Rufus handed his cloak to Jurgen Zonko, who had welcomed him with a nervous little bow and a glare over his shoulder into the dark, as if he could warn Death Eaters off merely with that. Rufus knew Jurgen was thinking about closing his shop as the attacks moved closer and closer to Hogsmeade, but his love of profit was stronger than his fear. For right now, at least. Whether he left or stayed, the Minister intended to meet Harry Potter in his back room. It was a convenient location for the castle, and no one else knew about the Life Debt Jurgen owed him.
"Sir?" asked one of the Aurors who had come with him, a younger fellow named Mudwallow.
"Stand guard," Rufus said. "I'll be out in an hour or two at most." He had told them he had to come here, but not why. He wouldn't risk humiliation if Potter refused to show up or declined his offer.
Mudwallow looked unhappy, and so did Hestia Jones, the Auror who'd taken up her position on the left side of the door. But both faced the alley behind Zonko's grimly, and finally let Jurgen shut the door.
"You recall my instructions?" Rufus asked, as he sat down in one of the two chairs at the prepared table. That was enough to let him see that his old debtor had rememberedsomeof what he asked for: the table was set with two mugs, bottles of both Firewhiskey and Butterbeer, and a few slices of hard cheese and bread on plates. A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth. Rufus flicked his wand in a subtle movement, a non-verbal incantation forming in his head, and was satisfied that no eavesdropping spells remained on the room.
"Yes, sir." Jurgen gave him another bow. "Go out of the room when we hear your guest arriving, and don't return until you give me permission."
"Exactly," Rufus said. Jurgen had reason not to reveal his presence here, but having both Harry Potter and the Minister under his roof might loosen his tongue, if only for the sake of the Galleons theDaily Prophetcould give him. "And I think I do hear him," he added. "Leave now."
The man hastily retreated. Rufus held still, listening, but the sounds he had thought were soft footsteps didn't repeat themselves. He sat back in his chair with a frown.
Then there was a shifting and a stirring in the corner near the door, and Harry Potter stood revealed to him, without even the whisper of aFiniteto banish a Disillusionment Charm. Startled and annoyed, Rufus stared at him for a long moment before he spoke.
Harry Potter was not what he had expected, he admitted to himself at once—though perhaps he shouldn't have expected anything, since he'd only seen him from a distance before this. He still looked like a teenager in body, but he held his head as if a heavy burden on his shoulders necessitated he walk with his chin high, and there were shadows in his green eyes Rufus was more used to seeing in mature Aurors'. The depth and darkness of them usually occurred right before the Auror in question took his own life.
But Potter's gaze was steady as he held out his hand, and so was his voice. "Minister Scrimgeour? Thank you for meeting me."
"Thank you for agreeing, Mr. Potter," Rufus said, and shook the hand. That was steady, too, and Potter held the same aura of unnatural calmness in the way he walked, even in the way he sat. Rufus half-wished he would gloat about having startled him so badly when he appeared, but Potter appeared unconscious of that fact. He just sat still and looked at Rufus expectantly.
"The bargain I propose is simple," Rufus said. He hadn't meant his words to sound so rough and unpolished, but he wasn't making headway against the insolent questions or mindless support of Dumbledore he'd expected, either. His instincts told him Potter would best appreciate honesty. "Your support for the Ministry in public, and in return I—"
"Assure the support of the Ministry in my quest?" Potter's lips curved, though Rufus saw only pale amusement in his smile.
"Where I can," said Rufus. "But, more than that, Potter, I'll keep the Ministry out of your way."
Harry raised an eyebrow, and studied Scrimgeour again more closely. He'd had only the man's reputation to go on, and that made him into such a fighter that Harry had expected someone much more like Moody. But Scrimgeour was quieter than that, tenser, with a guarded wariness that made Harry ache with empathy.
"You know that Minister Fudge caused me trouble, then," he said.
Scrimgeour gave him a half-nod. "Yes. I watched your trial for using underage magic last year, and while I agree that laws should be obeyed, I was more curious about who had sent the Dementors into Surrey. And—well, the transfer of power was needed." He had a hunter's smile on his face now, like Sirius's, but tamer. Harry guessed Fudge's stepping down hadn't been completely voluntary.
"Can I ask, sir," Harry said, thinking of the previous year, "what position Madam Umbridge now holds in the Ministry?"
"Officially, she works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Scrimgeour murmured. "Unofficially, and in practice, nowhere at all. She embarrassed us, at a time when we badly need the public trust. She cannot be seen as the public face of the Ministry."
Harry exhaled. That at least rid him of one enemy who might have tried to backstab him in the near future. "And what other ways can you keep the Ministry out of my way, sir, now that two people who hindered and interfered with my life are gone?"
"By looking the other way," Scrimgeour said blandly. "Should your activities conflict with a—regulation—I could instruct the proper people to have their eyes busy elsewhere. Of course, should the defiance of regulations become defiance of certain levels of authority, I could do little."
Harry nodded. "And if I were to use certain spells—"
Scrimgeour raised a hand, his face gone stern. "Don'task for an exemption for the Unforgivable Curses, Potter. I won't give it."
Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't." Since he'd tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix and failed, he'd come to the conclusion that he'd need more training in hatred than he had to effectively wield the Unforgivables. He didn't have the time before he died, and his plan freed him from the necessity. "But certain offensive spells might be illegal. I don't know all the intricacies of the laws. If I need to stop Death Eaters, and don't have time to consult a book…"
A small smile took the place of Scrimgeour's frown, and his hand dropped back to the table. "Yes. Thereare, after all, so many crimes committed on a daily basis, so many Aurors sent everywhere in the country, and even abroad. It is no great wonder that some cases never come to trial."
Harry smiled. "Then—"
"There is also one thing I can offer you personally," Scrimgeour interrupted him. "I believe that Sirius Black, after all, was innocent?"
The transformation in Potter when he spoke those words stunned Rufus. Instantly the boy across the table seemed to throb with darkness, and the serenity became focused malevolence. If he'd conjured a knife into his hand and pointed it, he could not have looked more threatening. As it was, he leaned forward, and Rufus felt the gazelikea knife against his jugular.
"The Ministry hunted and hounded him for a crime he didn't commit," Harry hissed. "And, besides, his name wasalreadycleared, or I couldn't have inherited his estate as I did."
You inherited his estate? How very interesting.Rufus had not been aware of that detail. He carefully tucked it away in the back of his mind. "No," he said calmly, and ignored the feeling that that knife-gaze was about to scratch out his eyes. "Wizards' wills, if presented in a certain way, automatically go into effect whether the deceased was guilty of a crime or not. Sirius Black evidently chose that way. His property is yours now, but he is not innocent in the Ministry's eyes. Wecanclear him, if we examine the evidence closely. And if we have—proper motivation."
Potter's eyes shone with a different emotion yet again, still keen, but no longer deadly. "I don't think I like you very much, Minister," he said.
Rufus laughed. "That is only fair," he said. "This is a business transaction, Mr. Potter, not a personal alliance."Though it could be, in the future. You are much more impressive than I thought you were."I hold the safety of wizarding Britain in my hands, and you could do much to enhance and improve it. Now. Will you accept our non-interference and the opening of the investigation into Sirius Black's life and death as a high enough price for apublicinterview with theDaily Prophet, expressing your support for the Ministry?"
Potter stayed silent for a moment, eyes on his hands. Then he said, "There are several problems with that, Minister."
"Go on," Rufus said.The boy's a thinker. I didn't expect that. I don't know why. Just because he's under Dumbledore's influence doesn't mean he sits in a corner, drooling, and never uses his brain.
"First of all," Potter said, "what happens if you do something I don't like? Throwing innocent people in Azkaban, for example." The twist to his mouth showed how strongly he, at least, believed in Sirius Black's innocence.
"The same thing that happens if you do use Unforgivables," Rufus said, "or do something I cannot possibly condone or ignore. This alliance is temporary, Mr. Potter, on both our parts. War makes strange bedfellows, but there is no need to bind ourselves in the blankets."
Potter smiled a bit. "Second," he said, "I'm supposed to be under Dumbledore's direct influence. If the interview comes out, there are going to be questions from him. And I have my reasons for wishing to attract little attention just now."
"Could he legally compel you to do things you find distasteful?" Rufus asked. He had looked into the question of Potter's guardianship, only to run into a maze of legal terms, half-finished or missing forms, and lines of ink that were apparently only there on alternate Tuesdays following a full moon. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had been at them, he was certain, and effectively confused Rufus as to who actually had the protection of Harry Potter.
The boy shook his head, though. "Not that I know of," he said. "I live with Muggle relatives. But he could expel me, and he's a Legilimens. He might learn a good portion of the truth from me before I could stop him."
Rufus relaxed. He did, actually, have a solution for that. "You're nearly seventeen," he said, "a wizard's legal age of majority. And given who you are, you have more right than most sixteen-year-old boys to hold an opinion on politics and what happens around you. If Dumbledore makes the atmosphere at Hogwarts too uncomfortable for you, you can become a ward of the Ministry. Your support means that fewer people would be surprised by that. I would look as if I were doing it out of gratitude for your support, not as a personal favor to you."
Potter's next expression was meditative. "Very well," he said at last. "I think I may be able to prevent Dumbledore from finding out, anyway." He paused, then added, "And finally, sir, this may be a strange question."
Rufus waved a hand to permit him to go ahead.
"You came guarded?" Rufus nodded. "What are the names of the Aurors who came with you?"
"Mudwallow and Jones," Rufus said, wondering at that. Potter's mouth puckered as if he'd swallowed a sour apple.
"This—this is difficult, and I can't explain it fully," he said finally. "But I'd trust Mudwallow more than Jones."
Rufus watched the boy's face, biting his tongue to keep the immediate questions behind his teeth. His first impulse was to ask if Jones was a Death Eater, but the boy wouldn't have had any reason not to tell him that at once. Then he wondered if she was somehow linked to Dumbledore, and that seemed a much more likely supposition.
Potter probably still had some loyalty to the Headmaster. He was acting independently of him, but that was not the same thing as acting against him. And betraying secrets he knew might seem wrong to him, regardless of whom he told them to. Thus, this half-truth was the best he could do.
Rufus would not demand theimpossiblefrom his allies, only the improbable.
"Very well," he said. "I will keep that in mind."
Harry relaxed. He didn't want to come right out and say that Hestia Jones was part of the Order of the Phoenix. For all he knew, the Minister might decide to go off and conduct a search for all Order members, and that could do more harm than good. But if Dumbledore had spies in the Ministry, they would be Order members, and they would certainly tell the Headmaster that Harry had met with Scrimgeour.
"No one knows we're both here," Scrimgeour added, as if he'd heard Harry's opinions and wanted to reassure him.
Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir." He calculated time in his mind. He still had a few months until Christmas holidays, and he would need that much time, he thought, to perfect the Siren Song and to learn to brew Medea's Draught, the poison that would kill him.When would be the best time for the interview?
"Should I talk to theDaily Prophetabout the second week of November, sir?" he asked.
"That would be acceptable." Scrimgeour blinked at him. Harry had to conceal a smile. He probably wasn't used to someone so strongly associated with Dumbledore actually volunteering to help him.
Harry no longer saw himself as linked to Dumbledore, though. It was regrettable, because if hecouldcount on the Headmaster's support, he could have achieved his goal even faster. But Dumbledore would try to keep him alive, with that silly nonsense he'd talked about last term, the nonsense of loving Harry and wanting to preserve him from his responsibilities. Life–and death—worked best when he faced his responsibilities, Harry had found.
"Those are all the obstacles I can think of, sir," he said, and held out his hand.
Scrimgeour shook it again, all the while staring into his eyes. Harry wondered what he saw there, but shrugged off the thought that it could make the Minister suspicious. Like Harry, he existed to chase down Dark wizards. He probably saw the same ambition reflected. People sawthemselvesin you, Harry was finding, or, in the case of Snape, James Potter. They saw what most flattered them or what would let them do what they wanted.
Harry couldn't really blame them. He saw them in terms of whether they could help or hurt his goal, now.
"Good luck with whatever you're doing, Potter," Scrimgeour said, and watched as Harry went to the door of the room. Harry drew his Invisibility Cloak around his head, just hearing Scrimgeour's startled oath. He smiled to himself and ducked out of Zonko's, quickly walking back towards Hogwarts.
He patted the ingredients for Medea's Draught in his pockets as he walked. They began with leaves of belladonna, but included many more innocuous things. Harry still hadn't wanted to buy them openly, though. For one thing, the apothecary would be sure to report Harry Potter coming into his store for Potions ingredients. He'd gone in silently in his cloak, taken what he needed, and left the Galleons to pay for them. The potion recipe was rare enough that anyone—except Snape—trying to guess what he wanted to brew from thinking about what he'd purchased would probably fail.
He got inside the school easily enough; it was Halloween, and even most of the prefects still enjoyed the Feast, and hadn't yet started patrolling the corridors. Harry wished them joy of it. It seemed like a long time since such things had made him happy. The Feast was a useful excuse, though. He would tell Snape he'd wanted to attend it badly enough to make him skip their detention.
He pulled his Cloak off his head the moment he was near the doors of the Great Hall, and then a hand clamped on his shoulder and spun him around.
Harry found himself staring into Snape's eyes.