Chapter Two

--- In scientific work, those who refuse to go beyond fact rarely get as far as fact.

Thomas Huxley disappearances

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The jet settled upon the dark landing strip. Scrimgeour groaned as he stood up and stretched his legs. His secretary, Foster, walked toward him from the cock pit and handed him his safety gear. If he wasn't dealing with muggles, he wouldn't need the devices. He could use his wand. But he had to be discreet among those who had no knowledge of wizards.

"Thank you, Foster. Have the jet ready again in one hour; this shouldn't take long." Scrimgeour settled the weapons, consisting of the Stoner Rifle-25, Automag pistol, and his hook cleaver knife into the long pockets of his robes. "Ready." He muttered to himself.

He hopped from the exit onto the landing strip and was greeted by a short but lean old man.

"Welcome, Minister. I've been sent to lead you to the Prime Minister," he said.

"Well, that's very kind of you Phillips. Shall we be taking the cart?"

"Yes, as usual, Minister," the old man smiled and said, "just this way! Right over here, and we'll be there in no time."

After Phillips had settled into the driver's seat, Scrimgeour hopped into the seat beside him and they sped off.

"So, ministry work going well, I presume?"

"Not as well as you might think, Phillips. It's in utter chaos. What with Voldemort rising and the ranks of Aurors dwindling; not to mention the lack of organization. Oh, it's absolutely disastrous, Phillips!" Scrimgeour pinched the bridge of his nose, but swelled back into sitting up.

"Well, I can't imagine how stressed you must be. I wouldn't be able to handle it, sir. But I do believe, sir, that you of all people can handle this most unfortunate situation."

"I'm glad that I have your confidence, Phillips. Thank you."

"No," said Phillips, "thank you, sir."

Scrimgeour smiled and stepped out of the cart after it stopped. He rummaged for his identification card as he neared the guard.

"This area is authorized," he said, broad shouldered and with a voice that would cut through ice.

"Let me through. I'm the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. I have a meeting with the Prime Minister today,"

The guard looked at the presented card, nostrils flared, and he quickly nodded his approval and typed in the code to open the door.

Scrimgeour respectively nodded at the guard and continued on his way. He was greeted by the Prime Minister's secretary and given directions: up three floors, to the left, and it's the third office on the right.

Scrimgeour followed the directions and found himself knocking on the Prime Minister's office door.

"Come in," he said. Scrimgeour walked in after the door opened.

"You needed to see me today, Prime Minister?"

"Yes, yes. Come, sit over here. Would you like something to drink? Scotch, perhaps?" he asked.

"No, I'm quite alright, thank you. What is the order of business today?"

"Ah, I see," said the Prime Minister, "straight to business today. I like that. You know, I've always liked you, Rufus." The Prime Minister grinned, unsettling though it was, and sat down in his chair with a glass of scotch.

Scrimgeour was quiet.

"I have a proposition for you, Minister," he said.

Scrimgeour looked at him suspiciously. "Go on,"

"I've been funding a recent research project. But there is a type of funding I can only collect from you, Minister," he paused. "and I need you to help me in collecting that funding."

"What is it that you need? If it's money, well surely you know I'm not lacking, and I can-"

"Minister, this isn't money I'm talking about," he said, "I need wizards. Witches. I need what they have." the Prime Minister's eyes looked ghoulish.

"Well, Prime Minister, surely you know that," Scrimgeour chuckled, "why, surely you know that you can only be born a witch or a wizard,"

"No, Scrimgeour. No. According to the research currently coming out of my base, one can make a witch or wizard."

"But," Scrimgeour's eyes widened. "No, but that's impossible!"

"Possible it is, Scrimgeour. Wouldn't you like to know?" asked the Prime Minister.

Scrimgeour nodded slowly. "Yes, of course I would like to know,"

The Prime Minister took a sip of Scotch and rubbed the ring of the glass after he sat it down. "Blood transfusions. It's been staring us in the face all this time, but I need your help, Scrimgeour. Your agreement to help will be arranged through contract. If this contract is broken, Minister, well … let's just say all of your blood will be used as the next blood transfusion."

"Are … are you threatening me Prime Minister?" asked Scrimgeour unbelievingly.

"Only if you receive it that way … Minister." His intimidating eyes flickered up to stare at Scrimgeour.

"This is outrageous. How do I know you won't kill every one of them?!"

"It will be stated in the contract," said the Prime Minister, "no one will be harmed and they will be kept healthy in all standards of the word. They will not be kept alone but will have someone to interact with. Only when they've had time to replenish will they give blood again,"

"Let me look at the contract, and I'll decide from there," said Scrimgeour.

"Yes, Minister. I assure you, this will be a very sterile and safe project."

"We'll see." Scrimgeour mumbled.

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AN: Chapter 3 won't be too far behind. Tell me what you think so far.