of people are worried about the audits going on, of course. No one likes having their records dug into. But those who don't have anything to hide seem... Well, smug, really."

Sirius snorted, not looking up. "I imagine there aren't many in that second group."

Arthur smiled faintly but didn't contradict him. He shuffled through his paperwork, clearly ready to change the subject. "Those vending machines you had installed? They've been quite a hit. Facilities sent me a report this morning - they're asking for more. Apparently, they can't keep up with refilling the butterbeer ones."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face. The vending machines had been an idle idea at first, more for his own amusement than anything else, but they had taken off in ways he hadn't expected. "See? Brilliant idea, wasn't it?"

Arthur chuckled. "They are popular, that's for sure." He held up a small report. "Facilities is asking for authorization for ten more, though they specifically requested more butterbeer. The muggle snacks are getting quite a following too, especially those... What are they called? Little bags of Pretzels?"

Sirius's grin widened. "Go ahead and authorize another ten. Make them all muggle vending machines enchanted up, you know the drill - it was part of your department - except make one more butterbeer. That'll keep the masses happy." He chuckled, imagining the purebloods blissfully unaware that they were enjoying muggle snacks. "Honestly, I don't think they realize most of the stuff is muggle-made. I caught Lord Avery popping open a can of Coke the other day, rambling on about its 'magical properties'."

Arthur laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "It's been quite a morale booster, I have to say."

Sirius had noted a definite uptick in morale amongst the muggle born and half-bloods in the Ministry after the vending machines were put in. Apparently they took just as great amusement as Sirius did, in Purebloods going crazy over muggle drinks and snacks. Especially the 'magic fizz' in the drinks.

Sirius smirked. "It's about time someone brought a bit of modernity into this place. The Ministry's been stuck in the dark ages for far too long." He grabbed another parchment, wincing slightly at the sheer amount of scandalous material coming through Moody's reports. "Although… I've learned more about certain people's tastes than I ever needed to know."

Arthur glanced up from his paperwork, a little worried. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

Sirius sighed, shaking his head. "Let's just say I never thought I'd read a report about someone misusing house elves... Like that. We need to clean house, Arthur. There's rot in places I didn't even know existed."

Arthur grimaced. "That's… Unsettling, to say the least."

Sirius dropped the parchment onto the ever-growing pile of terminations. "To say the least, yes. But at least we're making progress." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "How are people taking to the office changes? Has anyone commented on the sprucing up efforts?"

Arthur leaned back, tapping his quill thoughtfully. "They've noticed, but I don't think it's really sunk in yet. Everyone's so focused on Moody's audits that they're not paying much attention to the environment."

Sirius hummed in thought. He had hoped his little 'donation' to the Ministry, which had resulted in warmer colors on the wall instead of the dull gray look, with enchanted windows showing scenic nature vistas now all over the Ministry - instead of only select offices - would improve morale, but perhaps it was too early to tell. "Well, it'll hit eventually. Give it time. Once they stop worrying about losing their jobs, they'll start appreciating their surroundings a bit more."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Arthur nodded in agreement, though his gaze drifted back to the towering stack of parchment before him. He sighed, shoulders slumping as he reached for the next document in line. "There's just so much to get through," He muttered, eyes already glazed over with exhaustion. "And it's only going to get worse, isn't it?"

"Well, people needed the wake up call, the whole Ministry did, and once we've fixed the issues, the parchment work will slow down." Sirius said with a cocky smile.

Arthur leaned forward, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You know, in all my years at the Ministry, I've never seen anything like this. People used to be comfortable - too comfortable. Now everyone's holding their breath, waiting for the ax to fall."

"Good," Sirius said without hesitation, the smile fading from his face. "Let them hold their breath. The days of people collecting a paycheck for doing nothing - or worse, lining their pockets - are over. I'm not running a charity, and this place has been allowed to rot for far too long."

Arthur nodded but shifted uneasily in his seat. "It's a difficult line to walk, though. There are good people in the Ministry, honest people, who are starting to feel a little... Nervous about all the changes."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Honest people shouldn't be worried. If they're doing their jobs, they've got nothing to fear."

"True," Arthur agreed, "but sometimes even the good ones get swept up in the panic. There's a lot of gossip going around - people wondering if they're next."

Sirius paused, leaning back in his chair, considering Arthur's words. He had expected resistance to the audits, but the idea that even honest employees were feeling the pressure hadn't fully sunk in until now. "I suppose you're right," He admitted. "But that's the cost of shaking things up. Sometimes you have to rattle the cage to get people to sit up and take notice. Once we've weeded out the worst of the rot, things will settle down."

Arthur ran a hand through his thinning red hair, nodding. "I just hope it doesn't alienate too many of the good ones along the way."

Sirius smirked, leaning forward with a glint of mischief in his eye. "That's why you're here, Arthur. To smooth over the rough patches. You're the one people trust. They'll come to you when they're worried, and you'll tell them that everything's going to be alright."

Arthur gave him a wry smile. "Is that so? You've got it all figured out, haven't you?"

"Of course," Sirius replied, not missing a beat. "I'll handle the dirty work, the politics, the firings. You'll be the reassuring voice that reminds them the Ministry is in good hands. Together, we'll keep this ship afloat."

Arthur chuckled softly. "I'm not sure I'm quite as persuasive as you think I am, but I'll do my best."

Sirius shot him a playful grin. "Don't sell yourself short, Arthur. People listen to you. More than you realize. Besides, the vending machines are already doing half the job for us in keeping people sated."

Arthur laughed, nodding as he sifted through another stack of reports. "Yes, well, those pretzels do seem to work wonders."

Sirius sat back, satisfied with the progress they were making, despite the mountains of parchment still waiting to be addressed. The Ministry was already starting to shift, to feel different, and while the task ahead of them was monumental, he couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration at the challenge.

Of course, the Wizengamot was the real threat, he could clean up all he wanted and it wouldn't matter if he couldn't slowly pull them under as well… But that was for the future.

His plans for the Ministry would show their own growing pains soon enough. This much change would not be able to continue to run smoothly forever.

Sirius glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. "Alright, back to it, then. The sooner we clear these stacks, the sooner we can tackle the next batch."

Arthur groaned softly, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes. "You mean there's more coming?"

"Always," Sirius said with a dramatic sigh. "The Ministry never sleeps, Arthur. And neither do the bureaucrats, apparently."

Arthur smiled, though his expression was resigned. "Well, at least we'll have vending machines to keep us going."

"Exactly," Sirius replied with a grin. "And, if all else fails, there's always the stack of butterbeer waiting for us in the corner."

As the two men turned their attention back to the endless piles of parchment work, the magical window behind them shifted, showing the rolling hills of the Hogwarts grounds bathed in golden sunlight. The work ahead was daunting, but Sirius knew they were making progress. Slowly but surely, the Ministry was changing - being reshaped into something better. Something more efficient. Something ready for the challenges to come.

And though the work was endless, Sirius couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. This was only the beginning after all…

----------------------------------------

One of the unexpected perks Sirius had discovered upon becoming Minister of Magic was that he no longer had to go out of his way to see anyone. They came to him.

Whether it was a Wizengamot lord looking for a favor, a Department Head desperate to save their job, or, in this case, Barnabas Cuffe, the pompous editor of the Daily Prophet, they all ended up standing before him eventually. It was a small victory, but one Sirius found to be deeply satisfying.

As Barnabas Cuffe was shown into the Minister's office, he looked anything but pleased. The expression of barely concealed discomfort on his face, combined with the sheen of nervous sweat on his forehead, made it clear that he didn't want to be here. But the fact that he was had everything to do with the ironclad grip Sirius now held over him.

The shark-like grin on Sirius's face might have had something to do with how uneasy Barnabas looked as well. Or maybe it was the sheer glee Sirius took in knowing that, after this meeting, Barnabas would have to answer to him - completely and utterly.

The Daily Prophet was his.

The power of the media would be one of his finest weapons going forward.

"Minister," Barnabas mumbled, fidgeting where he stood. He hovered awkwardly near the large desk, casting a glance around the room as if looking for a chair. Sirius had removed all of them - just to be petty.

It wasn't that Barnabas couldn't conjure one. Of course he could - he was a wizard, after all. But the thought wouldn't even occur to him. Wizards and witches - especially those accustomed to a life of wealth and influence - were often bound by unwritten rules of behavior that made them painfully predictable. Barnabas wouldn't dare conjure a chair in the Minister's office without being offered one. He would stand there, sweating, waiting for permission that would never come.

Sirius made him wait a little longer, enjoying the sight of the man squirming. He could almost hear the anxious thoughts racing through Barnabas's head. Why was he summoned? What does Sirius want? How bad is this going to be?

Finally, Sirius leaned back in his chair, the rich green leather creaking slightly, and offered the man a sharp smile. "I'm glad you could find the time to see me, Cuffe."

Barnabas twitched slightly, his eyes darting to the door as if contemplating an escape route. "Well... Yes... Had the time and all that," He muttered, his words barely audible.

So different now that he knew he held no power… The man had lost his arrogance.

Sirius steepled his fingers, his gaze predatory as he watched Barnabas's discomfort grow. "I'm sure you did," Sirius said dryly, clearly not bothering with the usual pleasantries. His tone was almost mocking, and the power imbalance in the room was so palpable, it might as well have been a physical presence.

Barnabas shifted on his feet, wringing his hands together as Sirius waved his wand. With a flick of his wrist, a stack of parchment flew off the desk and into Barnabas's arms, the papers nearly spilling over as he fumbled to catch them.

Barnabas blinked down at the parchment, squinting at the top sheet, before his face blanched as he realized what it was. "I - " His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying again. "I can't!"

Sirius's grin sharpened. "Ah, so you're refusing, then?" He raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with false curiosity. "Who is your second again? Perhaps I should ask them instead?"

Barnabas's already pale face flushed a deep red, and he looked like he'd just swallowed a pint of bubotuber pus. "I mean… I can… But, Minister -"

"I. Own. You," Sirius interrupted, his voice cold and firm, each word landing like a heavy weight in the room. "You will print what I want, when I want it. The rest of the time, you can run your little rag however you like. But nothing - and I do mean nothing - goes against the guidelines outlined in those parchments." His eyes flickered to the bundle still trembling in Barnabas's grasp. "Is that clear?"

Barnabas opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he were trying to summon up the courage to protest further, but nothing came out. He stared down at the papers, the color draining from his face. He knew what this meant. His position as editor of the Daily Prophet was prestigious, but it came with certain responsibilities. Now, it would come with obligations only - to Sirius Black.

Sirius watched him closely, his gaze unyielding. This wasn't just about the Daily Prophet. This was about control, always about control. The power of the press wasn't enough to shift the Wizengamot on its own, but it could influence them. And more importantly, it completely ruled the masses. The wizarding public would believe whatever the Daily Prophet printed, and Sirius intended to make sure that narrative suited his purposes.

Barnabas looked like a man on the edge of a breakdown, and Sirius decided to push him just a little further. "Oh, and just to make sure we're clear here," Sirius added darkly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "An associate of mine will be arriving at your office in one hour. You'll be signing those guidelines using a blood quill."

Barnabas's eyes widened in horror. "That's illegal!" He spluttered, looking for all the world like a cornered rat.

Sirius almost wanted to bellow out, I am the law! But the man would likely wet himself, so he refrained.

Instead Sirius waved his hand in a casual, dismissive gesture. "Not between two consenting parties, it isn't," He said smoothly, his grin widening as Barnabas realized he had no way out. "It's just a little insurance, Cuffe. To make sure you fully understand that this isn't optional."

He wasn't enthused about using such things. Hated dark artifacts in general. Would destroy most of them that only had evil purposes in a heartbeat. But blood quills did have a use…

Magical oaths and the like weren't as tight as one would have thought, because someone could always find a way past them. Unless they were literally soul bound, which was very illegal, and the process for which to do so wasn't really known anymore outside the Goblins treaty. Which had bound their entire nation.

But a worm like this? Who wouldn't dare to disobey anyway, he'd be bound enough by a simple blood quill.

Barnabas was trembling now, visibly shaken. His hands clutched the parchments as though they might somehow save him from the nightmare he found himself in. He looked desperate, panicked. But, as Sirius knew well, there was no way Barnabas would ever give up his position as editor. Not for something like this. The man's entire life revolved around his career, and he would do anything - anything - to keep it.

"I..." Barnabas stammered, trying to find words that wouldn't come.

Sirius leaned forward, his voice soft but filled with dangerous finality. "I own you. So, you will sign. You will do as you're told. And you will be rewarded for your cooperation. Disobey me... And you'll lose everything."

Barnabas swallowed thickly, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Yes, Minister," He whispered, barely audible.

Sirius gave a satisfied nod. "Good. You may go now."

Barnabas turned toward the door, moving slowly as though his legs were made of lead. His steps faltered, and for a moment, he looked as though he might collapse. But somehow, he managed to stay upright, his head down, his face ashen.

As the door closed behind him, Sirius exhaled softly, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. Barnabas Cuffe was firmly under his control now. The man might grumble, he might hate Sirius with every fiber of his being, but he would obey. The blood quill signature was just an added insurance policy - a symbolic shackle to keep him in line. In truth, Sirius didn't even need it. The man's own cowardice would keep him tethered, but it was always good to have layers of security.

The Daily Prophet was the final piece in a plan Sirius had been crafting since the moment he had the plan to enter the Ministry. He had the power now to shape public perception, to drive narratives, to make the wizarding world see things exactly the way he wanted them to. And with that kind of influence, everything else - Wizengamot votes, Ministry reforms, political upheaval - would eventually be possible.

He glanced down at his desk, the weight of what he'd just accomplished settling over him. It wasn't the cleanest method, but then again, very little about his new role was clean. If he wanted to create a better magical world, he would have to get into the muck with the rest of them to clean it up. There were no innocent hands in politics. And now, with the Prophet under his control, the real work could begin.

Just as Sirius was about to return to the mountain of reports awaiting him, his secretary, Evelyn, poked her head through the door. She gave him a knowing look, her keen eyes picking up on the residual tension in the air. "Don't run off, sir. You have the meeting with the Wizengamot committee at four," She said, her voice calm and steady as always.

How she knew he'd been about to skip, he had no clue. Assistants had their own kind of magic, perhaps?

Sirius's mood instantly soured at her words. He sighed, pushing the stack of papers aside. "Ah, yes. Thank you for the reminder," He muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

If only he could deal with the Wizengamot like he did with Cuffe…

----------------------------------------

At exactly four o'clock, the trio of annoyances arrived, perfectly on time, as expected.

The Wizengamot committee, though it had a long-winded and pompous official title, was known simply as 'the Committee' to most. Its purpose was a necessary evil - to monitor the daily workings of the Minister and Ministry, and ensure nothing too controversial slipped past the Wizengamot without the need for constant full hearings.

In theory, it was a balanced oversight committee, consisting of one representative from each major faction - Light, Dark, and Neutral. In practice, it was a rotating roster of mouthpieces, puppets selected to peddle the interests of their faction leaders without having to involve the full Wizengamot in every minor issue.

Today's trio consisted of Lady Brown for the Light faction, Lord Parkinson for the Dark, and Lord Fowler for the Neutrals. It wasn't a particularly irksome mix, as far as Sirius was concerned. Parkinson was all bluster with little bite - his bark louder thanks to the protection of Lucius Malfoy, who still had his back for the moment.

Fowler was a malleable, self-serving fop, quick to bluster and complain but prone to back down when pressured. And Lady Brown, though seemingly the most congenial, was sharp enough to be dangerous. She had the annoying habit of couching her barbs in layers of pleasantness, the way a seamstress tucked needles between folds of silk.

Yet, out of all of them, she'd be the most likely to agree with him, so today, he'd hopefully not be bled through by too many pricks.

Sirius greeted them with his most disarming smile, pouring out drinks from a decanter as they took their seats. He had intentionally opted for a more informal arrangement.- no grand desk, no raised podiums. Instead, they sat in plush armchairs, arranged in a circle to foster an air of intimacy. But Sirius knew better than anyone that this was a battle, no matter how pleasant the surroundings.

"Lady Brown, Lord Parkinson, Lord Fowler," Sirius greeted them cordially as he passed out the drinks. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?"

He leaned back in his chair, taking a casual sip from his glass, while watching their reactions. The drinks had been an intentional choice - light but strong enough to warm the senses. Nothing dulled the edges of a sharp discussion better than a touch of alcohol.

Lord Parkinson puffed up almost immediately, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. "This ridiculous audit of yours, Minister Black. I have to say, there are severe concerns within the Wizengamot regarding its scope."

Lady Brown remained silent for the moment, her pleasant smile not quite reaching her eyes. Fowler, meanwhile, nodded sharply, his brows furrowed in disapproval. "Too right," Fowler muttered. "It's causing quite the mess in the Ministry, if you ask me."

Sirius set his drink down, the faint clink of glass against the table punctuating his words. "I understand it's not an easy thing to witness," He said affably, "but I have a responsibility to the Wizengamot and to the public to balance the Ministry's budget. Already, we've found redundancies that have saved us over eighty thousand galleons."

He wasn't even lying, and that was the most ridiculous part. Eighty thousand galleons saved in the first few weeks - and Moody wasn't even done yet.

This was with Sirius holding back from dealing with all of the redundancies and embezzlement found too.

Lady Brown's smile brightened, her eyes twinkling in a way that made Sirius instantly wary. "See, gentlemen? I told you the Minister had things well in hand. No one can argue with such savings, can they?" The way her eyes slid across the other two, told Sirius they'd already argued amongst themselves before coming here, as that had the sound of a pointed jab.

From the looks on the faces of the two Lords, they certainly could argue, but before they could open their mouths, Sirius pressed on. "If the unfortunate loss of jobs among Pureblood families is a concern," He said, giving them an olive branch, "I can assure you that our hiring practices will remain as they are."

Which meant yes, they could continue to hire Purebloods over more qualified half bloods and muggleborns, the thing they were really concerned about. Money wasn't something these people cared about too much. Not at these small amounts.

It was a sad reality, but one Sirius knew he couldn't change - not yet. If he began cutting Pureblood preferential treatment too soon, he'd have the entire Wizengamot up in arms, regardless of the faction.

Even the light side for all their magnanimity, never pushed too hard for any kind of actual equality.

Hence why someone like Sirius needed to come along. Willing to flip the board.

He just couldn't. Yet.

Lord Fowler eyed him sharply, clearly weighing Sirius's words, before settling somewhat. "Well," He said, letting out a huff, "As long as that remains, then… I suppose it's only right."

Lord Parkinson looked sour, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between Sirius and Fowler. He was clearly hoping for more support from Fowler, but it seemed the Neutral faction wasn't feeling quite as militant today.

Sirius, sensing the shift in the room, leaned forward slightly, pouring another drink for Lady Brown. "I assume that wasn't the only matter you wanted to discuss?"

There never was just one thing.

Old Purebloods were incredible busybodies at times.

Lady Brown took the glass with a gracious nod, her smile demure as she tilted her head. "The goblins," She said, her voice almost too casual. "The Wizengamot has questions."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue, but it was Lord Fowler who couldn't hold back his disdain. "Questions? It's bloody mad, is what it is! Giving the goblins any power is utterly ridiculous, let alone letting them hold wizards captive."

Personally Sirius thought using Dementors could hardly be called sane, but for now he held his tongue.

Parkinson, who had been quietly nursing his drink, said nothing on this subject. Sirius knew why, of course. The Dark faction had plenty of family members in Azkaban, and while they would never admit it publicly, they wouldn't mind seeing the Dementors gone. The less their relatives suffered, the better, even if it meant goblins overseeing them instead.

In them, he had an ally of sorts when it came down to this.

Sirius reclined back in his chair, keeping his posture relaxed as he addressed Fowler's concerns. "Ah, it seems there's been a bit of a misunderstanding, Lord Fowler. Any deal with the goblins would be written into the existing treaties. They would be magically bound from breaking it, which means they couldn't harm prisoners, facilitate escapes, or betray us in any way. Magic would enforce it."

He watched Fowler's face twist in confusion and skepticism. The intricacies of the goblin treaty were likely lost on him, as they were on many in the Wizengamot. Most of them only remembered the rebellions and the subsequent power struggles, which had relegated the goblins to bankers and nothing more.

Yet, even Voldemort hadn't dared to evict them from that in canon, and therefore break the treaty and its shackles on the goblin race. He likely would have at some point, once he was secure, and gone to war, but he hadn't right away - because he knew the bastards would have struck immediately if let off their leash.

It was the only reason he was willing to entertain the little buggers as the wardens of an Azkaban alternative. Because they could be forced to obey whatever they negotiated into the treaty.

It would have costs… But Sirius was willing to go pretty far for a chance to destroy Azkaban.

Lady Brown, however, was more astute when it came to the goblins than her compatriots. "The Wizengamot understands the viability of the treaty," She said smoothly. Sirius had to hold back an eye roll - he doubted many in the Wizengamot understood anything about the intricacies of the goblin treaties, but that was beside the point. "The concern is more about what you're willing to give up to get the goblins to sign on." She finished pointedly.

Sirius met her eyes, and could see her understanding, she at least, was intelligent enough to see one of the reasons Sirius was advocating for this.

His desperate need to eradicate the Dementors.

To chase away those cold walls, the chill in his bones, those rattling breaths that never left his nightmares. Every night.

"Too right," Lord Parkinson grumbled, his earlier silence now broken as he drew Sirius' attention. He downed his drink in one go, glaring at Sirius. "What's on the table, Black? What are you giving them?"

Sirius calmly refilled Parkinson's glass, taking his time before answering. "Wands," Fowler interjected heatedly before Sirius could speak, his voice rising. "It's absolute madness! You're giving them wands, aren't you? That's where this is heading!"

Sirius shook his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his lips. "Gentlemen," He said, bowing his head slightly toward Lady Brown, "And our lovely Lady," He added, causing her to titter softly, "Wands were only ever mentioned as bait. At no point will full wand rights be granted in any treaty. You have my word on that."

Goblin magic was limited in its scope by treaty, if they actually gave the buggers wands, allowed them to attempt to gain a proper use of wizard magic. They could potentially break the treaty. That was simply a no go. There wasn't one wizard or witch advocating for wands. Not even Dumbledore would hand those over.

Well… Sirius suspected anyway, Albus had done some stupid shit before, and in the future…

The room fell into a brief silence. Lady Brown studied him closely, her eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for any trace of deception. "This is a fact?" She asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Sirius nodded firmly. "Wand rights are off the table. You can inform your factions with full confidence. They won't happen."

Lady Brown seemed satisfied by this, though her expression remained guarded. "You realize," She said after a moment, "That keeping wand rights off the table will make this negotiation much more difficult for you."

Sirius grimaced, knowing she was right. "I foresee months - possibly years - of negotiation before we can rid ourselves of Azkaban. But rushing it will only make the goblins demand more. I'd rather take my time and get a deal that benefits us without giving away too much."

The first meeting he'd held with Barty, had been a first salvo, to wet the Goblins' appetite for looser restrictions. Even mentioning wands had been to simply entice them to the table.

It at least wasn't a costly endeavor of his. He could put it on the backburner, negotiate over the next few month's or years, until they finally folded just enough to make the deal palatable.

The mention of Azkaban again, seemed to shift something in Lord Parkinson's demeanor. He nodded slowly, clearly mulling over the implications. "I feel we've arrived at a somewhat satisfying conclusion, then," He said, though his tone was far from enthusiastic.

Azkaban wasn't a subject any wizard or witch enjoyed contemplating, no matter which part of the divide you were.

Fowler, still looking sour, scowled down into his glass but gave a jerky nod of agreement. It was clear he didn't like the idea of working with goblins, but the assurances about wand rights had at least mollified him for now.

Sirius offered a smile - entirely fake, but convincing enough. "I'm glad I could be of assistance," He said smoothly, leaning back in his chair again as the tension in the room began to ease. For now, at least, he had navigated the minefield. But he knew this was only the beginning. The goblins would push hard for concessions, and the Wizengamot would be watching his every move.

Still, it was progress. And in this game, every inch of progress counted.

----------------------------------------

One week after purchasing the Daily Prophet.

Sirius lounged comfortably behind his desk, a slow smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as Cornelius Fudge stood before him, nervously wringing his bowler hat in his hands. The man's face was flushed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as if he'd run the entire way to Sirius's office. His eyes darted around the room, unable to meet Sirius's cool, assessing gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Corny, corny, corny..." Sirius drawled, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. His voice oozed condescension as he spoke, watching with amusement as Fudge visibly flinched at the nickname. "You don't mind if I call you Corny, do you, Cornelius?"

Fudge opened his mouth, his voice a high-pitched, nervous stammer. "Actua-"

Sirius cut him off, not even bothering to look up from the parchment he held in his hand. "Sleeping on the job," He continued in a dramatic tone. "Terrible thing, Corny. Thirteen reports of you clogging the second-floor washroom - thirteen! Were you trying for a magical number? Because, let me tell you, Corny, it's not the sort of magic the Ministry appreciates."

Fudge's face went a deeper shade of red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I... I never -"

But Sirius was already moving on, looking at the blank parchment with a theatrical flourish as if he were reviewing a long list of offenses. "Caught sleeping with Millicent Bagnold..." Sirius paused, looking up from the parchment with feigned sympathy, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Corny. That's already a punishment in and of itself, so I'll strike that from your demerits list. No need to add insult to injury."

Fudge's face turned a mottled purple, and he nearly dropped his hat in shock. "I never -" He began to blubber, his words dissolving into a desperate, incoherent mess.

Ah, he shouldn't enjoy this as much as he was, but seriously, it was Cornelius Fudge? Who cared?

Sirius didn't slow down. "Oh, and let's not forget the time you accidentally sent Ministry funds to a troll rights organization. You remember that one, don't you? Ministry gold funding protests for troll equality? Quite a scandal."

Not really. No one had apparently noticed. But Sirius thought it funny to have an actual real reason to lambast the man instead of the ones he was making up.

Troll rights, really?

Magical people will do anything for attention.

Fudge spluttered, his hands waving helplessly. "That was... That was a clerical error!"

Sirius ignored him, flipping to the next imaginary offense. "And there's the matter of your recent letter to the Wizengamot on improving relations with the centaurs. Beautiful argument, really. Almost inspiring, except for the part where you suggested witches should bend over and think of Britain as a way of improving relations with the Centaur herd." He said with a straight face.

He had sent that letter actually. But he'd sure as hell made sure it had Fudge's name and signature on it.

Fudge's face was drained of all color. "That wasn't... I mean... I didn't..."

"Oh, and what's this?" Sirius's eyes gleamed as he scanned the parchment. "Ah yes, the time you were found trying to charm your office doors open with a faulty Alohomora spell... I hear you were stuck for hours before a clerk found you. Very embarrassing. It's all here in your file, Corny."

Fudge's face contorted, his hands trembling as he clutched his hat tighter. "That wasn't... It was... Just one time!"

Really? I just made that one up again, he thought with amusement.

Sirius clicked his tongue again, his expression one of mock pity. "Honestly, Corny, it's a wonder you've lasted this long." He looked up, arching an eyebrow as he listed yet another offense, he had a hand in just because he could. "I see you also attempted to champion a Ministry wide dress code that mandated every male wear female undergarments under their robes every Tuesday, while every female wore none at all. How did you think that would go over?"

Sirius had created a suggestion box, just so he could slide that in. And then accidentally left it unlocked for anyone to take a peek at all the suggestions, all of which were signed by Cornelius Fudge.

Did he ruin the man's reputation? Yes. Did he deserve it? Sirius sure thought so. Or at least he would have one day, so really, he was doing the man a favor by keeping him out of higher office.

Fudge, his voice barely audible now, mumbled something that sounded like, "It wasn't my suggestion…"

Sirius set the parchment down at last, tapping it lightly as he gazed at Fudge with an air of finality. "I'm afraid, Corny, it seems you're just not Ministry material."

Fudge stood there, his entire body trembling, sweat now pouring down his face in earnest. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, his lips twitching as if trying to form words that refused to come. Finally, his eyes darted toward the parchment Sirius had set down, noticing for the first time that it was... Completely blank. His face twitched, a realization dawning on him that made him look as if he were about to collapse.

"I -" Fudge began, but his voice cracked, and he couldn't finish the sentence.

Sirius let the silence stretch, leaning back in his chair with an expression of casual boredom, watching as the tension built until it nearly suffocated Fudge. The silence was thick, the weight of it pressing down on the man until he looked like he might crumble.

Then, with a sudden change in tone, Sirius spoke again, drawing out the word like a sweet, tempting offer. "Although..."

Fudge's eyes snapped to Sirius, desperate and pleading. "Although?" He croaked, barely able to get the word out.

Sirius allowed a smirk to curve his lips. He let the pause drag out, savoring the control he held over the blubbering man before him. "Although," He repeated, tapping his fingers against the desk, "There might be... One position that would suit someone with your particular... Talents."

Fudge's face lit up with sudden hope. "I'll take it," He blurted out before even hearing what the position was. The desperation in his voice was palpable - anything was better than being thrown out of the Ministry completely.

Sirius's smirk widened. "Splendid," He said, his tone dripping with amusement. "Speak with Evelyn on your way out. She'll direct you to your new post." He made a dismissive gesture, already turning back to his blank parchment. "And Corny? Best of luck."

Fudge, still trembling, nodded vigorously, clutching his hat to his chest as if it were a lifeline. "Th-thank you, Minister," He stammered, before practically running from the room.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Sirius let out a low chuckle. He could only imagine the look on Fudge's face when he learned his new job as Junior Assistant to one of the researchers in the department of magical creatures that was obsessed with animal dung - thinking there were so many more uses that could be… Squeezed… Out of the product.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, chuckling to himself. "Let's see how long you last sorting through magical dung samples, Corny," He muttered, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

There was no real point in it - just an understanding that Fudge would likely quit within days. Being the junior assistant to a researcher studying the magical properties of animal dung was going to be... Filthy work.

And Sirius? Well, he'd sleep soundly knowing Cornelius Fudge would no longer be a problem. Ever again.

----------------------------------------

That night, Dublin, Ireland.

Sirius arrived at the run-down old pub just after sundown, the fading light barely illuminating the narrow alleyways of the magical district in Dublin. He'd shaken off his Auror detail an hour ago - nothing too tricky, just a simple Disillusionment Charm and a few well-placed detours to throw them off his trail before apparating out. It was necessary, though. This meeting wasn't one for watchful eyes, especially those in the Ministry.

He'd eat his shoes if half his detail wasn't selling something to someone. They'd all been vetted to not be secret Death Eaters or criminals, but everyone in the ministry were used to earning a little gold on the side - and it wasn't a practice he could eliminate in a month's time.

The pub was old, the kind of place where the wood was worn smooth from years of use, and the air smelled of pipe smoke and aged whiskey. Sirius paused just outside the door, taking in the rough-hewn exterior, the dimly glowing sign hanging crookedly above him. It felt right, fitting even, for the man he was about to meet. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, a bell jingling somewhere in the back.

The pub was empty except for its proprietor, just as he'd hoped. The bar was lined with chairs flipped up for cleaning, and a single figure moved around the pub, wiping down tables and flipping chairs back into place with practiced ease.

The man was older, his hair silvered with age, but he moved like a man half his years, which was impressive considering he was around a century old. His steps were deliberate, and his posture, though slightly hunched, suggested an underlying strength and sharpness that had never dulled. His eyes, however, were the most striking. Bright, intense, they scanned the room with the quiet wariness of someone that had seen things. Those eyes landed on Sirius almost immediately, and the man's lips curled into a faint frown.

"Not interested," The old man said firmly, before Sirius had even crossed the threshold. He didn't even stop wiping down the table, his voice carrying an unmistakable finality.

Sirius just grinned, undeterred by the brusque dismissal. He strode toward the bar, ignoring the unwelcoming tone, and slid onto a stool, elbows resting casually on the worn wood. "Not gonna offer a bloke a pint?" He asked, leaning back with a smirk.

Theseus Scamander, the older brother of the famous magizoologist Newt Scamander and a former Head Auror and war hero, straightened slightly, squinting at Sirius with clear disgruntlement. "No, I'm really not," He replied, matter-of-factly, as he resumed his cleaning.

Sirius didn't move, content to sit there and watch the man work. He wasn't in any rush, and from what he knew about Theseus, forcing the issue wouldn't get him anywhere. Time passed in silence, the sounds of the old pub the only interruption - the soft clinking of glasses, the shuffle of chairs, the creak of old floorboards underfoot.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Theseus sighed heavily, straightened his back, and turned to face Sirius fully. His expression was more annoyed than anything, but there was something behind his eyes that showed the man was already trying to figure out what this was really about.

"I don't care what you say, Minister," Theseus started, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going back. From what I hear, Bones is doing fine enough on her own. There's nothing I can do that she can't."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "That's nice," He said, his tone dry and disinterested. "But I'm not here to offer you the DMLE."

Mostly because if he put Theseus Scamander back in that hotseat, the dark faction would collectively boot his ass out. No, he had a less controversial and more useful position in mind.

One where the ones who remembered just how dangerous Theseus had once been, wouldn't have reason to freak out as much.

Theseus blinked, clearly caught off guard. For the first time, a flicker of confusion crossed his face. "Really? Then I haven't the foggiest idea why you're here." He admitted.

Sirius allowed himself a small smile. "I'm here to recruit you for something else entirely. I need trustworthy people in my Ministry, people who won't play political games, won't bow to pressure from some corrupt lord or the Wizengamot. People who will help me erode the corruption, cruelty, and insanity that have been festering in our world for decades."

Theseus snorted, clearly unimpressed. He grabbed a pint glass and drew himself a drink from the tap, the golden liquid frothing slightly at the top. He took a long, deliberate sip before smirking over the rim of the glass. "What, you the new Dumbledore now?" He mocked. "See how well that worked out for him..."

Sirius grimaced. The comparison stung more than Theseus knew. "Dumbledore never had what it took," Sirius admitted, his voice quieter now. "He was fine being underhanded, until the moment came when it was time to strike. And then he faltered. He offered an open hand when he should've used a closed fist in those last moments. I won't make that mistake."

Theseus raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead he drained his drink and then he ducked behind the bar, drawing another pint. Which again, he didn't offer one to Sirius. He brought it to his lips, smugly taking a sip as if to say - you're not worth the effort.

Sirius barked out a laugh, genuinely amused. "Look," He said, leaning forward on the bar, deciding to drop any subtlety and speak plainly. "I need you because you won't listen to bullshit. You'll call it like it is, and I need that. More than that, I need someone to run a department and train a proper successor, someone who can take over when you retire - for real this time. I only need a few years from you. The Ministry's a mess, Theseus, and I can't fix it without people like you. People who can stand up to the people who'll refuse to conform to the new world."

Theseus snorted again, this time more amused than dismissive. "Sounds absolutely horrendous," He said, shaking his head as he drained half his pint in one go. "I'm retired, Minister. Done with the nonsense. I have no desire to get back into that pit of snakes."

"A few years," Sirius pressed, his voice dropping into a more persuasive tone. "Just a few years to help set things straight."

"And for what, exactly?" Theseus asked, squinting at Sirius as if weighing him against some invisible scale. "What grand position are you planning to saddle me with?"

"Head of International Magical Cooperation," Sirius replied smoothly, waving a hand like it was nothing. "Your name still carries weight, and your experience commands respect. We can fix a lot of the mess Britain's gotten itself into thanks to decades of mismanagement and idiocy. You'd be surprised how many people would sit up and listen once you walk in the room."

Theseus raised both eyebrows at that, his mouth quirking in amusement. "Me, a diplomat?" He chuckled, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the thought. "What would Newt say to that, I wonder...?"

Sirius grinned. "I imagine he'd find it interesting, not that I know the man. But that's exactly why I need you. You're not the polished, prim diplomat type. You're a man who's seen war, who's led men into battle. That gets respect more than flowery words."

Theseus took another thoughtful sip of his beer, though there was a glint of interest in his eyes now. "And don't you already have old Barty Crouch in that position?" He asked.

Sirius snorted, a feral grin spreading across his face. "Who knows…"

Theseus chuckled, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Is that a yes, then?" Sirius asked, pushing his luck just a bit.

Theseus hummed, staring into his pint. "It's not a no yet," He admitted, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Convince me."

Sirius leaned forward, placing his arms on the bar. "Draw me a pint," He said with a grin. "I've got all night."

Theseus stared at Sirius for a long moment before finally chuckling, pulling a pint and sliding it across the bar to the Minister. "Alright, Black. Let's see if you can talk me out of retirement."

"Challenge accepted." Sirius said, draining the pint in one go.

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That weekend,

Sirius sat at the breakfast table at Grimmauld Place, a satisfied hum escaping him as he flipped through the pages of the Daily Prophet. The smell of freshly brewed hot cocoa filled the room, but he preferred his strong black tea this morning. Across from him, Remus Lupin sat nursing his steaming mug of hot cocoa, his eyes bleary with exhaustion, dark circles evident beneath them. It had been a rough few days, and the full moon wasn't far off, judging by his drawn appearance.

Remus was barely paying attention, focused more on his drink than the rest of the world. But as Sirius continued to hum contentedly, something about his demeanor seemed off. Too cheery, too pleased with himself. Remus frowned slightly, squinting at the paper Sirius held so close to his face. The headline, in bold, took him aback, and his tiredness evaporated.

The cup rattled against the tray as Remus put it down, shock spreading across his features.

Barty Crouch St Arrested, Millicent Bagnold Sought for What She Knew of His Crimes!

Remus's mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to process what he was reading. He had expected more corruption to be unearthed with the audits Sirius had implemented, but this - this was something far bigger.

"Sirius!" Remus said, his voice rising in alarm. "What in Merlin's name!?"

Sirius didn't look up, nor did he seem fazed by Remus's shocked tone. He merely turned another page, continuing to hum along, as though he were reading a delightful bit of morning gossip rather than a scandal that would rock the Ministry. His grin, however, betrayed him - smug and self-satisfied. Sirius Black was enjoying this.

"Sirius," Remus tried again, his voice more incredulous now, "Why are you so happy about this?"

Sirius finally set the paper down with a theatrical sigh, tapping the headline with a finger. "Apparently, old Barty's been a very naughty boy." He was grinning like a Cheshire cat now. "Turns out he whisked his son out of Azkaban and kept him hidden under the Imperius Curse in his manor. Can you imagine?" His voice dripped with gleeful amusement.

Remus stared, dumbfounded, as Sirius elaborated. "Amelia Bones caught wind of something being off through an anonymous tip… She got herself a warrant aided by yours truly, raided the place... And voila! Barty Crouch Sr. arrested, his Death Eater son found alive, and Bagnold is now running scared, wondering how much she's going to get dragged into this." Sirius leaned back, exhaling in satisfaction.

Remus was shaking his head, his thoughts spinning. "But Sirius," He said slowly, "Crouch is in your Ministry. He helped get you elected! Won't this come back on you?"

Sirius's grin didn't falter. If anything, it widened. "That's the beauty of it, Moony," He replied, eyes gleaming with triumph. "The world already thinks I'm the Minister who stands for justice. This just helps reinforce that image. I took down one of the people who got me into power - not because I had to, but because it was right. People are going to love this."

Mostly because that was one of the angles he was spinning through his control over the Prophet, so they would love what he told them to love.

Remus's brow furrowed, confused. "But... How? You're not worried about how this will look? You just said Crouch helped you win the election."

"Exactly," Sirius agreed. "Which is why I made sure to point the finger at Bagnold. The Prophet - my Prophet - has already framed it so that Bagnold was the real enabler. This all happened under her watch, not mine. As far as the public's concerned, I'm the Minister who goes after corruption no matter where it's hiding, even among my own allies." He tapped the side of his head. "See? I come out looking like a saint. The Wizengamot won't challenge me on this, they'll admire my ruthlessness in handling it so perfectly."

All for different reasons of course. Some would see that he got his revenge, and secretly toast him. The light would be glad that he wasn't corrupt, willing to use the law as it should, even against someone who was in his Ministry. The smart ones would see the plot behind it all, and be amused at how Crouch Sr was played.

In the end, no one liked the man enough that there would be any waves crashing against Sirius. Not with the Prophet lambasting Bagnold. Because of course it couldn't be Sirius with egg on his face… He'd been in Azkaban when Crouch committed his crime…

And now he'd be able to move ahead with his revenge… A trial for Pettigrew… And Crouch Sr.

He could hardly wait!

Remus's cup wobbled slightly as he took this in. Sirius's level of strategic thinking - and his willingness to sacrifice someone like Crouch for the sake of a long-term gain - was unnerving. Even if he had to admit if anyone deserved it surely it was him. "But - why now? Why go after Crouch now?"

Sirius chuckled, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. "Because revenge, my dear Moony, is best served cold. Crouch is the bastard who sent me to Azkaban without a trial. I used him to help secure my seat as Minister, yes - but I was never going to forget what he did to me. I just delayed my payback until it suited me. And now, thanks to him, I look like a hero while he rots in a cell."

Remus sat back, stunned into silence for a moment. "Sirius, this... This is heavy. I mean, this isn't just about the Ministry. This is personal."

He'd sworn himself to Sirius either way, but he wasn't exactly comfortable either with this level of… Politics.

"Of course, it's personal," Sirius replied, his grin dimming slightly. "But don't you see, Remus? It's also about sending a message. My Ministry isn't just going to be another corrupt, bloated institution. No one - no one - gets away with anything under my watch. Barty Crouch was the first to fall. He won't be the last."

Remus frowned, clearly still troubled. "I understand that. But this... Are you sure this won't backfire?"

Sirius gave him a smug look, tapping the paper again. "This is why owning the Prophet is such a huge advantage, Remus. I get to control the narrative. I don't just react to news - I make the news. While the public is gawking at Crouch's arrest, I've already shifted the focus onto Bagnold. She'll be the scapegoat. And while everyone's distracted by her, I'll be seen as the noble Minister who's willing to go after anyone, even someone who helped him. I come out smelling like roses, the public loves me, and the Wizengamot can't touch me."

Remus slowly rubbed his temples. It was a lot to take in. "But Bagnold - she'll suffer for this. Will she really go down for Crouch's crimes?"

Sirius shrugged. "She won't be going to Azkaban, if that's what you're worried about. I doubt she knew anything. But politically? She's done. Any future she or that patsy Fudge had is over. The Prophet will make sure of that. They'll eat her alive."

Not that Fudge had any figure in the Ministry either way, but this was a definite death knell.

Remus exhaled slowly. "So, all of this… It strengthens your position?"

"Exactly." Sirius's smile faded slightly, growing more serious. "This does more than just make me look good. It sends a message to everyone in the Ministry. The audit started it, and now this... No one's going to go back to their corrupt ways, at least not while I'm in charge. They're all going to think twice before pulling anything."

Remus's face softened, a look of concern coming over him. "I'm not surprised Crouch had skeletons in the closet," He admitted. "But... Are you sure this is the right way to go about it?"

"I'm positive," Sirius said with a happy sigh. His confidence was palpable, but then his smile dimmed, just a fraction. "But I won't lie to you, Remus. This isn't the end of it. I'm going to have to do some bad things to fix this world. Maybe even worse than this."

Remus heard the seriousness in Sirius's tone and sat up straighter, his cocoa momentarily forgotten. "How bad are we talking here? Like the fifth-year knicker raid bad?"

Sirius made a face, playing along. "Almost as bad."

"That's serious," Remus replied gravely.

"No, that's me," Sirius quipped, unable to resist, though his smile quickly faded.

He frowned minutely, "I'm not sure though… Am I good enough? This… I'll have dirty hands, Moony… I need to, to win."

Remus's brow furrowed. "Why now? Why bring this up?"

Sirius scratched his chin, eyes distant for a moment. "We can finally get Harry," He said quietly. "Dumbledore won't be able to stop us this time. But it got me thinking... What if someone like me isn't what Harry needs? What if I just ruin things for him?"

He wasn't one for kids to begin with, and Harry wasn't just any kid. This wasn't as easy as just pick the kid up and raise him.

Remus's face went through a series of emotions - hope, worry, anticipation - before settling into something firm and resolute. "Sirius," He said, his voice low but steady, "Whatever you have to do, it's to make the world better for Harry, right? I refuse to believe you'd hurt him. Not you. Not ever."

Sirius gave him a dubious look, clearly not as confident in himself as Remus was. "I'm not exactly the most stable person. You know that. And I've spent more time dealing with corrupt politicians and scheming wizards than anything, I won't get better, if anything I'll get worse."

Remus growled low in his throat, eyes flashing with sudden intensity. "You listen to me, Sirius Black. Just the fact that you're sitting here, right now, having just pulled off a major victory, and you're agonizing about how it'll affect Harry - that's proof enough. You won't ruin things for him. If anything, you're exactly what he needs."

Remus slammed his mug back, finishing the last of his cocoa, and stood up with a determined look in his eyes. "Now let's go get little Prongslet!"

Sirius smiled, though there was still a hint of uncertainty behind it. "See, if you acted like this all the time, Moony, you'd be drowning in women."

Remus rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at his lips. "Let's leave the drowning to you, Padfoot. I'm content with the hot cocoa."

Sirius stood up, stretching, but the weight of what lay ahead pressed on him. He couldn't help but tease again, "Prongslet? Are we wedded to that name?"

Remus shot him a look. "It's endearing."

Sirius grumbled half-heartedly but gave in. "Together, then?"

"Together," Remus affirmed, his gaze steady.

"Let's get him."

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