//------------------------------// // Ch. 14. Behind the Scenes // Story: If Wishes Were Ponies, Book II // by tkepner //------------------------------// Anne Bourchier sat in the window seat of her room and looked out over the teeming Saturday evening crowd in Diagon Alley. She once more set aside the owl-post she had received earlier that day. The numbers were perfect. The former Equestrian, known at various times as Starlight Glimmer, Bright Star, and Breezy Dancer, could easily afford a mansion in the countryside, but she much preferred it here. Almost everything she needed was within walking distance. The store owners and clerks were pleasant and polite, and usually quite helpful — except for a few. The “muggle world” was much larger, more advanced, and far faster-paced. Just one history book had shown her how they had gone from a society almost on par with Equestria to one that put themselves on their moon — not once, but many times. And that was decades ago! Something that would probably take the ponies half-a-dozen centuries — if they ever tried! World-crossing instant communication was a fact for common citizens. They could cross continents in hours, not days or weeks. New inventions were hitting the market almost daily. It would take her at least a year to fathom all the facets of their fast-paced society. If she ever could. The witchery world, on the other hoof, allowed her to use more of what she knew. It was sometimes behind the ponies, sometimes ahead. It also moved with a slower stride — a lot like what she was used to in Equestria. If something took a week to get to instead of a day, that was usually okay. It was completely unlike the muggle world where everything was timed to the minute — literally. The biggest reason, though, was the great dichotomy between the two. The amount of good she could do in the witchery world was far greater. That was why she was here, after all. That, and escape that meddling purple menace on the other side of the portal. To bring about change, to allow friendships to grow instead of sundering them over trivial matters — in short, for the benefit of everyone. Besides, she couldn’t make herself do . . . nothing . . . with her life, even though she had the financial wherewithal never to have to work. To do that would be to act like a “noble”, nothing more than parasites on society. She shuddered at the thought of being so useless when there was so much that could be done. The muggle world, at least, made a pretence at being fair to the common person. Like Equestria, they had a royal family, a Queen instead of Princesses. On this side of the portal, however, the Queen was a mere figurehead, a façade with only the appearance of power. Anne shook her head — how odd that she wasn’t a Princess. Anyway, she didn’t command armies, issue edicts, or otherwise interfere in the operations of good governance. All she could do was to offer an opinion. Her offices, and her family’s offices, were essentially just publicity departments for the government. Cheerleaders, if you will, nothing more. She did issue direct orders, occasionally, but usually only in matters that affected herself or her family. Although, the Queen’s opinions did swing a massive amount of support from the populace, which she rarely used to influence government decisions or direction. Anything that was too outré could lead to a change of who was Queen. Or King. She had only to look at Edward VIII being forced to abdicate in 1936 for a prime example of the position’s inferiority to the government’s bureaucracy. Anne sighed. If only that useless alicorn in Canterlot had subscribed to the same sort of governance. She could have easily handled officials with minor bribes, incentives, or magic. Without the Princesses interference, the bureaucracy might even have made worthwhile improvements for the common pony! The real governing of this country was a weird blend of aristocracy and common politicians. Both, of course, were more interested in lining their own pockets at the expense of the ruled than actually doing anything. The laws they passed were mostly self-serving. The House of Lords used inherited seats, and they greatly loved their positions. They were all useless, as competence and training had nothing to do with their position — much like the nobles in Canterlot. They were far too busy having parties and telling each other how important they were to do anything useful. The House of Commons, on the other hoof, were elected to their positions. Thus, their only concern was keeping their plush jobs by being continuously re-elected. Which meant most of them stuck to their political party’s publicly-stated goals, even if they personally disagreed. Party unity mattered far more than proper governance in both chambers. But at least the House of Commons listened to the commoners. If they didn’t then the party was in danger of being abandoned or discarded. Oh, sure, there were those who claimed that the parties were all alike. That it didn’t matter which party was in control, Conservative, Labour, or Liberal Democrats. That wasn’t true of course. Anyone who took a good look at what each party really did while in control could see the difference. Oh, sure, there were mavericks who stood out for their moral decisions, who bucked the trivialities that consumed their compatriots. They, however, merely gave the governed the illusion that their “representatives” represented anything more than their own selfish desires. The true power, however, was in the bureaucracy, the ones who decided how those laws would be implemented. Those people were the ones who had joined the lower levels of the government and slowly risen by patronage, blackmail, or, rarely, competence, to positions where their decisions had a real impact on those governed. She had been surprised to note in her research that most of them, like ponies, truly cared about their jobs and tried to be honest in their dealings. It was only as they approached the top ranks that politics became more important than their alleged responsibilities. Of course, the ones who were on the very bottom few rungs only cared about their wages and not losing their jobs. Which meant they usually did their jobs to the best of their abilities. There was surprisingly little graft, fraud, embezzlement, and malfeasance. Oh, sure, there was some, but overall, it amounted to an acceptable less-than-five-percent of the funding. She attributed that to the freedom the press had to criticize the government and its officials. The press, here, was more than willing to criticize and expose wrongdoing by the government and its officials. In Equestria, some of the things they printed would have landed them in the dungeons! She was rather impressed — and disgusted — at some of the stories they ran. That they weren’t shut down by the government was a continual surprise. But then again, maybe that was their strength? Still, despite the obvious flaws, it was a great improvement as compared to the dictatorship that the two Princesses presided over. Especially because there weren’t those stupid “cutie-marks” to destroy friendships and drive people apart. Friends, close friends, wouldn’t find themselves driven apart by something so trivial as butt-mark. So, getting involved with the non-magicals, the muggles, would take decades of hard work, and show little progress — making everything fair for everyone would be a long, hard slog. Unless she used her magic to smooth the way. Regrettably, however, such constant use would draw the attention of those that dealt in magic — the corrupt magical government. The magical side of governance made her nauseous. It demonstrated that the sisters, while vile in their condescending attitudes towards the common ponies, could be a lot worse than they were. The witches’ Wizengamot was comprised only of family privilege; competence and skill didn’t matter. You had to have the “right” families, or the patronage of the “right” families, to gain anything in either placement and promotions. It wasn’t unusual for a recently graduated pure-blood Hogwarts student, with no skills, to be put in charge over a group of half-bloods with decades more experience. The right “family”, of course, depended on who was in power at the moment. What was really sad was that magical prowess had nothing to do with how “pure” a witch’s blood was. If magical prowess was truly linked to one’s purity of magical ancestors, then the very concept of squibs would be non-existent. It would also be impossible for two half-bloods to become the most powerful wizards known in the last century — Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore. By the witches’ own logic, only a pure-blood should be able to claim that post. But half-bloods and muggle-borns were restricted to the lowest levels, the menial jobs without job security, doing the things that all the pure-bloods felt were below their station and dignity. The pure-bloods took shameless advantage of those under their station, believing it their “right.” For most Ministry pure-bloods, jobs in the Ministry were there so they had something to do to get them out of their manors during the day. Governing the people wasn’t even on their horizon. The people were there for them to toy with for their amusement. Ministry laws were passed and suborned based on blackmail, bribery, and behind-the-scenes threats and violence. Fraud and malfeasance were not only rampant, but in most positions, they were expected! The Ministry Justice system was a joke — it mattered more who your parents were than whether you had broken any laws. If you had enough money, you could commit any crime without fear of retribution — as long as you didn’t flaunt your privilege and stayed out of the public eye while doing it. The most important dictum of the Ministry was, don’t get caught! Which wasn’t that hard to do, truthfully. The Ministry didn’t outright own the largest newsparchment, the Daily Prophet, but they controlled everything that appeared in print. If the Ministry didn’t like a story, the odds of it breaking were close to nil. It took real bad scandal to make it in the paper — or someone with a grudge and lots of bits to spend in bribes to the editor-in-chief or owner. But even that wasn’t too severe a difficulty. If someone got caught in a scandal, they were transferred to another department at a lower position — their wages, of course, remained undiminished. After a year or so for the scandal to fade, or to be replaced by another, they were soon promoted to a position equivalent to their old position. Getting caught was, in most cases, considered a nuisance. Not a real problem, as far as they were concerned. Their punishment for being caught was the temporary loss of prestige and power. It might sting their pride, but . . . that was all. The civilian sector was almost as bad. Pure-bloods owned most of the businesses, controlling the flow of capital to keep themselves rich by paying the lowest wages they could to the half-bloods and muggle-borns. It handily kept the “less important” at the bottom of the economic scale. Starting a new business required borrowing money from a pure-blood patron, who took a major chunk of the ownership in exchange. Thus, even a successful half-blood or muggle-born business owner struggled to make ends meet as his patron insisted on huge payments to meet his “loan” requirements. His pure-blood partner would let the businesswizard keep only enough income to maintain the pretence that he was in control. Eventually, the pure-blood would engineer a crisis, and force the entrepreneur out. Then he would hire workers at a lower wage to run the business in his stead. Not all businesses succeeded, which was how they justified wanting to own so much of the new business in the first place. The patron would claim he had the knowledge in finance to keep the entrepreneur from making fatal mistakes. Then the patron would give bad advice with the intent of taking over the successful business. The half-blood and muggle-born entrepreneurs were simply contracted serfs to the pure-bloods. Workers who would devote large amounts of their own capital and labour to prove a business was worth taking over by the pure-bloods. There was a reason why only pure-blood-owned businesses lined the main street of Diagon Alley. The carts and stalls that dotted the street were mostly run by half-bloods; temporary businesses that could only exist in the cracks left by the pure-bloods. Anything that gained enough attention was suddenly available in one of the established businesses. Then the half-blood stall or cart vanished into oblivion. Borrowing from the goblins was just as bad. Except falling behind in your payments to them meant that you usually ended up working in one of their mines until you died instead of merely being destitute. She had considered explaining to the goblins how short-sighted that was. If they were a bit more generous in their terms, she knew, they could end up owning most of the businesses in the witchery world in a century or three. That would make them far more than the paltry amounts they currently collected from failed businesses. She quickly had concluded that that would be trading one unsavoury situation for another. The unfairness of the situation made her stomach hurt. She had thought cutie marks were evil in dividing ponies; these pure-bloods didn’t even have that as an excuse! All witches and wizards had magic! Who their parents were was unimportant. Having wealthy parents might give one a head-start, but it was only skill that truly mattered. She couldn’t stand aside and watch. She had had to get involved. The only conclusion left was to seize control of the businesses from the pure-bloods and put them entirely in the hands of the workers. Or, at least, ensure that each business was owned and operated by a half-blood or muggle-born who was sympathetic to the workers. To that end, she had carefully researched all the businesses in the Alley. Or, at least, the businesses that weren’t skirting too close to the edge of the law and into unsavoury items or practices. The Daily Prophet, and Sirius Black, had been a gold mine of leads for her to pursue. Cross-referencing those with her “neighbourly” chats with the store clerks and proprietors, had allowed her to identify the unsavoury businesses. Most were run by those who styled themselves as former Death Eaters, or supporters of the same. She had also discovered, down Knockturn Alley, that there was quite a supply of disgruntled Muggle-borns and half-bloods who felt cheated out of a better life by the establishment. They were disadvantaged not by their skill or knowledge, but by their birth parents! It would be a fertile ground for her to explore and exploit, later. After careful consideration, and reading the stories in a decade of Daily Prophet back issues, she quickly had concluded that controlling the flow of information was of utmost importance. She didn’t want any word of what she was up to becoming common knowledge among the “aristocracy.” It would also make it easier to “out” any of the pure-bloods by revealing their scandals to a wide audience and temporarily removing them from play. As she had expected, the Daily Prophet had several part-owners — all former Death Eaters or their supporters. The Death Eaters were her first priority. Not only were they despicable creatures, they also were guilty of the worst crimes imaginable. And almost all of them were pure-bloods. Here, when accused of being Death Eaters, they had used their money, power, privilege, or a combination of the three, to escape not only punishment for their activities in the Blood War twelve years previous, but avoided even receiving trials where the truth might have been discovered. In Equestria, the Seeds of Truth would have seen them in Tartarus — pity she hadn’t thought to bring any with her. She needed to keep the pure-bloods out of her way. Hence, her desire for control of the Daily Prophet. Sirius had surprised her. She had asked for his help in arranging a deal where she could purchase part of the paper from one of the minor owners. She thought the Black family reputation might be of assistance. She had first raised the subject at one of their weekly luncheons in the Three Broomsticks — it had a much nicer ambiance than the Leaky Cauldron. ^-_-^ “Now that Grimmauld Place has been cleaned and refurbished,” she said as she placed her utensils on her plate, “For the last few weeks I’ve been looking around for something to invest my family’s money.” It was actually her money, but he didn’t need to know how much the goblins had paid for her Equestrian gems. “You’re not simply going to live off the interest?” he said raising an eyebrow in what he thought was a rakish manner. He had been rather surprised to discover that she hadn’t been as . . . poor . . . as he had first thought when he had noticed her searching the Daily Prophet for a job. That she had been willing to work instead of loaf, as so many pure-bloods did, had impressed him mightily. She shrugged gracefully. “It isn’t as . . . much as I would like to have as a cushion.” “What were you thinking?” His gaze slid down to her chest, as it frequently did during their “dates” as he liked to call them. “A clothing line, perhaps? You have the eye for colours and detail, I noticed, when we were refurbishing my . . . home.” She shook her head. “No, I was wondering if there are any shares in the Daily Prophet on the market?” He leaned back, surprised. “It has a steady income, and being a part-owner might keep some of their more salacious articles at bay should a reporter take notice of me.” She paused. “I dislike publicity and would prefer to remain out of it.” The articles that had already appeared about her “friendship” with the eligible bachelor Black had been nauseating. That got her a nod as he acknowledged her point. He was quiet for a few minutes. “I might have some shares, now that I think about it. Let me check my father’s records — Merlin rot his soul. If I do, maybe we can come to a fair . . . trade.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. She just stared back at him blankly. His flirting was a constant. So was her ignoring said flirting. In a way, it was fun feigning not understanding. Pretending not to understand a flirt drove them to distraction. It deflated his attempts, and ego, without offending him. And, as they said here, Merlin knew, his ego needed deflating. He sighed. “After I check the Black portfolio, I’ll put out feelers for anyone who might have stock they’d be willing to unload.” “That sounds eminently reasonable,” she said. After sipping her tea, she continued, “Do you really think I could manage a clothing store?” It was something she had never considered. If she made it exclusive enough, she could influence the witches without them even noticing. ^-_-^ Their next date, the following week, had been a bit different. Sirius was waiting when she arrived, almost vibrating with excitement. “You’re gonna love this!” he proclaimed before she even had a chance to sit down. “Thomas Avery, Senior, a Voldemort supporter, owned part of the Daily Prophet, fourteen percent.” His eyes glistened with glee. “Get this, he borrowed the money from Orion Black, my father, to buy the stock back when I was a teenager, fifteen years ago.” He was bouncing up and down in his chair. “The original loan had a balloon payment schedule — low payments at first, then much larger, later, because Avery didn’t have much money at the time. He firmly believed his situation would improve and he’d be able to make the future payments. “My bastard of a father died in 1979 — remember me telling you? — leaving only my mother and me.” He made a face as if he eaten something foul. “While I was in Majorca, Thomas also died, and his son Thomas Avery, Junior, a former Death Eater, took over the payments. Mother, in the meantime, had more or less gone mad, and Pollux, the Head of the Black family, had confined her to the house at Grimmauld Place.” The waitress arrived at that point, so they gave their orders. “Because of that, Thomas, Junior, thought she wouldn’t miss the payments,” Sirius continued in a conspiratorial tone, “and he thought he had a better use for the galleons. So, he quit making the payments. With me too busy enjoying the sun and festive atmosphere in Majorca, he felt safe in never getting caught.” He made a face and shook his head wryly. “And he did get away with it. I never even dreamed that the family portfolio might have loans out to Death Eaters, or any of Voldemort’s supporters.” He sighed, and shook his head wryly. “He probably thought the next inheritor was Draco Malfoy, whose father is also a former Death Eater. Avery probably thought Malfoy wouldn’t mind letting the payments slide in exchange for loyalty in politics. After all, the rest of the Black Portfolio would make Malfoy fabulously wealthy.” Sirius rubbed his hands together excitedly, just in time for the waitress to float the luncheon goblets and plates into place. “So, I contacted the family solicitor and had him call the loan due immediately. My father, while a right bastard, was no slouch on finances. Which meant the contract had massive penalties on the missed payments, combined with the ruinous interest owed on each missed payment.” He grinned savagely. “That made the sum such a large amount that even Avery’s ‘friend,’ Malfoy, refused to loan him the sum that my solicitor demanded.” Sirius sighed happily. “I didn’t quite manage to beggar Avery, he does have a Ministry job, after all. But now he and his family live in much smaller accommodations.” He gleefully declared. “I got his mansion and his investments. He has next to nothing and is living day-to-day on his income.” For once, the wizard didn’t spend most of the luncheon flirting. He was too busy chortling in glee over his financial destruction of a hated foe. As dessert was being served, he said, “Oh, yes, before I forget . . ..” he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small envelope. With a tap from his wand, it became a full-sized envelope-portfolio. “Here’s the stock certificate and supporting paperwork, you now own fourteen percent of the Daily Prophet.” He ginned as she took the portfolio, pleased and surprised. “How much do I owe you?” she said. “Nothing,” he replied happily. “I made more than enough profit off of Avery to make this a gift. The family solicitor took care of filing everything.” He paused a second, then asked, “Know anyone who wants a mansion? Or a French château on the Riviera? She shook her head. ^-_-^ He had another set of stock certificates for her the following week. Those he sold to her for less than a quarter of their true value. “I decided to look a bit further into the Black family finances. My cousin, Bellatrix — a better example of an insane witch I’ve never seen — married Rodolphus Lestrange. They’re in Azkaban, both convicted and unrepentant Death Eaters.” He grinned maliciously, and rubbed his hands together, again, and laughed, doing his best imitation of an evil mastermind — he did shockingly well, she thought. Based on the expressions of some of the closer patrons in the pub, they thought so, too. “Well,” he continued, “it seems the marriage contract specifies that they had to have at least one child in the ten years after their marriage in 1975.” She stared at him incredulously. “Marriage contract?” she said disbelievingly. He gave her a puzzled look. “Well, of course. All the old families use them. They lay out the expectations of the families. You know, what properties will be transferred, if a dowry or groom’s endowment is involved, and what the inheritances will be for the children, financial considerations like that.” He paused and frowned heavily, thinking. “I think Lily said the muggle equivalent are prenuptial agreements. Anyway,” he waived the topic aside, “There was a condition that both families expected children, so a clause was put in at the insistence of the Lestranges — they wanted a way to annul the marriage in case she proved barren. “Grandfather, a cantankerous bastard if there ever was one, insisted on adding a clause that if Rodolphus failed to fulfil his familial obligations, that the Black family had a similar ability to annul the marriage.” He laughed, almost barking, and again drawing a bit of attention from the others in the tavern. “They never counted on being in Azkaban and unable to fulfil the terms of the contract. So, I annulled the marriage because he hasn’t slept with her in ten years to give her a chance to conceive, well beyond the ten-year deadline, and demanded the dowry be returned in its entirety. Unfortunately, the goblins had sealed the Lestrange vaults, so I demanded their business investments, of which they had several, with a registered lean should any of them get out. One . . . was fifteen-percent of the Daily Prophet.” He sighed happily. “I’m selling you those stocks at a fraction of their worth as thanks for pointing out how much fun I can have bankrupting former Death Eaters.” He grinned flirtatiously at her. ^-_-^ His next success, several weeks later, was the Carrow family. The family was reluctant to sell their nine-percent of the Daily Prophet to him, at a discount, but they did. It seemed, that two relatives, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, had been accused of being Death Eaters back in 1981. As a result, the family had paid out huge amounts of galleons to free them from their Azkaban incarceration — actually bribes, Sirius insisted. Then they had to borrow more galleons to pay the associated fines — which his father had been more than happy to lend them. The hefty debt-payments since then kept them living close to the financial edge for the last decade. Debts which he was now calling to be paid in full. The loss of income from the Daily Prophet shares was offset by no longer having to pay back the loan they had been forced to take out from the Black family. The family actually ended up in better financial shape, once they moved out of their spacious mansion, that now belonged to Sirius, into something more appropriate for their income. They wouldn’t be throwing any more extravagant balls, that was sure. There wasn’t room enough in their new home. She knew Sirius had managed to cripple the finances of dozens of families — his grandfather, father, and uncle had been rather prolific in their support of anyone who was “friends” with the Voldemort. All of whom liked to live in expensive manors, or be business owners, regardless of their real income. The Black fortune was benefitting rather handsomely from the new Head of the family. Rather ironic, considering his diametrically opposed political stance compared to his forefathers and most siblings. Then Sirius had taken off for Equestria for the summer vacation — no, they said hols, here — leaving her without a source of information on his solicitors’ progress. Fortunately, she was able to track down Merula Perkins, née Snyde, who was relieved to sell off her portion of the newsparchment, eight-percent, to settle her debts leftover from her parent’s incarceration as Death Eaters. Her husband, not a former Death Eater, also appreciated the funds that were available, now that they weren’t being sucked up servicing the debts. The goblins, for a “small fee”, were able to locate two more willing sellers over the summer. One, a month ago, had held three-percent of the Daily Prophet. The other, as her recent owl-post advised her, had had two-percent. Her total stock holdings in the Daily Prophet were fifty-one percent. She smugly smiled, and took another sip of her tea. The magic number for a capitalist. Sirius would be so surprised at their next luncheon, as soon as he settled in after returning from Equestria now that school had started. Tomorrow, she intended to visit the editor-in-chief and lay down a few guidelines on what she expected from her investment. A few of her special spells might be necessary to ensure compliance, but that was okay. It wasn’t like she had never used them before. And in this world, they weren’t specifically illegal. That didn’t count the wonderful blackmail material Sirius had managed to find in his files. Pollux, until he had passed-on, had been quite diligent in keeping most of that sort of information up-to-date. Sirius had been more than willing to share the “dirt” on the people he hated. The Ministry would no longer have free rein over the press. Nor would the Ministry have free rein over the populace. The information might be a few years old, but with a few updates from the “researchers” she had hired from Knockturn Alley, the Wizengamot would think three times before daring to confront her. She had already hired the goblins to install a few “protections” on the building housing the newsparchment. Those would prevent anyone from interfering with what she printed with anything more than a verbal or innocuous owl complaint. Then she would start shining the bright light of attention on the Ministry, and watch the cockroaches run. ^-_-^