Treaty - 9

The Aurors tried unsuccessfully to calm them and organize their stampede to no avail. They kept casting anxious eyes in the Minister's direction, waiting for her to give the order allowing them to use their wands – but it never came. Interim Minister Umbridge stood frozen in panic – her brain apparently unwilling to accept this turn of events. Harry suspected a lot of them were tempted to use their wands, anyway, but they understood it was pointless. They'd be struck down before they had a chance to do any good.

The members of the Order of the Phoenix hidden amongst the crowd were the only ones not panicking. They watched the events warily, their bodies coiled and ready to spring into action.

Charlie Weasley positioned himself behind the trio, leaning over to whisper in Harry's ear. "There are anti-Apparation wards in place except in designated areas at the Ministry. If things erupt into violence and you can't reach one of those Apparation spots, I've got a Portkey to get you out of here."

Harry began to protest, but was stopped when Charlie tightened his grip on Harry's arm. "I know you wanted to confront Umbridge, but are you ready to face him today?" he asked.

Harry deflated, knowing it would do no good. He still had one more Horcrux to find, and he knew he wasn't prepared to face Voldemort yet. He wouldn't stand a chance. No matter how much he wanted to stay and help the Order fight to save the people here, he knew his best chance of saving them would come another day. The truth of the matter didn't stop the bitter anger from burning in his belly.

As if sensing Harry's acknowledgement, Charlie nodded and took a step back.

On the podium, Snape bowed low, his nose nearly touching the ground. "My Lord," he said.

"Rise, Severus. You have done well," Voldemort hissed, still surveying the crowd with his cold, emotionless eyes.

Snape stood, nodding. "Thank you, my Lord."

Voldemort finally turned to fully face Dolores Umbridge, who tried to regain some semblance of control, despite her trembling.

"W-welcome to the Ministry of Magic. As y-you c-can see, there has been a great turnout today of individuals who want to f-find ways of peacefully co-existing," she said in a sickly sweet voice.

"Peace is for the weak at heart," Voldemort said, waving his hand in the air. The doors to the Atrium suddenly sealed, blocking the remainder of the crowd inside. Very few had actually managed to escape.

Harry saw a short, brown-haired witch that he knew to be Mad-Eye Moody under Polyjuice, unsuccessfully attempt to unseal the nearest door.

"No one shall leave the premises until I dismiss them," Voldemort whispered menacingly. "Thank you, Minister, for making this so easy for me by gathering everyone here."

"E-easy for you? Wh-whatever do you mean?" Umbridge asked, fanning herself. "We've signed a treaty to stop the death and destruction. I returned your servant to you in good faith."

With a casual flick of his wand, Voldemort produced a thick stack of parchment. It ignited in flames before her eyes. "I've decided on an alternate plan," he whispered.

"B-but…sir….this is highly irregular. I released your man after the agreement was signed," she whined, apparently in shock. Harry knew she wasn't stupid, but she seemed fixed on that detail, as if the rest of her mind had simply shut down.

Once again, Voldemort lazily flicked his wand and a thick black box appeared on the podium in front of Umbridge, who started at it blankly. The lid began to shake and slowly rise in the air. Umbridge didn't move toward it, and the air in the room seemed to still with a pregnant pause.