Frank was grateful for the opportunity to escape the weekly briefing, but suspected that he might be headed somewhere worse. Minister Prewitt rarely lavished praise upon his subordinates, and in Frank's experience had never called any subordinate to his private office for the sake of simple pleasantries. Mentally preparing for his encounter with Prewitt, Frank reached the soundless mausoleum of cold, dark marble halls that housed the Minister's office, scarcely noting the concurrent loss of his nepotistic escort, Percy. Given security concerns, the only people now allowed on the floor-in addition to Minister Prewitt-were his closest assistants and advisors, along with the Minister's elite detail of auror bodyguards.
As such, Frank first had to pass through two separate security checks before gaining entrance to the reception area, whereupon he was instructed to swear a magical oath that he was in fact Frank Longbottom, that he had always in fact been Frank Longbottom, and that in fact he meant no harm to Davian Prewitt. Finally, after placing atop the reception desk both his primary personal wand and the secondary tactical wand he carried as an active duty auror, Frank Longbottom entered the Minister's office.
Minister Prewitt sat at his desk-evidently preoccupied as he scribbled upon and sifted through several voluminous rolls of parchment-flanked by two aurors who stood with wands drawn. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood to Prewitt's right, while Amelia Bones stood to Prewitt's left. At the Minister's absently gestured invitation, Frank took a seat in front of the desk and crossed his legs, taking care to make his movements seem leisurely. Neither Bones and nor Shacklebolt was known as a jumpy auror, but visitors to the Minister had been accidently injured by zealous bodyguards in the past.
Sitting in silence at the Minister's pleasure, Frank glanced soberly at the panoply of portraits adorning the walls of Prewitt's office. Some of the portraits were fairly large, while others were mere miniatures. A number of the portraits featured historical figures. But most of the portraits depicted witches and wizards who had died at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Many of the portraits hung in silence, motionless, the inanimate visages of magicals in the very bloom of youth, murdered unexpectedly and absurdly, having made no provisions for the type of standard magical portrait often commissioned by mature, successful witches and wizards.
Given the morbidly related popularity of magical photography, Frank wagered that snapshots of most of these young magicals could be found in family photo albums and friends' scrapbooks. In fact, by unspoken agreement, those members of the Order friendly with one another often took photos of each other, tacitly acknowledging the mortal peril in which Order members placed themselves. (Frank had noticed that his muggleborn friend Lily Porter sighed sadly and darkly whenever a new member of the Order arrived at a social function bearing a brand new magical camera, whispering quietly to herself about something called "Kodak moments," whatever that meant.)
Frank was sure that Minister Prewitt could have secured copies of magical photos for most of these dead magicals, respecting the fact that Prewitt chose instead to surround himself with mute, unmoving witnesses to the war he had prosecuted for two decades-albeit with scant success-against Voldemort's forces. Accustomed to the animated portraits common in the wizarding world, Frank himself found the frozen portraits haunting, with none more so than that of the late Minister Black. Black's was the largest of the frozen portraits, and was mounted on the wall behind Prewitt's desk. Day in and day out, Frank mused, Minister Black gazed down on Minister Prewitt sadly, staring quietly along with all the others in their own silent portraits. Frank wondered whether Minister Prewitt pitied them or whether they pitied Minister Prewitt. Perhaps they drove the Minister-aged beyond his years-forward.
The sound of the Minister clearing his throat with evident impatience returned Frank to the present.
"Longbottom?" Prewitt croaked caustically.
"What? Sorry. Lost in thought," Frank said hastily, eying Bones and Shacklebolt who looked as if they were wondering whether or not a Death Eater could have subjected Frank to the Imperius Curse and somehow had gotten him past the checkpoints. Making sure to keep his arms relaxed and his hands in plain sight, Frank cleared his own throat. "What can I do for you, Minister?" he asked.
"Tell me what you were doing in the DMLE records room yesterday afternoon," Minister Prewitt demanded, his eyes boring into Frank's with intensity.
"The records room?" Frank asked, making his voice sound slightly confused-just as he had rehearsed previously.
"Yes," Minister Prewitt said impatiently. "You were in the records room yesterday."
"Well, yes," Frank said, eyeing Prewitt's desk. On it sat a familiar folder. "I visit the records room often as a matter of course. It is a routine part of any investigation involving a repeat offender."
"A repeat offender such as Harry Ashworth?" Prewitt barked.
"Well, no," Frank said, staring at the Ashworth file that sat in the precise center of the desk. "The thing is that as one goes through these files in repeat offender investigations, one becomes familiar with the people in the files. I saw the Ashworth name, did not recognize it, and took a quick peek to see who he was. Now I know."
"Who were you looking up when you happened to spot Harry Ashworth's file?" Prewitt asked.