Chapter Twenty-Four: Enter Rufus Scrimgeour?

Lummy was in a bit of a fix. She didn't really know what she wanted to choose as a career path. She had gone through the meetings with McGonagall, but they wanted her to do something noble. Become an Auror, perhaps? Lummy really wanted to be a professional knife thrower. She would be spectacularly accurate, especially with her magical abilities, but apparently none of the teachers wanted their star student to become a knife thrower. Like a "common Muggle," they had said, belligerently. Her pretty blonde hair looked remarkably absurd, since she had chosen to wear it in some Muggle fashion that her "agents", Misters Potts and Lycan had deemed appropriate for the blossoming star, Miss Narcissa Avery. She thought she would pull a Sirius and throw all of her furniture out of the girls' dormitory window. Her deep green eyes sparkled, and she put on her flamenco dancer costume.

There was a costume party scheduled to mark the celebration of the ending of the Newt examinations. Professor McGonagall had considered this to be an appalling circumstance, since Hogwarts had never held anything as idiotic as a costume party before, but Professor Dumbledore had found the idea enchanting, and that was that. However, Newts had not yet finished…nor even started, but Lummy was very proud of her outfit.

Sirius hated his life. No, that wasn't really true. He too had been subjected to the indignities of the career meeting with Professor McGonagall, and it had gone spectacularly badly. She told him to go "make something of himself" and a load of blather, but Sirius really wanted to be a traveling musician. Preferably in a circus. Not that he really needed a career, he thought bitterly, since he was already a world famous Muggle actor. His elegant black hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away, resembling the tortured artist that everyone wanted him to be.

There was a knock on the door to the Great Hall. This was somewhat odd, thought Dumbledore; no one had the audacity to knock on the Hogwarts door. Firstly, they had a very fine doorbell that rang all around the castle, and secondly, no one really used that door. However, Dumbledore strode confidently over to the entryway and moved to open the door. He thought for a moment that he should send the remaining students to their common room, for something strangely like fear prickled the back of his neck. Who was at the door? Voldemort, perhaps? A reincarnation of Grindelwald? Sirius' mother? Dumbledore opened the door slowly, and it revealed the trespassers of Hogwarts sacred grounds.

There were about twelve girls standing there. One, perhaps, could not be properly called a girl. She was about twenty-five years old, but she seemed to have aged past her years. If a lesser man than Dumbledore were to describe her, he would have said that she was fantastically ugly. The rest, however, were pinnacles of feminine perfection. Dressed to the nines and healthily tanned, their Muggle clothes tailored to fit their forms in the most flattering fashion imaginable. One girl with curly brown hair went up to Professor Dumbledore and stared at him expectantly.

"Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Angela Slattery, and I want to meet Rufus Scrimgeour."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Could my friends and I wait here for him?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour?"

Now, Dumbledore was not usually involved in students' affairs, especially their social ones, but he seemed to know that if there was any particular male student that a group of pretty Muggle girls would want to meet, it would not be Rufus Scrimgeour. The older woman spoke up after Angela Slattery had finished her request –

"He's my cousin, Professor Dumbledore sir."

"Alright then, I shall get him immediately. Please, make yourselves at home."

Professor Dumbledore put an illusion on the house elves that came to deliver some appetizers for the girls so that they appeared to be waiters and waitresses as he went to call Rufus Scrimgeour to his office.

Rufus Scrimgeour was a late-riser. He had been annoyed when his name had been mentioned in that ridiculous film yesterday, but he had enjoyed the attention that it gave him. The girls had called him a nerd yesterday, but now that the Marauders had mentioned his name, they looked past his "Ugly Hufflepuff" persona. Oh, if only he were Sirius Black.

An irritated looking prefect came to knock on Rufus Scrimgeour's door.

"Yes?"

"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, pronto."

"Where?"

"Office. Password's Drooble's"

Rufus trudged up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, a room that seemed to be continuously moving. Perhaps it was to discuss his spectacular grades and his ambition to become an Auror. He straightened his robes hastily, and muttered "Drooble's" to the angry gargoyle. The doorway opened to reveal the familiar stair, and Rufus stood on it as it turned to reveal the smiling face of Dumbledore himself.

"Well, well, Rufus, it seems that you have found yourself some admirers."

"Sorry?"

"And your cousin, Lydia, is here to see you."

"Lyd is here? I thought she lived in California. Where is she?"

"Too many questions, my dear Mr. Scrimgeour. Please follow me."

Angela and her giggling friends were thanking Lydia Andrews profusely as they waited in the Great Hall. A girl with a black bob smiled intensely as she discussed her plan to snare the stunning movie-star for herself. Dumbledore strode in, Rufus Scrimgeour hurrying to keep up with his long strides. When he saw the girls who accompanied his cousin, he tried to straighten his robes and his hair.

"Ladies, this is Rufus Scrimgeour, as promised." Angela Slattery was the first to recover from her shock.

"Professor Dumbledore, that is not Rufus Scrimgeour. Rufus Scrimgeour is a total hottie, and he is a total nottie." The rhyme may have rendered Miss Slattery with a few shorter IQ points, but one could not deny that her logic was faultless. Lydia Andrews piped up,

"But that's definitely my cousin, Rufus." The two began to talk animatedly as Dumbledore faced the disappointed Muggles.

"Perhaps, Miss Slattery, you could give me some sort of description of the Rufus Scrimgeour you ladies are searching for?"

"I've got better, here's a magazine clipping…I keep it with me always," offered the girl with the black bob.

"Thank you, Miss…er…?"

"Gables."

The face in the picture was that of the unmistakably handsome, Sirius Black. Dumbledore frowned, and decided to head up to Gryffindor tower himself.

Lummy and Sirius were re-enacting a Muggle play, Hamlet, with the aid of the other Marauders, Lily, Harold, and Gerald. Sirius, who had to be the lead, and was aching to die, and brandishing a rapier as though he had been a Musketeer in his previous birth. James had the sorry part of playing the traitorous king who had murdered his brother and married his brother's wife, and Remus was enjoying the part of the doomed Laertes to his heart's content. Lummy, granted, was not nearly pale enough to play the depressed Ophelia, nor was Gerald old enough to merit the role of Polonius, but this had not daunted them thus far. Harold had the dubious pleasure of playing all other parts, and would have had the aid of Peter had he not been too stupid to memorize the lines.

Sirius was clad in a full prince's dress, his haughty Black heritage showing off in a most agreeable fashion. He had just launched into the famous tirade –

"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles…."

He was interrupted by Lily's lamenting –

"I do detest playing Queen Gertrude. She's abominable."

"At least she dies."

"Everyone dies in this play."

"True. But she gets poisoned." Sirius threw down his princely cloak and rapier, and slumped down onto the sofa.

"Why do we do this? We should be studying for Newts."

"Sirius, did you say studying?"

"My bleeding heart, it cannot take the shock…."

"I do like this costume very much," observed Sirius, "Perhaps I shall wear it to that costume thing that Dumbledore seems so fond of. And I shall surprise my little flamenco dancer."

Lummy blushed admirably, her artificially pale Ophelia-skin turning reddish when Sirius kissed her softly. She was still not well acquainted with public affection, even when it was particularly gentle, and she retaliated by conjuring up a vat of Milbern's finest and drenching the fabulous Mr. Black. Dumbledore chose this particularly opportune moment to stride into the Gryffindor common room.

"Mr. Black?"

"Fire when ready, professor."

"Does the name Rufus Scrimgeour sound familiar?"

"It is mein …alter ego."

"In that case, Mr. Black, you have some visitors." Dumbledore gave a slight bow, and held out an arm as if to escort the still-dripping Sirius to the Great Hall.

"Could I at least…?"
"No time, I'm afraid. We are not used to harboring Muggles at Hogwarts."

"Muggles? But, I thought there were repelling charms…."

"Not if they are accompanied by a particularly talented witch."

"Witch?"

"By the name of Lydia Andrews, cousin of the Real Rufus Scrimgeour."

Sirius gave a low whistle. Lydia Andrews, or Head Girl Andrews as he had come to remember her, had been a particularly talented Hufflepuff. She was also notoriously antisocial, and had gone to live in California after her graduation (his first year), speaking only with those she felt demanded her assistance. She probably had not noticed that a Muggle actor had adopted her cousin's name.

"Ah."

Sirius followed Dumbledore, attempting a half-hearted Scourgify several times before discovering that Miss Delaware's charm talents had been grossly underappreciated for far too long. Nevertheless, he looked astonishingly dashing, his plastered black hair giving his head an artistic appearance, his cape and doublet stained purple from battle. Two of the eleven waiting girls have a little gasp and fainted when he strode in. Angela Slattery was not one of them. She walked straight up to Sirius, and kissed him.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Angela Slattery, and I'm gorgeous," she repeated in the same matter-of-fact tone she had used with Dumbledore. The devious headmaster used this opportunity to excuse himself from the Great Hall.

"Sorry? I'm Sir-Rufus Scrimgeour, and I'm taken." Although, Sirius was forced to admit that she was gorgeous. It was a very different sort of beauty than Lummy's innocent loveliness, for Sirius had found that prankster that Luhrmalleen Delaware was, her perfect green eyes demonstrated pure naïveté. No, Angela Slattery was cruelly beautiful, somewhat like his demented cousin, Bellatrix, who had thankfully graduated some years prior. Angela Slattery was a girl who knew exactly what she wanted, and precisely what she had to do to get it. The eight remaining girls clustered around her would ask merely for autographs, but Angela Slattery would ask…no…demand more from him. He obligingly provided the aforementioned autographs, but could not remove himself from Angela's gaze.

Harold Delaware had wandered out of the Gryffindor common room, eager to stop the constant costume changes. Her waist-length blonde hair was not absurdly designed as Lummy's was, but her hazel eyes sported the same merriment. What she really wanted was a snack…perhaps the Great Hall? Had Gerald mentioned something about the kitchens? Harold continued walking until she reached the massive room that had given the premiere screening of Peter's Struggle. She was not prepared for what she found there.

Six girls screamed when they saw the pretty blonde girl walk in, but only four stood up to "greet her". Unfortunately, the Muggle fan girl version of a greeting fell more under the jurisdiction of "assault". Harold barely had the time to register that Sirius was sitting there with those same girls, drenched in Mulberry juice, being stared at by the girl with catlike black eyes. Aurelia Gables, the girl with the black bob began screaming,

"Narcissa Avery, I've always wanted to meet you! Oh, and by the way Rufie, I have a note to you from your real lover," (shooting Angela a nasty look), "Elizabeth Dalton."

Harold was not particularly pleased with being called "Narcissa", but Sirius was giving her a pleading look, and so she played along. Sirius kept jerking his head toward the girl with cat-eyes, and drawing a finger across his throat. Harold, who was more perceptive than many gave her credit for, cleared her throat importantly.

"I heard that some of you were trying to get my boyfriend. I could have you arrested for that." Angela's face contorted into a vicious smile, if there was such a thing, and she replied,

"He's not your boyfriend. He's just a filthy man, and all such men are mine." Harold quirked an eyebrow, and answered venomously, he may not have been her man, but Lummy deserved better than to have to vie with such baseness,

"Is that so, beautiful?"

"Your beauty does not even compare to mine."

"Doesn't it, my dear?"

Before that moment, Sirius had not known that those terms of endearment could be maneuvered to create the worst insult. Harold was staring at Angela as though she was truly Sirius' girlfriend, and she strode up to Sirius, her eyes still boring holes into Angela's skull.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

"I can't. Lummy…and Gerald…will kill me."

"Otherwise Miss Muggle Temptress will conquer thee."

But Sirius was one better, for he suddenly threw his cape behind him, stared into Harold's eyes, and spoke –

"Are you fair?"

"Fair?"

"Yes, are you fair?"

"What means your lordship?" replied "Ophelia", when Harold finally recognized the situation.

"That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should, admit no discourse to your beauty."

"Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?"

"Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner
transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the
force of honesty can translate beauty into his
likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the
time gives it proof. I did love you once."

"Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so."

Sirius was a better actor than anyone but Harold would have ever suspected, because the speech was delivered in a way that anyone would be convinced that Hamlet or no Hamlet, Sirius was truly enthralled by Harold's beauty. Only a twinkle in his eyes gave it away, as did his merriment when he shot Angela Slattery a malicious look, and asked,

"Proof enough, bloody Muggle?"

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Haha, something of an unnecessary obsession with Hamlet, loves. To review, or not to review?