Chapter One.

Scrimgeour's Day.

Try as he may to change the outcome, Rufus Scrimgeour's day that particular one at least, was marked by more failures than successes. It began with the news of the American Ambassador's spectacular murder in his apartments over looking Piccadilly Circus and the fatal mauling of another American by a Manticore in Central London, both occurring the night before, in spite the best from the Auror's Office and the Ambassador's own group of bodyguards. Bad enough that it was so public, what made it even more worse was that the Muggle PM found himself dragged into the murders by an opposition party eager to rack up even more points for themselves before the next election. For over an hour, his Muggle counterpart did nothing more that scream at him about what he was doing—or the lack of it—when Scrimgeour went to persuade him not to loose faith in the Ministry's ability to handle the current matter.

"Do you have any ideal what pressure I'm under because of all these mysterious killings that are going on? Do you have any concern what's happening to my political backing due to this??" The Muggle Prime Minister screeched. "I'm being ripped to pieces over this!! Ripped.to.pieces!! And if I say a word of what's really going on, I'd find myself laughed right out of government and right into the Madhouse!!"

Scrimgeour stood in the Minister's opulent office, taking the verbal thrashing silently--because the Minister was right. If he said anything that the current problems were being caused by a 'Dark Wizards', Scrimgeour's would be speaking to his replacement—proving the previous ministers' assertions correct. That Scrimgeour really didn't want to do, but there really wasn't any other way around the matter. With all resources committed to finding and stopping the Dark Lord, Scrimgeour couldn't spare a single Obliviators to help the Muggle Prime Minister.

Returning to his office, he received an official request from The American Bureau of Magical Affairs for permission to conduct a joint investigation with the British Ministry of Magic's Auror Office into their Ambassador's death, or at least be allowed to send an agent to help oversee the investigation. Diplomacy between the Bureaus, Ministries, and Offices of each country was a must, and maintaining that level of friendliness necessary to promote goodwill and sport among the various countries of the Wizarding World. But while he was in charge of the Aurors' Office, Scrimgeour's had more than his fill of uppity foreign investigators, especially the American ones, constantly interfering with his Aurors investigations, often in ways that always hampered things to no end. Besides, his people were already deeply involved with the investigation and had no time to baby-sit. This he solved quite easily by sending notice back that the investigation was well underway, and that the Ministry will keep them informed of any breaking news.

That, Scrimgeour's figured, should keep them at arms length for a while.

Then Dennis Prefit, the High Prosecutor of the Ministry, stumbled into his office with twenty-odd crimson scrolls each pertaining to the twenty-odd defendants in the upcoming Dark Lord trials which Scrimgeour's hoped would begin to restore the people's faith in the Ministry. The sacking Fudge and his group of Plodders didn't go far enough and was way too late to stop the damage that Dumbledore had been warning about. The Trials would show that the Ministry was now actively, and aggressively, pursuing the Dark Lord and his followers' right to then end.

But as the usually immaculate Prefit shuffled up to his desk, bleary-eyed and disheveled, dumping the scrolls upon it, Scrimgeour had that horrible feeling well up inside of him.

"Is something wrong, Dennis?" He innocently asked.

Prefit, considerered to be amongst the most calm and level headed legalist around, raised his bloodshot gaze towards his superior looking as if he'd were only one moment away from lunging across the desk to strangle Scrimgeour's with his bare hands. But, instead, grated through clenched teeth, "Yes…There…is a…problem. We…are in absolute danger of making even absolute fools of ourselves…even bigger than Fudge!!

"I…my assistants…have spent weeks going through…this." He continued haltingly, motioning towards the scrolls on Scrimgeour's desk, "All there is…all that they can be tried for…is for the fact that they were absolutely foolish, or had the very poor sense to open their mouths around an Auror or some poor panicky witch or wizard…Nothing more!!!

"Oh, there are those who were turned in because of someone else's envy, and another who turn themselves in to avoid prosecution for minor offenses…. But not a one of them can ever be considered a supporter or active minion of the Dark Lord—not a bloody one!!! If I were to take them to trial, I'd be sacked faster than Fudge was!!"

Scrimgeour's looked at the scrolls. The arrests were all highly touted by the Ministry, seeking to reclaim the stature it lost through Fudge's botchery. Prefit wasn't the kind who'd slack off responsibility, and would not tolerate such behavior in his office—the Minister knew that from all of the years they worked together. Examining the Investigator's notes, which Prefit also added to the pile, took the blow to his plans silently—but heavily.

There had to be a legal way to salvage this, he thought.

And thought quite hard about it…

And came up with a solution quite quickly.

"Dennis." Scrimgeour's quickly pointed out to his beleaguered barrister, "Have them tried for interfering with the Ministry's efforts to combat the Dark Lord Menace!"

Prefit stood, surprised for a good long minute.

Then he blinked, "That's…almost saying that they are supporters…of the Dark Lord."

Scrimgeour's smiled, being quite proud of himself at the moment, "Exactly! "And, if you think about it, that is what the Dark Lord would do; tie up our efforts in finding him by harassing us with fools' bragging—right?"

And a smile slowly formed on Prefit's face.

"Make a formal apology to those who were deliberately harmed by another's lies, while arresting the liars." Scrimgeour's continued. "And make damned certain to prosecute that petty criminal for his interference as well, Dennis—make a good example out of him."

"Her." Dennis corrected.

Scrimgeour's didn't feel like arguing that point because Prefit left the office in such a better mood than he arrived. It would be shameful to spoil it.

That, so far, turned out to be the only real good thing that occurred the whole day.

Scrimgeour's had been trying everything he could to meet with Harry Potter's Muggle relatives, without success. He'd hoped to use them to convince Potter to help the Ministry in these trying times, which could also boaster the Ministry's presence as well.

But the Dursley's never responded.

They were still alive, his spies reported, and did receive the messages--and promptly put them in their trash.

So, Scrimgeour's took it upon himself to visit Vernon Dursley where he worked.

However, Dursley's office had no fireplace, which eliminated use of the Foo Network, and knowing he'd never get past Grunning's front lobby without significant magic use, which would all but cost him dearly. So he apparated directly into Vernon Dursley's office…

Disrupting a meeting between Vernon Dursley and three other managers.

It was fortunate that he arrived near the door, and quickly subdued the others with stupefying spells just as Dursley grabbed the phone off his desk.

"Don't!!" Scrimgeour's growled while pointing his wand at Dursley. "Or I'll leave!"

After a few moments of shock, Dursley pleasantly squeaked, "What's wrong with that?"

"You're going to explain what happened to them, then?" Scrimgeour grinned, motioning to the forms of the three managers lying before his desk.

That had him perfectly; Dursley set the phone down.

Pleased with himself, the Minister of Magic chorally introduced himself to a deflated Vernon Dursley while locking the door and apologized for his abrupt appearance.

"You were sent notices that I wanted to speak with you." Scrimgeour's continued, "Was there some sort of a problem? We know you received them."

The color drained from Dursley's face. He wasn't about to tell the large strange man that he did received such, and promptly tossed them in the garbage. But that didn't matter to Scrimgeour at this point, he was here and the meeting was occurring.

"It's essential that Harry Potter be on our side, for your sake as well as ours." Scrimgeour's stated, "The Dark Lord won't just stop with the Wizarding World once he's finished with it, he'll tear into yours with glee. The unseasonable storms that have been occurring, recent bridge collapses, unusual accidents at your power plants and other manufacturing places."

That last part defiantly hooked Dursley, as Scrimgeour's knew it would since his comfortable livelihood was connected to this business that made drills. Grunnings and other manufactures were already in financial trouble because of the material shortages caused by the constant state of disasters occurring. Should anything happen to it; he and his family would flounder.

"The Dark Lord wouldn't stop at making your existence miserable, Dursley." Scrimgeour's continued. "He and his minions would gladly hunt you, your family, and others down for sport—delighting in the suffering you'd feel."

By his own measure, Scrimgeour's was laying it on quite think. But he had no time to waste, the situation was important. But Dursley was quite scared now, surprising the Minister as to how easy it was.

Perfect time to make the pitch. "We need Potter. With him, the Ministry can defeat the Dark Lord for everyone's sake."

"W-why can't you ask him y-y-yourself?" Dursley squeaked out.

Scrimgeour frowned at Dursley. "Dumbledore. I'm certain you have herd of him now."

Dursley nodded.

"He's set Potter against the Ministry in a stupid ploy for power." Scrimgeour's continued. "Twisting the boy's head around into believing that he alone can defeat the Dark Lord."

Lying was something only done when necessary to achieving ones goals, and Scrimgeour's used that maxim to excuse himself when lying--especially when the Goal was something he vitally had to reach. Dumbledore's interference in the matter only made it worse for everybody concerned, and, of course, Fudge's blundering only made the matter more difficult to solve. But his predecessor did not have the impact the late-Hogworts headmaster had on Potter

And there he came quickly to the point.

"The Boy would be dead before he'd have a chance at pointing his wand. That's why we need your help. You've raised Potter as your own son; you can speak with him better than we can. You, can convince him that it's in his own best interests to join the Ministry and not go it alone against the Dark Lord!"

For a few hope-fueled moments, Scrimgeour's felt he had gotten through to Dursley, for his face began to take on the glow of understanding. But when Dursley spoke, the hope was shattered.

"Raised him like a son?" Dursley spat viciously. "Ever since that little bastard was dumped on my doorstep, he's been anything but a son! He's been a bloody strain on my family, and an embarrassment to boot!!"

And for the next hour, Vernon Dursley did nothing but rage angrily about how miserable his life's been ever since taking Harry Potter in—utterly destroying all of Scrimgeour's preconceived beliefs. And then went on, fueled by a new found bravery, to express his absolute hopes that the Wizarding World would be totally destroyed, obliterated, for nothing less you make him happy.

"The World would be better off without your worthless lot running about!" he unabashedly declared.

And finally, with sadistic glee, Vernon Dursley dropped the most vicious news that he could on Scrimgeour's already shattered beliefs.

"He's gone! Stayed not more than a week before I kicked him to the curb! He's finished with that school, said so himself. So I shoved him and all his ruddy junk out the door!!"

Finished…? Scrimgeour's just stood there stunned. Potter had another year to go, his final year. The Governing Board stated that the School will be open on schedule with a significant increase in security, provided by the Ministry. There was simply no reason for it.

"He was seventeen." Dursley continuing his vicious attack with a sneer. "Old enough to be on his own—or so that Dumbledore said!!"

That was enough. Scrimgeour's left without another word, or with dealing with the stupefied people left behind.

Once back in his office, Scrimgeour's started dispatching orders directly to the Aurors' Office to find and bring back Harry Potter to him for protection. Hang his rights, this was too important to leave him alone—he had to be found before the Dark Lord or any of his minions did. And weither he liked it or not, the Ministry was going to protect him at all costs.

He was well into this when Percy Weasley entered the room. Normally, Arthur's astute son would have knocked before entering the Prime Minister's office. But now everything about the redheaded youth was anxious.

"Prime Minister, "he hesitantly began, "Ambassador Bone, from the United States, is here to speak with you."

Scrimgeour's looked at his Secretary oddly "Who?"

"Ambassador Bone. "Percy repeated. "You have a meeting with him at…" He glanced at the antique black-oak clock by the Prime Minister's desk, and paled.

"Now." He finished.

"Send him away." Scrimgeour's ordered, "I've no time-"

"He wants to talk about You-know-who."

"Tell him things are proceeding well."

"He wants proof."

Scrimgeour's glared at his secretary. As smart and dedicated as he may be, Scrimgeour's considered Percy Weasley to be utterly useless beyond a very narrow range of anything remotely useful.

In the future, Scrimgeour mentally noted to himself, anyone serving him as a Secretary had better do more than dress sharply and be officious around their lesser. He also realized that he couldn't keep the American Ambassador, (or any other representative) at bay for very long. So with an angry wave to Percy, he indicated that he'd see the Ambassador.

Such meetings were never to Scrimgeour's liking. They demanded too much time, and he never mastered the fine art of diplomacy. As an Auror, there was never was really much need for it. But as Prime Minister, the need to maintain proper and cordial relations with their fellows from other countries, especially in these trying times, was a definite must. Irritating, but a must. So when Ambassador Bone strode into his office with his assistant in tow, Scrimgeour's busily formulated a plan to keep the meeting short.

"Minister Scrimgeour's." Bone smiled as he extended a hand towards Scrimgeour's, as his rich baritone voice reverberated off the walls of the office. "A pleasure at last."

Bone was a tall, stocky, cheery African-American with short curly gray mustache and stringy gray hair tied to the back of his head in a bun, wearing elegant gray robes that buttoned at the neck. His ebony eyes swept over Scrimgeour's in an assessing sort of way that put the Minister on guard.

Lying, Scrimgeour's realized, wasn't going to be easy. Glancing over at Bone's deadlocked assistant, dressed in the same gray robes as his master, but with far darker skin, less gentler facial features and muscular with a gold earring set in his right ear—regarding Scrimgeour's in the same assessing manner.

No, lying wasn't going to be easy. So Scrimgeour's resigned himself to muddle through the meeting as best he could.

"Yes, yes…"Scrimgeour's replied with his best faked pleasantry. "Though I wish it was under better circumstances."

"Ambassador Andword was a service to the Bureau's Foreign Office." Bone nodded gravely. "He'll be missed."

Scrimgeour's responded with a sad nod of his own. As he did, Bone continued, "And I must inform you that I've been placed in charge of the American portion of the investigation."

So quickly. That caught Scrimgeour's by surprise. Normally, such matters were handled by the host country--so according to diplomatic protocol.

"This is quite unusual." Scrimgeour's stammered back, struggling to keep his composure. "The Aurors' Office is handling the matter with utmost priority. Surely your Bureau of Magical Affairs doesn't want to overstep proper procedure in this case."

The Aurors investigating the death were certain that the Dark Lord was involved, but the leads they had followed weren't producing any significant suspects. At least ones who could be linked to the Dark Lord by any length of proof. To have a competing investigation, one by a foreign power no less, had the potential to make matters worse in the case.

It made him burn inside.

"We are aware of the protocols, Minister Scrimgeour's." Bone calmly replied. "As we are fully aware of the Auror's Office's major goal of containing Lord Voldermort…"

Even Scrimgeour's couldn't contain a gasp of fear at the mention of the name, as hardened as he was. Nor could he do anything about the tremor in his voice, or the tone that he spoke to Bone afterward.

"We do not speak that name here, Sir."

"I beg pardon for my gaff, Minister Scrimgeour's." Bone humbly replied, bowing slightly and quite apologetic for his act. "But, the World is…interested in what you are doing about combating---"

Bone paused, seeming searching for the right descriptive. Which Scrimgeour's coolly gave to him, "The Dark Lord."

"Ah, yes." Bone vigorously nodded. "Very appropriate."

"And." Scrimgeour's coolly went on, "you may inform the rest of the World that we are more than capable of dealing with this matter that we are currently facing."

"I see." Bone kept nodding, but more slowly. "When do you believe this matter will be fully dealt with?"

Damn! A trap!! Scrimgeour's hesitated between speaking and shouting for his temperament was crumbling due to Bone's needling. But then, he was already in a bad position; if he gave a firm date for the Dark Lord's capture, and failed to do so by then, there'd be hell to pay, as the Ministry would look as inept as it's critics so charged. But, if he gave a vague answer, the Ministry would then appear to the World as being slow and inefficiently handling the matter. He didn't want either to occur, nor did he dare reveal too much for pride's sake.

But having no answer was far worse.

And in the turmoil of his mind, Scrimgeour's latched onto the first bit of flotsam that he could reach.

"The apprehension of the Dark Lord and His followers is dependent upon the cooperation of one person." Scrimgeour's officiously stated. "That person is Harry Potter, who, as a mere baby, defeated the Dark Lord sixteen years ago--in a way that is yet understood. But due to the blunderings of the previous Prime Minister and His administration, the Potter wants nothing to do with helping us now."

And Scrimgeour's knew his head was now on the block, because he'd just put it there himself.

"We are doing all that we can to amend those mistakes. And end the reign of the Dark Lord as well. "

But even as he spoke those additional words, Scrimgeour's knew he had just opened himself up to attack.

He watched to see how Bone would react.

The American Ambassador was silently nodding his head.

"That," Scrimgeour's definitely concluded, "is where things stand."

Scrimgeour's was quite happy to see the meeting end shortly afterward. Percy Weasley helped in this matter by again entering without knocking, but this time with a special message about Potter. Bone noted that it was time to leave, and graciously did so Scrimgeour's could attend to the matter at hand without any further interruption from him.

And the news was the best he's received all day; Harry Potter was attending the wedding of Weasley's older brother, Bill, occurring at the Weasley family hone right that minute.

"Ready the forces!!" Scrimgeour's yelled. "We're getting Potter!!!"

Meanwhile, beyond the realm of the Ministry, moving thru the heavy traffic of Central London, was an exquisitely maintained 1967 Lincoln Continental sedan with chrome that shined like diamonds and a body was so polished it reflected its surroundings with mirror-like perfection. In its spacious rear seat, Bone was now wearing an expensive navy colored three-piece business suit while his attention was on the glass orb in his hand that contained the image of his superior, currently in America, as his assistant, resplendent in a 1940's style white suit with tan tie.

"Scrimgeour's in over his head, and the Ministry of Magic haven't a clue as to either where or how to locate Voldermort." Bone directly spoke to the orb. "He's trying to win Potter over, but considering how badly he's done things so far that boy stands a better chance alone."

The face in the orb was that of a lean man with significant amounts of gray hair and a bushy moustache, which sagged along with his face as he frowned. "Damned British Wizards!" he spat. "Just as overly officious as their mundane bureaucratics!

"Elias, this situation has the potential of spilling over. That cannot be allowed. Even if it means stepping all over Minister Scrimgeour's and his Ministry in the most blatantly rule breaking manner possible. I'm giving you all of the needed leeway to do as you see fit to head this crisis off.

"And don't worry about the Chamber, they'll approve this—especially after reading Andword's last report."

Bone nodded grimly.

"Which you'll find a copy of , and of all his reports on the Voldermort Matter on your desk at the Embassy." The Superior added. "But don't wait until then to start working…And, good luck."

The Supervisor fade from view before Bone could utter a reply.

From his own jacket, Bone's assistant pull out a black address book—handing it to Bone over the back of the seat.

"The Operatives list." He said.

Bone took the book after putting the Orb away, and began looking through it's pages.

"We're also going to need more information on Harry Potter." Bone stated. "He's The One, or so it's believed."

And he paused, wondering if Andword thought the same.

18