Chapter Thirty-Two: Scrimgeour
Lucius's hands were wrapped tight around the head of his cane. The leather of his gloves creaked as he flexed his fingers. Diagon Alley buzzed with people – the few street corner preachers were still shouting here and there. The sharp odor of roasting liver spiked the air – as well as the scent from the animal counters halfway down the block from the nook where Lucius had found to wait and watch.
The new alley had been shifted into the flow of Diagon Alley within days. A few weeks later and all the store area from the entrance to end was snapped up. Rooms were for rent above the stores, all controlled by the Gringott's Bank, of course.
The way he had been outmaneuvered drove Lucius mad.
It had taken Severus several hours to calm him after the fact of Scrimgeour's little stunt had reached the Malfoy Manor. Even their more…vigorous pastimes had done little to dim the unsettling ire that still gripped him.
Lucius wanted to see this temple they were building. He wanted to see every bloody inch of it.
Problem was, was that the goblins were not letting anyone through the alley to the temple site. Not even the press was allowed to take photographs – all they were allowed to publish was the pool photos sent out by the Bank's public relations representative.
Although calling the vicious little creature a public relations representative was almost enough to make Lucius laugh.
Still, there was little else in the wizarding world for news. The elections were in days. The public unrest had calmed to a strange simmer that sent chills up any battle-ready wizard who had seen the bad days of the Dark Lord's reign.
The commons might be placated, but Lucius surely wasn't. Something was going to happen. Things were moving, things were changing. It made his hands itch to hold his wand and gather all that was dear to him close and held safe behind firm wards.
Something was going to happen. Lucius wanted to know what it was before the rest of the world. Then he would know which way to jump when the news hit. He loathed surprises.
The leather of his gloves creaked again as he relaxed his stranglehold on his cane. He had come to the alley, in this miserable nook, disguised, to watch and make note. He would find a way into the temple site. He would see if the goblins and Scrimgeour were honoring their promises.
Merlin help them if they had not.
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Friday morning held a buzz in the air. Harry studied the long tables of the Great Hall, his breakfast going cold on the plate in front of him.
"What's going on?" He asked Pansy.
He was alone at the table for once. Draco had been drowning in homework and politics to all hours of the night. He had decided to forego breakfast for information that morning. Harry didn't mind. It was nice to see the blond immerse himself in things that had nothing to do with Harry.
Pansy finished her piece of toast, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and then bothered to answer. "It's Election Day, Harry. We've only been talking about it for the last two weeks. Didn't you listen?"
"Apparently not," he grinned at her expression. "I don't understand all that," he wiggled his hand back and forth. "Stuff."
"Stuff he calls it," Pansy leaned into Millicent's shoulder. "Did you hear that?"
"No."
"Millie."
"No, Pansy."
"But Millie."
"I've had enough, Parkinson. No more politics. I've done my duty."
"You're all no fun."
"Says the girl who wants to become an interior decorator or whatever they're called."
"It's a stylist, Millie, for Merlin's sake, get it right."
"Sure thing, right-o."
"You're such a boar in the mornings sometimes."
"And you have had too much tea."
Harry blinked at the exchange. "So this is why Draco's been running himself ragged, right?"
"Yes, oh dense one."
"You are cranky today, Millicent." He barely dodged the kick she sent his way. "When does it end?"
"Sunset is when the last ballot is allowed to be cast. Then it's counted and the results are read out loud in front of the Ministry." Pansy's pink tongue darted out to lap at the smudge of jam on her fingers. "All the pureblood families will be there to witness the new Minister as he's sworn in. As per tradition, three pure blood families must sign the contract the new Minister signs to ratify his position."
"Pureblood houses?"
"Well, it goes back to the times when we were a lot less," Pansy tilted her head to one side. "The pureblood families were the strongest, usually with the most powerful witches and wizards as either husbands or wives, or as vassals. When the nobility system went to pot, so did most of the pureblood family power, except what's left over in tradition."
"Were there always Ministers?"
"Merlin, no. A long time ago we had the council only, who was ruled over by – well, I guess you could equate them with the kings and queens."
"Really?"
"Really. But when the muggleborn began to outnumber us, the whole system was brought down alongside the whole Tory mess."
"Oh."
"Yes. So, as I said, all that remains is what tradition has kept."
"When did the Minister position come up?"
"Oh, a few centuries ago I think," Pansy wrinkled her nose. "You'd have to ask Blaise or Draco for the particulars."
Harry wrinkled his nose back at her. "I'm not that interested, thanks."
"Interested in what?" Draco spoke from behind them.
Harry turned. "Knowing whether the new black – which is violet or something – looks good on me."
"Merlin, Pansy, I leave him alone for one morning and you're already tormenting him?"
"Oh, please."
"Harry, are you all right? She hasn't brainwashed you, has she?"
He smacked Draco's shoulder. "Enough. Have you eaten?"
"I will in a moment." Draco was busy buttering a handful of toast slices.
"You're only eating that?"
"We've got classes," Draco polished off one piece in a handful of bites.
Harry bit back his sigh and started to butter slices as well. "I'll help. You eat."
"Mmph cho."
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The mood in Hogwarts was pulled tight by supper. Harry had learned that the papers would be printing late editions so to send out the word on who had become their new Minister of Magic.
Most of Slytherin table picked at their plates and kept one eye on the high windows. Gryffindor was rowdier than usual, prompting one admonition from Professor McGonagall already. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff kept to themselves, although Harry noted that more than a few of the Ravenclaws were shooting glances towards the Slytherin table.
He leaned in near Draco. "You know, Pythia's cave sounds like a good idea right about now."
He had to pat Draco on the back to stop the coughing. "And miss this?" The blond arched an eyebrow. "Never."
"Slytherin."
"But of course."
The sound of the windows opening drew everyone's attention. A sharp, chill breeze ruffled down the hall. Owls began flooding into the room.
A paper – the Daily Prophet, Harry noted – landed in front of Draco. Scrimgeour Wins! Was the headline. Small, animated fireworks burst around the three-inch high letters.
Draco flipped the edition open. Cheers and groans erupted up and down the tables.
"Well, now," pale eyes scanned over the articles. "Now we wait and see."
"Wait and see?" Harry frowned at the blond. "For what?"
"For Scrimgeour to make his move." Draco passed the paper on to Pansy and Millicent.
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The Minister's office was a grand place. Rufus feared he might need a map to cover all of its hidey-holes. The windows looked out over a glittering city. Muggle London in one view. Diagon Alley from another. Perfect.
His staff and aides were buzzing around the offices, conquering and pillaging their appropriated desks and areas. Fudge's staff was thanked and paid and sent on their way – Rufus was not about to keep any of them on staff without thorough background checks. He wouldn't put it past Fudge to put a mole in his staff.
He rested his hands on the still, staring out at the vast metropolis that London had become. He had done it. He'd bagged the position he'd wanted for years.
It was time to get to work.
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Saturday morning dawned gray and bleak. Harry had abandoned the politics and plotting session that had run late into the night in the common room. He was just happy Fudge hadn't been reelected. The others were more than willing to over-analyze everything, in his opinion. He had a more important thing in mind.
It was a Hogsmead weekend.
It had taken a lot of – well, Harry made a face at his reflection. It had taken a lot of lying to get Sirius to sign his consent form. How Dumbledore had arranged it, Harry wasn't sure, since as far as he knew, the Dursleys were still his legal guardians. Still, it was nice to have the approval to go. He'd deserved a bit of respite, damn it. He was going to enjoy it.
The common room was empty when he made his way out to the great hall. A few Seventh years tagged along with him for the walk – Harry was glad he'd thought to wear a thick sweater. The wind howled around the edges of the castle at times, its tiny fingers creeping in to send chills down Harry's spine. The faint tapping of sparse rain clicked at the windows. Harry was grateful for the steaming mugs of tea that were ready for them at the table when they got there.
Most of the usual suspects were absent when Harry loaded up his plate with a real appetite. He caught sight of Professor Snape at the Head Table – the Potions Master bent him a sedate nod that Harry answered with a wave. Dumbledore's pleased smile made Harry duck his head and look away.
Sasha slid in next to him, just as he was about to tuck in. "Hello, Harry." The girl's hair was braided away from her face. She rarely wore make-up, but there was a hint of…something on her eyelids. Harry knew Pansy would know what it was called.
"Sasha," he took another sip of tea. The doors to the great hall were letting in drafts every time they opened and closed. He was near to one of the fireplaces that lined the walls, but still – the draft was enough to make him shiver every time it came their way.
"No Draco this morning?"
"Still asleep, I'd wager."
"Ah," she poured a cup of tea for herself and added cream and sugar. He made a face while she laughed. "You don't care for cream or sugar?"
"Ick, no."
"Makes it taste better."
He peered at her. "Are you sure you're British?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Last time I checked, yes."
"Blasphemer."
"I try."
"You – you – profaner."
"Oh, you keep talking like that and I'll have to tell Seamus on you."
They shared a laugh. Harry tucked into his meal, savoring the feel of a painless throat for once. The potions Professor Snape had him on were doing wonders.
He took a hold of his thoughts before they could take a darker turn. "Are you going to Hogsmead today?"
"Yes." Sasha dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "I'm having tea with my cousin."
"And Seamus?"
"Doesn't know yet."
"That's not very nice."
"Cousin Herbert wanted it to be a surprise."
"I'm sure it will be."
She rolled her eyes at him. "My cousin isn't some man-eater, you know. A bit dotty here and there, but he's heard all about Seamus. They'll get along famously."
"Did your cousin attend Hogwarts?"
"No, he was tutored at home," a dark expression passed over her face. "He's – he has a lame leg. It wasn't considered…proper to send a – a cripple to Hogwarts." Her expression cleared. "Cousin Herbert calls it all hogwash and for the best that he didn't come here, otherwise he would have been caught up in all the family drama."
"He likes it that you're in Slytherin?"
"Tickled pink."
"That would be something."
"What?"
"To be tickled pink."
Her fork paused on its way to her mouth. "Now I have that image in my head, Harry. You'll pay for that later."
He snorted out a mouthful of tea while laughing, much to her amusement.
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Harry waited for Draco at the table in the great hall. The blond had been apologetic when he and the rest of their year had meandered in for breakfast. Harry wasn't angry, though. He was more fascinated by the fierce winds outside than a mumbled apology around a spoonful of porridge.
Finally, finally, after a sweater, a jacket and a scarf from Professor Snape, Harry was let out of the common room door. Why they'd had to go back was beyond him – he was ready to leave when the others had finished eating. But both Pansy and Ginny had protested, so back to the dorms they had gone.
The walk down to the town was brisk. Harry was grateful for the scarf a hundred feet from the castle; he tucked his chin down behind the layered wrap and tugged the sides up to cover his ears.
"Here," Draco was trying not to smile. He held out a wool cap.
"Yes, yes," Harry grumbled, but snatched it away. The extra layer did wonders to keep him warm.
"What did you want to do?"
Harry considered the question. He faltered a bit at the memories of him, Ron and Hermione going to Hogsmead that rose up. "We – we could go to the candy store?"
"If you like."
"Was there anything you'd like to do?"
"A tour of the bookstore and lunch would be fine."
Harry let out a breath. For some reason butterflies had settled into his stomach, robbing him of the ability to breathe normally.
"All right there, Harry?"
"I'm fine. It's cold."
"Too cold," Draco agreed with a slow nod. "We still don't know why."
"There was nothing in the books." Harry lifted and dropped one shoulder. "Could just be a natural event."
"I doubt it."
"Could we – could we not talk about it today?" He caught his lower lip between his teeth. "Just for today?"
"Of course, Harry." Draco slid his hand around Harry's. "Come on. We should get to the candy shop before the others."
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Later, at lunch in a pub Harry hadn't known existed behind a row of shops, snow began to trickle down from the sky. The white haze had covered the grounds by nightfall in a thick spread of wet powder. Harry sat on the steps with Ginny as his Housemates created a field of battle on the front lawns. One by one, a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students joined in the melee. The only Gryffindor in the bunch was Seamus, who had been commandeered by Draco's squad early on.
It felt good to laugh, Harry shared a wide grin with Ginny. We've missed this for far too long.
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Snow kept falling throughout the night. By the time Professor Snape had rounded them up for supper, several inches were blanketing the grounds. Harry spread an extra blanket across his bed that night, to help fight off the chill that had settled into his bones, but sleep came fast for Harry anyway.
It was a Dream, Harry knew right off the bat. Everything was far too dark for it to be anything but. He was barefoot in the dark, but not the Dark. It sounded like a cave almost. The water around his feet was warm. Light began to gather, trickling in from some source he could not see. The water, he realized with growing horror, was anything but. The pool of blood stretched as far as he could see. A steady drop kept time somewhere in the cavern. One by one, feathers began to rain down on him. Some of them still had skin attached to the base. They fell like rain – like snow, only pitch black and bloody.
Harry screamed but no sound came from his mouth. He tried to bat away the falling feathers, but they kept pelting down on him, the cold flesh sticking to his skin from the clotting blood.
His screams followed him to the waking world, where Draco waited for him to catch his breath.
Neither of them noticed the feathers that littered the ground around the bed until later the next morning.
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Crom Cruach reached for the sky, relishing the feel of blood and bone creaking at his direction. The body of this particular follower had been offered up after a particularly bloody act of insubordination by some of his newest worshippers.
They would learn. He had all the time he needed now.
The restless pulse of his worshippers moved around him. A mortal, named Scrimgeour, had won some place in human social hierarchy, he had been told. Things in this wizarding world were rife, set and joyful and ripe for the plucking. The chaos this night would bring would feed him for months.
The urban sprawl of London stretched out before them. He could feel the pulse of humanity against his skin like a living heart. Ripe. Plump. Ready for sharp teeth and sharper knives.
He raised his hand and gave the signal to go. The sun had long since set. The cold chill of snow would blanket their approach.
It was time for his first feast since his resurrection.
End Chapter Thirty-Two