Chapter 2- A Meeting With the Minister
May. 4th, 2009 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coyotegothAs always, I hope you enjoy; as always, Half-Blood Prince spoilers within. (Please note also that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the least.)
Chapter 2- A Meeting With the Minister
Harry shivered, as he looked at the telephone box that was the entrance to the Ministry of Magic; I may fall asleep in Azkaban tonight, he thought, and forced the thought away. He looked over at Remus Lupin for a moment; the other man’s eyes were hollow, with deep bags of exhaustion underneath. In the back of his mind, Harry registered that he was taller than Lupin now.
“It’s good that we got here early,” said Lupin, as he adjusted Harry’s outfit slightly. “It gives us a chance to talk, to...”
“To say goodbye?” Harry interjected.
“Perhaps,” Lupin replied. “From what I’ve heard of Scrimgeour, the Ministry- and defending the wizarding populace from Voldemort- are his only priorities whatsoever.”
“You’d think we’d get along better, then,” said Harry, forcing a joke.
"Do you still have the Map?" Lupin asked suddenly.
"Err, yeah- why?"
"It occurs to me that it might be a good idea not to bring it in with you- you may be searched. Just as well if the Ministry didn't know of its existence."
Harry nodded, and handed it to Lupin, who tucked it away quickly, without looking at it. "It should be safe enough with me," Lupin said, "it's not as though a werewolf is going to be invited into the Minister's office, after all. I'll return it to you later, if... all goes well."
Harry nodded. "Err... what time is it?" he asked.
"We still have a few minutes; why?"
"There's... there's something I've been meaning to ask you," said Harry hesitantly. "It's... it's about Sirius."
Lupin's gaze didn't waver. "Go on."
"Well... it's about Num... about the house, and his estate."
Lupin made a noise that might have been a slight laugh. "You wish to know why it was left to you, who are already well provided for, and not his friend Remus? The house for which I am now Secret-Keeper?"
"Well... yeah. It just seems..."
"As Hermione would no doubt be ready to tell you, Harry, Dolores Umbridge has put through legislation that makes it illegal for werewolves to inherit property."
"You're kidding!"
"No; Fudge signed it into law not long before Sirius passed away. Needless to say, that helped scuttle any chance of negotiating a settlement between the werewolves and Dumbledore."
"But... why didn't you mention that?"
Another odd sound, as Lupin nudged a bit of litter with the toe of a shoe. "What would it have mattered? There was... plenty enough to deal with at the time. Besides, I have enough to worry about with what I already have. Some books, some records... I've learned to travel light."
Harry's jaw clenched. "That's not fair."
"Life seldom is."
Harry paused, uncertain how to proceed; he reached in his pocket for the check he'd written from his Gringotts account. "Listen, before I go in- I want to... to do something for you..."
Lupin put a hand upon his shoulder softly. "You already have."
Harry fell silent for a moment; he hesitated, then reached into a different pocket, and pulled out the torn picture of Lily, James, and the other Marauders. "Well, here's something, anyway," he said, handing it to the other man.
Lupin stared at it for a moment, before quietly saying, “I remember that night.”
“The night they found out mum was pregnant, yeah,” replied Harry. “I thought you should have it, just in case.”
Lupin looked from Harry back to the picture, then silently took out his wand and touched it to the photograph, fixing the tear in the side. “If only everything could be so easily mended,” he murmured.
“Like Tonks...?”
Lupin’s lips quirked. “Yes, like Tonks- she’s a very sweet girl.” He and Harry looked at each other for a moment, before Lupin tucked away the photograph, and quietly said, "It's time, Harry."
Harry asked, “Will we speak again?”
“If all goes well... but only briefly. I have much to do for the Order, and...”
“Yeah- I’ve been keeping track on the calendar,” Harry said. “Would Slughorn not make the potion for you, then, with Snape gone?”
“I haven’t asked,” replied Lupin. “That is a very difficult potion, and while Professor Slughorn would surely be up to the task, he has other pressing matters- matters for Hogwarts, and for the Order," -Harry looked at him in puzzlement for a moment; Slughorn was with the Order now?- "that need attending to. I’ve carried it this far; I shall go the rest of the way.”
Harry nodded. "I've been thinking about everything I've learned from you," he said. "Not just grindylows and boggarts- all of it."
"I wish I could guide you now," Lupin said, as he met Harry's gaze. “Remember, Harry: much of your impatience, and your anger, have stemmed from your feelings of powerlessness in the adult world. You are no longer the boy who slept in a cupboard, or who raged impotently because he felt we were keeping secrets from him. You are an adult now- and there is power in that, if you only use it wisely.”
Harry looked at Remus for a long moment, then nodded, and embraced him tightly. Finally, he let go, and walked over to the phone box. He stepped into the box, then turned his head for a last look back at the other man. “Goodbye, Remus,” he said quietly, as he pulled the phone box door shut.
*
The elevator chimed. “Level One- Ministry Official Offices.”
Harry tensed, as he entered Scrimgeour’s office; Dolores Umbridge was sitting there, with a gloating, expectant look on her face. Scrimgeour was wearing midnight blue Minister's robes; he stood from behind his desk, which was covered with folders and other documents, as Harry entered. “Hello, Harry. Thank you for coming.”
“Didn’t have much choice, did I?” said Harry, declining to sit.
Umbridge smirked, and opened her mouth to say something; suddenly, Scrimgeour lifted a finger to silence her. “On second thought, Dolores," he said, glancing repeatedly at Harry as he spoke, "given your imbecilic mismanagement of the situation at Hogwarts, your idiotic dispatching of Dementors to Little Whinging, and your complete and utter failure as regards the situation with the werewolves, there really isn't the slightest chance you could contribute anything of use in this situation. I'll expect your resignation on my desk tomorrow morning.”
Umbridge stared at him in shock; her mouth closed with a snap; she blushed, and made a huffing noise. Gathering her papers together awkwardly, she bustled out of the office.
Scrimgeour, still standing behind his desk, smiled at Harry. “There- I thought we could speak more freely in private.”
“Yeah? What are we going to talk about, anyway? The last time this happened, I simply got hauled in front of the Wizengamot...”
“I’m well aware of how my predecessor handled things, Harry,” interjected Scrimgeour. “Fudge was a charming enough politician, for a Hufflepuff- but he was weak, and paranoid, and foolish. He never learned from his mistakes.” Scrimgeour opened a desk drawer, and produced two bottles of butterbeer. “I, however, do. Drink?”
Harry looked at Scrimgeour's right hand, as it held the bottle of butterbeer; he was wearing a silver ring in the shape of a serpent, with eyes made from emeralds. "No, thanks- I... don't think I have anything I want to drink to."
Scrimgeour caught him staring at the ring; his lips pressed together, as he set the unopened bottles down on his desk. "Harry, I know that you hold no love for Slytherin House- and given the inbred lot of cretins and cowards in your year, with their families' ludicrous obsession about purity of blood, I can well understand it. However, Slytherin hardly holds the patent on ignoble thoughts- or had you forgotten Peter Pettigrew?"
Harry's jaw clenched, although he remembered Remus's advice. "I hadn't forgotten."
Scrimgeour nodded. "As far as that goes, you may not remember from your lessons- but Grindelwald himself, although German, was in Ravenclaw. A student to rival your friend Hermione, from what I understand- but he became obsessed with the darker side of wizarding history, and certain unwholesome occult works..." He broke off, and looked at Harry intently. "In fact, you and I have something in common- we both had parents who died during wartime, with great sacrifice. My father fought in the final action against Grindelwald, and died fighting; had it not been for Albus Dumbledore, England might have lost ev..."
"I'll thank you not to mention him," Harry snapped.
Scrimgeour glared at him for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together. "Harry," he finally said, "I know you're under a great deal of strain right now- as are we all- but Slytherin is not a House of evil, existing simply to produce Death Eaters in training; if it were, do you honestly think Hogwarts would keep it open...?"
"I suppose not," Harry said reluctantly.
"Of course not," replied Scrimgeour firmly, as he walked around the desk. "Slytherin is not a House of evil; it is a House of ambition. Slytherin exists for those who seek to accept the mantle of power, rather than cloistering themselves away in a library or some such, away from the world's responsibilities. After all- didn't the Sorting Hat nearly put you yourself in Slytherin?"
Harry was startled: "You know about that?"
"It's in your Hogwarts student file," said Scrimgeour, tapping a thick folder with one finger as he met Harry's gaze. "I've been studying you and your friends for quite some time." He paused, to let that sink in. Suddenly, Harry could hear voices in the corridor; there was a sharp rap on the door.
"Excuse me," Scrimgeour said, leaving the room. Harry took the opportunity to look around; the room's gray walls were filled with shelves holding more folders, scrolls, and books. Motion caught his eye; against the back wall, he could see a chessboard sitting on a small table- its pieces, left in mid-game, were fidgeting slightly. One side's pieces were green with silver trim; the other's, red and gold. There was a small framed black-and-white photograph on a wall above the chessboard; he moved forward, to study it more closely.
In it, a tall, stern-looking man in wizard's robes, with medals pinned to his chest, stood with back particularly straight next to a wan-seeming woman in 1940s-era Muggle attire. A boy, perhaps eight years old, looked up at the man with an expression of fierce pride, ignoring the woman completely as the man nudged her, urging her to look toward the camera and smile. Harry then cast a glance at his student file; just then, footsteps approached the door. Harry quickly resumed his former position as Scrimgeour walked back into the room, saying "...see that you don't," to someone in the hall. Scrimgeour then closed the door, and walked back over to Harry.
"Forgive the interruption," Scrimgeour said.
"That's all right; I was just looking at... that chessboard."
"Ah- you play, yes?"
"Not well- my friend Ron is brilliant, though."
Scrimgeour's eyes gleamed. "It's an excellent way to take someone's measure," he said; then, he resumed their prior conversation. “Harry, I don’t have to tell you that these are dark times for the Ministry, and for the entire Wizarding world. With Voldemort gaining power every day, there isn't a single person on the face of the planet who is free from danger.”
He paused; Harry finally nodded. Scrimgeour continued, “I know you hold no love for the Ministry’s tactics- or for my House, for that matter- but you do at least acknowledge that the Ministry is working to attempt to counter Voldemort? That I- with my many years of service as an Auror, and a scar given me in combat with Voldemort himself- am not simply his pawn, trying to delude or poison you? After all, you caught me out in a lie once before, and I rarely repeat a mistake- or do I seem as though I am under the Imperius Curse?”
Harry paused. "As far as that goes, I'm surprised you haven't tried using an Imperius to get me to go along with all this."
"If you weren't so very resistant to it, I might."
Harry hesitated, then decided to answer Scrimgeour's question. “No, you don't. But... even people who think they’re doing the right thing can still do harm. Like Fudge.”
Scrimgeour nodded. “You’ll find, as you go through the world, that life often devolves to choosing between the lesser of two evils. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that."
Harry thought about this for a moment; Scrimgeour leaned forward. "Now, Harry- I can well understand how you initially refused to aid me, when we spoke at Christmastime; approaching you at the funeral was simply stupid and clumsy of me, and I apologize. I would not have done so had the situation not been desperate- but it is."
"I see..." replied Harry. Just then, there was a knock on the door; at Scrimgeour's call, "Come in," a Ministry worker walked in with a new armful of folders, which he added to the pile on Scrimgeour's desk. The Minister waited until he had left, then said, "Harry, as I was saying- these are difficult and dangerous times. Each one of these," -he tapped a tall stack of folders- "...is an intelligence report on Voldemort's possible- possible- activities. When I read them, I have to decide which reports may be accurate, and dispatch Aurors accordingly. Would you like to guess how many Aurors I have, to cover the entire United Kingdom, and its sixty million people?"
"I don't know... a few thousand, I guess..."
"Just over two hundred, not all of whom are competent field agents," Scrimgeour replied flatly. "There are only somewhere between five and seven thousand wizards and witches in the entire UK," he went on, over Harry's look of surprise, "...and far too many of them belong to the other side. Voldemort has at least fifty active Death Eaters now, and..."
"Fifty?" Harry interjected, shocked. "But... when he came back, there were only about a dozen... and at Hogwarts..."
"That was two years ago, Harry- and you didn't think he threw all of his Death Eaters at Hogwarts, did you? Was Draco Malfoy supposed to lead fifty people in the dark? They've been kept busy in other areas, too. Their numbers are increasing by the day... and it's much easier to create new Death Eaters than new Aurors, with their three years of study." He shook his head, and continued, "We're doing what we can for recruitment- but even with Apparition and Portkeys, we're stretched very, very thin. Our Obliviators are using dangerous numbers of Stimulant Spells, and St. Mungo's is full to bursting, mostly with Muggles who've been cursed- I think Voldemort may be deliberately flooding the system. He's keeping everyone too busy to effectively counter him... especially the Order of the Phoenix."
Harry stepped backward instinctively, and fought to keep his face blank- Scrimgeour knew of the Order? The Minister was staring at him intently, gray eyes fixed upon his. "Come now, Harry," said Scrimgeour, stepping toward him. "I've been an Auror for more than half my life- did you really think I don't know of the Order? Why, half its ranks must be Aurors- Shacklebolt, certainly... Elphias Doge... perhaps Nymphadora Tonks..."
Harry pulled his eyes away from Scrimgeour's, and struggled to empty his mind of emotion. Think of a placid lake... an empty beach... "I'm not trying to use Legilimency on you, Harry," Scrimgeour said. "I actually have true respect for the Order; they've done a great deal to thwart Voldemort's plans, although I don't approve of the fact that they refuse to put themselves under Ministry supervision, and work according to our priorities."
"Was... was that part of what you and Dumbledore argued about?" Harry asked. "The Daily Prophet said you'd quarreled, just after you assumed office, but Dumbledore simply said it was because you wanted a meeting with me..."
Scrimgeour nodded. "Very good, Harry. Yes; Dumbledore- I hope you'll forgive me for using his name, since you mentioned him first- refused to tell me of the Order's plans. I suspect he was trying to protect you all."
"Why tell me that, then? Aren't you afraid I'll just refuse to answer, too?"
Impatience crept into Scrimgeour's tone. "Harry, why do you think I'm taking so very much of my time to speak to you, at such a desperate juncture?" Scrimgeour took another step toward Harry, whose back was brushing one of the shelves. "I'm trying to keep the wizarding populace of the United Kingdom from giving way to utter panic. Since Voldemort's return, and particularly since Dumbledore's death, people have been hiding, or simply fleeing the UK. More than fifteen percent of our registered wizards are already gone; either they've Portkeyed away- I've had to prohibit civilian use of Portkeys altogether- or they've gone into hiding, or..."
"...or they've joined Voldemort," said Harry heavily.
"Yes. If this continues, there won't be a witch or wizard left in the United Kingdom who doesn't belong to him. In fact, that's one of the things we're most worried about: that he'll go from the Wizarding U.K. to France, to Germany, gaining followers all the while, unless we can stop him here. Meanwhile, people are terrified; they need someone to rally behind. Needless to say, and much as I might wish it otherwise, that won't be me- I lack a certain panache," Scrimgeour added with an ironic tone. Then he went on, "You, however, Harry, hold a position unique in wizarding history. As I told you once before, ever since you were an infant, you've been a symbol of hope- of victory over Voldemort. You're famous, courageous, good-looking, and even reasonably charming... and to the wizarding population, you're the Boy Who Lived- “the Chosen One." These are dark and desperate times, Harry; people need to be made to believe in something, lest they stampede like cattle- and I need you for that. I'm trying to engender that belief in our populace, and also to keep them alive. Tell me, Harry," he went on, "you know what a nuclear warhead is, of course?"
Harry felt a sudden chill. "Yes."
"Imagine Voldemort obtaining one, then using a spell to detonate it in the middle of London. It's not impossible; he was raised by Muggles, after all- and while the United States and the other nuclear powers have their own teams of wizards... you know his power."
"Has he... is he going to do that?"
Scrimgeour hesitated, and ran a hand through close-cropped gray hair. "I don't know," he finally said. "As a wizard, Voldemort works in the traditional style- they tend to avoid high-level Muggle technology, perhaps because magic tends to interfere with its functioning. I'm sure there are ways around that, though, and the wizarding world needs to put up a united front of opposition, to prevent that from happening. After all, even if Voldemort declines the opportunity, there are other wizards who may not."
There was a pause; Scrimgeour stared intently at Harry. Harry opened his mouth to say something; suddenly, there was a chiming sound; a small statue on the corner of Scrimgeour's desk looked up at him and said, "The time is now nine twenty-five, Minister; you have a meeting in five minutes." Scrimgeour glanced down, then looked back at Harry and said, "Harry- I need your cooperation, and I'm out of time, and options. I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave this office until you've agreed to help us."
Harry tensed; he contemplated going for his wand, but remembered Dumbledore's comments about Scrimgeour's ability. Apparate away, perhaps? If he concentrated...
"It won't work, Harry," said Scrimgeour. "Things have changed since Fudge's day; the Ministry has been re-sealed against Voldemort- or anyone else- Apparating or Disapparating at will. I'm sorry, but I need your help, and I don't know how to persuade you, or get past your instinctive distrust of my House. You need to help the Ministry, or..."
"...or it's Azkaban," Harry said flatly.
"Yes. I don't wish to, Harry, but... blast it, what do you want- what can I offer you? Why won't you listen to reason...?"
The question took Harry by surprise; he took his eyes off of the Minister, who was staring at him intently. Harry felt as though he were drowning; as though he were standing at some terrible crossroads. He shut his eyes, and tried to think of a plan, an escape, but nothing came; instead, he saw Dumbledore, plummeting from the tower. How could you leave me like this? Harry thought desperately; What would you tell me to do? There was no answer, as he wracked his mind; finally, he found himself remembering Remus's words: You are an adult now- and there is power in that, if you only use it wisely...
"Stan," he said reluctantly, finally opening his eyes. "I want you to free Stan."
"Stan Shunpike?" said Scrimgeour quickly. "The release form is right here..." -he tapped it with a finger- "...merely awaiting my signature. If you wish, I'll even set up an independent review board, to go over the other arrests. Anything else?"
Harry's stomach roiled; he felt as though he was destroying some vital part of himself with every word. "The... Umbridge put a law into effect that prevents werewolves from inheriting property..."
Scrimgeour nodded. "Your teacher, yes? Lupin? I'll repeal it at once; if you want, I'll even offer him a job as an Auror- he certainly has the field experience, and it would ease his financial situation. In fact, talking of becoming an Auror..." He reached into a pocket of his robes, and pulled out three badges. "These are Apprentice Auror badges- if you and your friends accept the positions, you’ll be acting to further help counter Voldemort, and you'll be cleared of any problems with performing underage magic away from Hogwarts for good."
Harry stretched out his hand for them, then drew it back, remembering the Cricket Hermione had given him. "Are there Locator Charms on these?"
Scrimgeour didn't hesitate: "Yes."
"I think I'll pass, then."
"As you will," said Scrimgeour. "I obviously don't plan to prosecute you, if you help me; should you accept the job, the position will be registered just the same, and there's certainly not an Auror alive who doesn't know who you are. You may want to offer them to your friends, though; they're not as well-known as you are, of course."
"I'll mention it to them," Harry said tersely. "If they want, they can come pick them up."
"As you will. Now, Harry... do we have a deal?"
Harry hesitated, and wished with all his heart that he were not here, making this choice. "I... I won't betray the Order's secrets," he said, "...and I'll never tell you anything about Dumbledore. Never. If that's what you want... you'd best send me to Azkaban right now, and lose the aid of your "Chosen One" for good."
Gray eyes met green ones, weighing and evaluating; time stood still for an endless moment. "Agreed," Scrimgeour snapped.
"Then... I guess we have a deal."
"Excellent," said Scrimgeour heartily, as he opened the butterbeers. "Then it appears we have something to drink to, after all."
*
Harry's voice was heavy but resolute, as the reporter's quill flew across the page, capturing every word: "...wish to say for the record that while Minister Scrimgeour and I have had our differences in the past, I have a very high opinion of his ability. In fact, I will be working with the Ministry from here on in, acting to help guarantee the safety of the United Kingdom and its people..."
(A/N: I changed Scrimgeour's physical description slightly (hair and eye color, mostly) from canon because Rowling's description of him (tawny hair; yellow eyes) made him sound too much like a lion- which made me think of Gryffindor. Instead, I wanted him as a Slytherin, for reasons I hope are obvious. In addition, I tweaked the number of Death Eaters active upon Voldemort's return- in the books, it's more like thirty at the time of GoF.)
Chapter 2- A Meeting With the Minister
Harry shivered, as he looked at the telephone box that was the entrance to the Ministry of Magic; I may fall asleep in Azkaban tonight, he thought, and forced the thought away. He looked over at Remus Lupin for a moment; the other man’s eyes were hollow, with deep bags of exhaustion underneath. In the back of his mind, Harry registered that he was taller than Lupin now.
“It’s good that we got here early,” said Lupin, as he adjusted Harry’s outfit slightly. “It gives us a chance to talk, to...”
“To say goodbye?” Harry interjected.
“Perhaps,” Lupin replied. “From what I’ve heard of Scrimgeour, the Ministry- and defending the wizarding populace from Voldemort- are his only priorities whatsoever.”
“You’d think we’d get along better, then,” said Harry, forcing a joke.
"Do you still have the Map?" Lupin asked suddenly.
"Err, yeah- why?"
"It occurs to me that it might be a good idea not to bring it in with you- you may be searched. Just as well if the Ministry didn't know of its existence."
Harry nodded, and handed it to Lupin, who tucked it away quickly, without looking at it. "It should be safe enough with me," Lupin said, "it's not as though a werewolf is going to be invited into the Minister's office, after all. I'll return it to you later, if... all goes well."
Harry nodded. "Err... what time is it?" he asked.
"We still have a few minutes; why?"
"There's... there's something I've been meaning to ask you," said Harry hesitantly. "It's... it's about Sirius."
Lupin's gaze didn't waver. "Go on."
"Well... it's about Num... about the house, and his estate."
Lupin made a noise that might have been a slight laugh. "You wish to know why it was left to you, who are already well provided for, and not his friend Remus? The house for which I am now Secret-Keeper?"
"Well... yeah. It just seems..."
"As Hermione would no doubt be ready to tell you, Harry, Dolores Umbridge has put through legislation that makes it illegal for werewolves to inherit property."
"You're kidding!"
"No; Fudge signed it into law not long before Sirius passed away. Needless to say, that helped scuttle any chance of negotiating a settlement between the werewolves and Dumbledore."
"But... why didn't you mention that?"
Another odd sound, as Lupin nudged a bit of litter with the toe of a shoe. "What would it have mattered? There was... plenty enough to deal with at the time. Besides, I have enough to worry about with what I already have. Some books, some records... I've learned to travel light."
Harry's jaw clenched. "That's not fair."
"Life seldom is."
Harry paused, uncertain how to proceed; he reached in his pocket for the check he'd written from his Gringotts account. "Listen, before I go in- I want to... to do something for you..."
Lupin put a hand upon his shoulder softly. "You already have."
Harry fell silent for a moment; he hesitated, then reached into a different pocket, and pulled out the torn picture of Lily, James, and the other Marauders. "Well, here's something, anyway," he said, handing it to the other man.
Lupin stared at it for a moment, before quietly saying, “I remember that night.”
“The night they found out mum was pregnant, yeah,” replied Harry. “I thought you should have it, just in case.”
Lupin looked from Harry back to the picture, then silently took out his wand and touched it to the photograph, fixing the tear in the side. “If only everything could be so easily mended,” he murmured.
“Like Tonks...?”
Lupin’s lips quirked. “Yes, like Tonks- she’s a very sweet girl.” He and Harry looked at each other for a moment, before Lupin tucked away the photograph, and quietly said, "It's time, Harry."
Harry asked, “Will we speak again?”
“If all goes well... but only briefly. I have much to do for the Order, and...”
“Yeah- I’ve been keeping track on the calendar,” Harry said. “Would Slughorn not make the potion for you, then, with Snape gone?”
“I haven’t asked,” replied Lupin. “That is a very difficult potion, and while Professor Slughorn would surely be up to the task, he has other pressing matters- matters for Hogwarts, and for the Order," -Harry looked at him in puzzlement for a moment; Slughorn was with the Order now?- "that need attending to. I’ve carried it this far; I shall go the rest of the way.”
Harry nodded. "I've been thinking about everything I've learned from you," he said. "Not just grindylows and boggarts- all of it."
"I wish I could guide you now," Lupin said, as he met Harry's gaze. “Remember, Harry: much of your impatience, and your anger, have stemmed from your feelings of powerlessness in the adult world. You are no longer the boy who slept in a cupboard, or who raged impotently because he felt we were keeping secrets from him. You are an adult now- and there is power in that, if you only use it wisely.”
Harry looked at Remus for a long moment, then nodded, and embraced him tightly. Finally, he let go, and walked over to the phone box. He stepped into the box, then turned his head for a last look back at the other man. “Goodbye, Remus,” he said quietly, as he pulled the phone box door shut.
The elevator chimed. “Level One- Ministry Official Offices.”
Harry tensed, as he entered Scrimgeour’s office; Dolores Umbridge was sitting there, with a gloating, expectant look on her face. Scrimgeour was wearing midnight blue Minister's robes; he stood from behind his desk, which was covered with folders and other documents, as Harry entered. “Hello, Harry. Thank you for coming.”
“Didn’t have much choice, did I?” said Harry, declining to sit.
Umbridge smirked, and opened her mouth to say something; suddenly, Scrimgeour lifted a finger to silence her. “On second thought, Dolores," he said, glancing repeatedly at Harry as he spoke, "given your imbecilic mismanagement of the situation at Hogwarts, your idiotic dispatching of Dementors to Little Whinging, and your complete and utter failure as regards the situation with the werewolves, there really isn't the slightest chance you could contribute anything of use in this situation. I'll expect your resignation on my desk tomorrow morning.”
Umbridge stared at him in shock; her mouth closed with a snap; she blushed, and made a huffing noise. Gathering her papers together awkwardly, she bustled out of the office.
Scrimgeour, still standing behind his desk, smiled at Harry. “There- I thought we could speak more freely in private.”
“Yeah? What are we going to talk about, anyway? The last time this happened, I simply got hauled in front of the Wizengamot...”
“I’m well aware of how my predecessor handled things, Harry,” interjected Scrimgeour. “Fudge was a charming enough politician, for a Hufflepuff- but he was weak, and paranoid, and foolish. He never learned from his mistakes.” Scrimgeour opened a desk drawer, and produced two bottles of butterbeer. “I, however, do. Drink?”
Harry looked at Scrimgeour's right hand, as it held the bottle of butterbeer; he was wearing a silver ring in the shape of a serpent, with eyes made from emeralds. "No, thanks- I... don't think I have anything I want to drink to."
Scrimgeour caught him staring at the ring; his lips pressed together, as he set the unopened bottles down on his desk. "Harry, I know that you hold no love for Slytherin House- and given the inbred lot of cretins and cowards in your year, with their families' ludicrous obsession about purity of blood, I can well understand it. However, Slytherin hardly holds the patent on ignoble thoughts- or had you forgotten Peter Pettigrew?"
Harry's jaw clenched, although he remembered Remus's advice. "I hadn't forgotten."
Scrimgeour nodded. "As far as that goes, you may not remember from your lessons- but Grindelwald himself, although German, was in Ravenclaw. A student to rival your friend Hermione, from what I understand- but he became obsessed with the darker side of wizarding history, and certain unwholesome occult works..." He broke off, and looked at Harry intently. "In fact, you and I have something in common- we both had parents who died during wartime, with great sacrifice. My father fought in the final action against Grindelwald, and died fighting; had it not been for Albus Dumbledore, England might have lost ev..."
"I'll thank you not to mention him," Harry snapped.
Scrimgeour glared at him for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together. "Harry," he finally said, "I know you're under a great deal of strain right now- as are we all- but Slytherin is not a House of evil, existing simply to produce Death Eaters in training; if it were, do you honestly think Hogwarts would keep it open...?"
"I suppose not," Harry said reluctantly.
"Of course not," replied Scrimgeour firmly, as he walked around the desk. "Slytherin is not a House of evil; it is a House of ambition. Slytherin exists for those who seek to accept the mantle of power, rather than cloistering themselves away in a library or some such, away from the world's responsibilities. After all- didn't the Sorting Hat nearly put you yourself in Slytherin?"
Harry was startled: "You know about that?"
"It's in your Hogwarts student file," said Scrimgeour, tapping a thick folder with one finger as he met Harry's gaze. "I've been studying you and your friends for quite some time." He paused, to let that sink in. Suddenly, Harry could hear voices in the corridor; there was a sharp rap on the door.
"Excuse me," Scrimgeour said, leaving the room. Harry took the opportunity to look around; the room's gray walls were filled with shelves holding more folders, scrolls, and books. Motion caught his eye; against the back wall, he could see a chessboard sitting on a small table- its pieces, left in mid-game, were fidgeting slightly. One side's pieces were green with silver trim; the other's, red and gold. There was a small framed black-and-white photograph on a wall above the chessboard; he moved forward, to study it more closely.
In it, a tall, stern-looking man in wizard's robes, with medals pinned to his chest, stood with back particularly straight next to a wan-seeming woman in 1940s-era Muggle attire. A boy, perhaps eight years old, looked up at the man with an expression of fierce pride, ignoring the woman completely as the man nudged her, urging her to look toward the camera and smile. Harry then cast a glance at his student file; just then, footsteps approached the door. Harry quickly resumed his former position as Scrimgeour walked back into the room, saying "...see that you don't," to someone in the hall. Scrimgeour then closed the door, and walked back over to Harry.
"Forgive the interruption," Scrimgeour said.
"That's all right; I was just looking at... that chessboard."
"Ah- you play, yes?"
"Not well- my friend Ron is brilliant, though."
Scrimgeour's eyes gleamed. "It's an excellent way to take someone's measure," he said; then, he resumed their prior conversation. “Harry, I don’t have to tell you that these are dark times for the Ministry, and for the entire Wizarding world. With Voldemort gaining power every day, there isn't a single person on the face of the planet who is free from danger.”
He paused; Harry finally nodded. Scrimgeour continued, “I know you hold no love for the Ministry’s tactics- or for my House, for that matter- but you do at least acknowledge that the Ministry is working to attempt to counter Voldemort? That I- with my many years of service as an Auror, and a scar given me in combat with Voldemort himself- am not simply his pawn, trying to delude or poison you? After all, you caught me out in a lie once before, and I rarely repeat a mistake- or do I seem as though I am under the Imperius Curse?”
Harry paused. "As far as that goes, I'm surprised you haven't tried using an Imperius to get me to go along with all this."
"If you weren't so very resistant to it, I might."
Harry hesitated, then decided to answer Scrimgeour's question. “No, you don't. But... even people who think they’re doing the right thing can still do harm. Like Fudge.”
Scrimgeour nodded. “You’ll find, as you go through the world, that life often devolves to choosing between the lesser of two evils. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that."
Harry thought about this for a moment; Scrimgeour leaned forward. "Now, Harry- I can well understand how you initially refused to aid me, when we spoke at Christmastime; approaching you at the funeral was simply stupid and clumsy of me, and I apologize. I would not have done so had the situation not been desperate- but it is."
"I see..." replied Harry. Just then, there was a knock on the door; at Scrimgeour's call, "Come in," a Ministry worker walked in with a new armful of folders, which he added to the pile on Scrimgeour's desk. The Minister waited until he had left, then said, "Harry, as I was saying- these are difficult and dangerous times. Each one of these," -he tapped a tall stack of folders- "...is an intelligence report on Voldemort's possible- possible- activities. When I read them, I have to decide which reports may be accurate, and dispatch Aurors accordingly. Would you like to guess how many Aurors I have, to cover the entire United Kingdom, and its sixty million people?"
"I don't know... a few thousand, I guess..."
"Just over two hundred, not all of whom are competent field agents," Scrimgeour replied flatly. "There are only somewhere between five and seven thousand wizards and witches in the entire UK," he went on, over Harry's look of surprise, "...and far too many of them belong to the other side. Voldemort has at least fifty active Death Eaters now, and..."
"Fifty?" Harry interjected, shocked. "But... when he came back, there were only about a dozen... and at Hogwarts..."
"That was two years ago, Harry- and you didn't think he threw all of his Death Eaters at Hogwarts, did you? Was Draco Malfoy supposed to lead fifty people in the dark? They've been kept busy in other areas, too. Their numbers are increasing by the day... and it's much easier to create new Death Eaters than new Aurors, with their three years of study." He shook his head, and continued, "We're doing what we can for recruitment- but even with Apparition and Portkeys, we're stretched very, very thin. Our Obliviators are using dangerous numbers of Stimulant Spells, and St. Mungo's is full to bursting, mostly with Muggles who've been cursed- I think Voldemort may be deliberately flooding the system. He's keeping everyone too busy to effectively counter him... especially the Order of the Phoenix."
Harry stepped backward instinctively, and fought to keep his face blank- Scrimgeour knew of the Order? The Minister was staring at him intently, gray eyes fixed upon his. "Come now, Harry," said Scrimgeour, stepping toward him. "I've been an Auror for more than half my life- did you really think I don't know of the Order? Why, half its ranks must be Aurors- Shacklebolt, certainly... Elphias Doge... perhaps Nymphadora Tonks..."
Harry pulled his eyes away from Scrimgeour's, and struggled to empty his mind of emotion. Think of a placid lake... an empty beach... "I'm not trying to use Legilimency on you, Harry," Scrimgeour said. "I actually have true respect for the Order; they've done a great deal to thwart Voldemort's plans, although I don't approve of the fact that they refuse to put themselves under Ministry supervision, and work according to our priorities."
"Was... was that part of what you and Dumbledore argued about?" Harry asked. "The Daily Prophet said you'd quarreled, just after you assumed office, but Dumbledore simply said it was because you wanted a meeting with me..."
Scrimgeour nodded. "Very good, Harry. Yes; Dumbledore- I hope you'll forgive me for using his name, since you mentioned him first- refused to tell me of the Order's plans. I suspect he was trying to protect you all."
"Why tell me that, then? Aren't you afraid I'll just refuse to answer, too?"
Impatience crept into Scrimgeour's tone. "Harry, why do you think I'm taking so very much of my time to speak to you, at such a desperate juncture?" Scrimgeour took another step toward Harry, whose back was brushing one of the shelves. "I'm trying to keep the wizarding populace of the United Kingdom from giving way to utter panic. Since Voldemort's return, and particularly since Dumbledore's death, people have been hiding, or simply fleeing the UK. More than fifteen percent of our registered wizards are already gone; either they've Portkeyed away- I've had to prohibit civilian use of Portkeys altogether- or they've gone into hiding, or..."
"...or they've joined Voldemort," said Harry heavily.
"Yes. If this continues, there won't be a witch or wizard left in the United Kingdom who doesn't belong to him. In fact, that's one of the things we're most worried about: that he'll go from the Wizarding U.K. to France, to Germany, gaining followers all the while, unless we can stop him here. Meanwhile, people are terrified; they need someone to rally behind. Needless to say, and much as I might wish it otherwise, that won't be me- I lack a certain panache," Scrimgeour added with an ironic tone. Then he went on, "You, however, Harry, hold a position unique in wizarding history. As I told you once before, ever since you were an infant, you've been a symbol of hope- of victory over Voldemort. You're famous, courageous, good-looking, and even reasonably charming... and to the wizarding population, you're the Boy Who Lived- “the Chosen One." These are dark and desperate times, Harry; people need to be made to believe in something, lest they stampede like cattle- and I need you for that. I'm trying to engender that belief in our populace, and also to keep them alive. Tell me, Harry," he went on, "you know what a nuclear warhead is, of course?"
Harry felt a sudden chill. "Yes."
"Imagine Voldemort obtaining one, then using a spell to detonate it in the middle of London. It's not impossible; he was raised by Muggles, after all- and while the United States and the other nuclear powers have their own teams of wizards... you know his power."
"Has he... is he going to do that?"
Scrimgeour hesitated, and ran a hand through close-cropped gray hair. "I don't know," he finally said. "As a wizard, Voldemort works in the traditional style- they tend to avoid high-level Muggle technology, perhaps because magic tends to interfere with its functioning. I'm sure there are ways around that, though, and the wizarding world needs to put up a united front of opposition, to prevent that from happening. After all, even if Voldemort declines the opportunity, there are other wizards who may not."
There was a pause; Scrimgeour stared intently at Harry. Harry opened his mouth to say something; suddenly, there was a chiming sound; a small statue on the corner of Scrimgeour's desk looked up at him and said, "The time is now nine twenty-five, Minister; you have a meeting in five minutes." Scrimgeour glanced down, then looked back at Harry and said, "Harry- I need your cooperation, and I'm out of time, and options. I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave this office until you've agreed to help us."
Harry tensed; he contemplated going for his wand, but remembered Dumbledore's comments about Scrimgeour's ability. Apparate away, perhaps? If he concentrated...
"It won't work, Harry," said Scrimgeour. "Things have changed since Fudge's day; the Ministry has been re-sealed against Voldemort- or anyone else- Apparating or Disapparating at will. I'm sorry, but I need your help, and I don't know how to persuade you, or get past your instinctive distrust of my House. You need to help the Ministry, or..."
"...or it's Azkaban," Harry said flatly.
"Yes. I don't wish to, Harry, but... blast it, what do you want- what can I offer you? Why won't you listen to reason...?"
The question took Harry by surprise; he took his eyes off of the Minister, who was staring at him intently. Harry felt as though he were drowning; as though he were standing at some terrible crossroads. He shut his eyes, and tried to think of a plan, an escape, but nothing came; instead, he saw Dumbledore, plummeting from the tower. How could you leave me like this? Harry thought desperately; What would you tell me to do? There was no answer, as he wracked his mind; finally, he found himself remembering Remus's words: You are an adult now- and there is power in that, if you only use it wisely...
"Stan," he said reluctantly, finally opening his eyes. "I want you to free Stan."
"Stan Shunpike?" said Scrimgeour quickly. "The release form is right here..." -he tapped it with a finger- "...merely awaiting my signature. If you wish, I'll even set up an independent review board, to go over the other arrests. Anything else?"
Harry's stomach roiled; he felt as though he was destroying some vital part of himself with every word. "The... Umbridge put a law into effect that prevents werewolves from inheriting property..."
Scrimgeour nodded. "Your teacher, yes? Lupin? I'll repeal it at once; if you want, I'll even offer him a job as an Auror- he certainly has the field experience, and it would ease his financial situation. In fact, talking of becoming an Auror..." He reached into a pocket of his robes, and pulled out three badges. "These are Apprentice Auror badges- if you and your friends accept the positions, you’ll be acting to further help counter Voldemort, and you'll be cleared of any problems with performing underage magic away from Hogwarts for good."
Harry stretched out his hand for them, then drew it back, remembering the Cricket Hermione had given him. "Are there Locator Charms on these?"
Scrimgeour didn't hesitate: "Yes."
"I think I'll pass, then."
"As you will," said Scrimgeour. "I obviously don't plan to prosecute you, if you help me; should you accept the job, the position will be registered just the same, and there's certainly not an Auror alive who doesn't know who you are. You may want to offer them to your friends, though; they're not as well-known as you are, of course."
"I'll mention it to them," Harry said tersely. "If they want, they can come pick them up."
"As you will. Now, Harry... do we have a deal?"
Harry hesitated, and wished with all his heart that he were not here, making this choice. "I... I won't betray the Order's secrets," he said, "...and I'll never tell you anything about Dumbledore. Never. If that's what you want... you'd best send me to Azkaban right now, and lose the aid of your "Chosen One" for good."
Gray eyes met green ones, weighing and evaluating; time stood still for an endless moment. "Agreed," Scrimgeour snapped.
"Then... I guess we have a deal."
"Excellent," said Scrimgeour heartily, as he opened the butterbeers. "Then it appears we have something to drink to, after all."
Harry's voice was heavy but resolute, as the reporter's quill flew across the page, capturing every word: "...wish to say for the record that while Minister Scrimgeour and I have had our differences in the past, I have a very high opinion of his ability. In fact, I will be working with the Ministry from here on in, acting to help guarantee the safety of the United Kingdom and its people..."
(A/N: I changed Scrimgeour's physical description slightly (hair and eye color, mostly) from canon because Rowling's description of him (tawny hair; yellow eyes) made him sound too much like a lion- which made me think of Gryffindor. Instead, I wanted him as a Slytherin, for reasons I hope are obvious. In addition, I tweaked the number of Death Eaters active upon Voldemort's return- in the books, it's more like thirty at the time of GoF.)
