I own nothing except the plot. Please R&R. I really thought Cormac was a bit underappreciated in canon.
PREVIOUSLY:
All his plans of world domination and ministry takeover are doomed by those last words.
He can't get rid of the damned book. But maybe the next minister would keep him as an assistant?
He leaves the building with a slightly peppier step.
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Which brings us to the slightly upsetting turn of events less than five hours later.
The book must be cursed.
It has given Cormac McLaggen the worst day of his life too and he's not entirely sure it will arrive at all, much less in one piece, at the publisher's office.
The events unfolded like a regular day of skiving off work.
Usually he'd leave work early if the boss was knackered, or if he flirted with his coworkers into running his errands for him. That would result in four or so extra hours of free time, where he'd gallivant to the local French bakery for his favorite pastries. Then after dessert and coffee, he would go to the muggle mall to be checked out by the shopping women. He especially liked to linger by the lingerie store.
During winter times like today, he would make sure dinner was the hottest thing he could find and then he would go home and snuggle with his pet cat, Purrseus. It was like the life of a lonely 35 year old woman, but it fit the bachelor side of him. A dog was too needy. A child was too needy. A woman was needier than the first two. It was just him, occasionally the lads playing quidditch, a lady to warm his bead, or his house elf making the spiciest chicken tikka masala.
But tonight was cursed to be different. Because of the book.
His bakery was closed-management thought the blizzard was enough reason to close up shop for the day. So he had to get his hot coffee elsewhere. With his frozen fingers clutching the frozen wad of pages, he tried to clamber down the road against the biting hail. It was like he was an angry penguin, waddling down the barren street. All the businesses were closed.
Eventually he found a bookshop. It was small and barely noticeable, but he saw a candle flickering in the frosted windows. Eager to be warm, he cared not that it was suspiciously coincidental that a book caused him to be at a bookshop. He hadn't been to a bookshop since-well, he couldn't remember. His elf brought him textbooks during his 7th year, and before that, his mother went out shopping for him. He never studied at the library either. He preferred the cozier atmosphere of broom closets and hidden alcoves for the occasional study session, with a willing Ravenclaw or two.
With a little bit of an antsy feeling, he entered the bookshop. The smell of musky old pages assaulted him. It made his nose twitch into a worthy sneer and a chuffed sneeze escaped him. The door's chime alerted the weathered shopkeeper somewhere in the back but he did not wait for someone to greet him. A chair sat in the middle of the shop, looking worn and cozy. It was threadbare and something his great aunt would have owned, but he thought he struck a devilishly handsome silhouette, sitting there as he closed his eyes wearily.
Kingsley's book lay on the table beside him, almost thrumming with life by being with his brothers. Cormac ran a troubled hand over his face and massaged his forehead before kicking his feet up and deciding a nap was in order. It was far too cold outside to walk home in that weather. And he wasn't going to risk apparating with the cursed book.
As his eyes slid closed, he distantly realized this bookshop didn't even serve beverages-practically sacrilege. It was far too warm to be comfortable, he thought groggily, and began to strip off his jacket and gloves.
He awoke to the gentle prodding and murmurs of a blurry old man. After rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep out of them, he realized the owner was telling him that he was closing for the night. The gentle yet firm words reminded him of Kingsley's normal demeanor, not obsessive author-tendencies as of late.
Cormac reached over to the side table to carry the manuscript with him as he got up to leave. His bones felt cold and unused under their skin as he shrugged his jacket back on hastily.
The book wasn't there.
Of course it wasn't-really, what did he expect.
"Sir, did you see anyone who took my book?" He tried to say it as droll as possible, while inside he was mentally screaming bloody murder.
"No son, the books here are all mine." He gestured to the shelves in an obvious manner.
"I mean, the book I brought with me. I-it, well it's my book." He tried mentally counting to ten.
"You try'n to steal my books, boy?" The old man narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Cormac, who stood at least a whole head taller than him.
"No. Sir, listen to me. When I came in, I had a book with me. I-I'm working on it and it's mine. It's really important and I need to take it to the publisher by the end of the week." Cormac found himself rambling as he grew frustrated with the unhelpful and obtuse old man. He paced the bookshop and tapped his wand against his knee noisily as the man slowly responded. "Listen-you have a record of purchases right? Who was your last customer today? Was someone in here with me?"
The man began to interject, affronted by the breach in privacy or something he jabbered on about.
"I work for the Minister. It's top secret information. I-", he paused as he tried to navigate the sticky situation he found himself in, "I can get you in a lot of trouble. Impeding an investigation and- and withholding information, there's a lot riding on that book."
The man offered to summon the book, in the event that he hastily restocked it as one of his own. He wasn't too fazed by the threat of the ministry, but there was a slight urgency in his movements now.
Two manuscripts were summoned with a simple "accio manuscript" but neither were what he was looking for. He summoned again, seven other books, under a few other names.
The old man was rifling through his receipts at the front counter. He had a terrible feeling like this was a staged event. A lone traveler wanders into his shop, sleeps quietly, then wakes to accuse him and throw a ruckus about stealing his belongings. It seemed the kind of things that could lead to trouble with the law, and he sure didn't want any trouble.
Cormac watched him eerily still, with eyes that chilled the old man more than the raging storm outside. Eyes a dead mossy green, jaw set like stone. He was handsome and dangerous.
The old man spent about fifteen minutes hunting fruitlessly for a paper trail of the thief before they both sat down edgily at the worn chairs in the middle of the shop.
Cormac's mind had been going a mile a minute as he tried to stop the consuming fear of consequences beyond being fired. Personally persecuted, becoming a social leper, the list was endless.
Before, when Cormac came up with fanciful ideas of sabotaging the book, it seemed like a possibility because he could make it look like a freak accident or someone else did it. But this was solely his responsibility and he was going to be the one to be fully accountable for the misdeeds.
A shudder ran through him.
He didn't even know what top secret information was held within the contents of the book. It could include secrets about the death eaters who remained at large-and they'd be vengeful and come after him, because he was the one who was last seen with it.
He tried to calm himself down. He stared at the old man, who stared back equally uneasy.
"The person didn't buy anything."
That's why no receipts existed for the time when he was sleeping.
Which meant it was someone who was browsing the bookstore-maybe they were taking shelter from the weather like him. Or it could be a political spy who has been tailing him and the entire thing is a set up. Cormac shifted unsteadily, grasping his wand tightly as he turned to glance out the window.
"Don't be stupid," he scolded himself, "you'll get wrinkles if you worry so much."
He tried to take a few calming breaths. "Who was in here while I was?"
The daft old man couldn't be that simple minded. The answer was easy enough.
The man bothered himself with stocking books on a shelf as he puttered about, muttering to himself. His finger tugged the small wiry goatee as he thought deeply.
"…there was a girl."
"A girl?" He got up excitedly and spun the old man on his heels with a cry of joy. Finally! They were getting somewhere. "A girl!"
After an insufferable amount of time, he was able to learn she was a regular and that she said she would be back tomorrow to buy a gift for a friend. Who wanted books as gifts was beyond him, but he joyfully laughed and ran all the way home excitedly.
Hope was in the air.
It was frigid like pelting ice and bitter like burning wind. But it was also soothing like hot chocolate his house elf made him and reassuring like the wholesome purrs that his cat made as they both fell asleep on the couch.
For the first time in his whole life, Cormac McLaggen was looking forward to visiting a bookstore tomorrow.