Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

“Who is this Dumbledore?” asked the Prime Minister, having frequently heard Fudge mention Dumbledore’s name.

“Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, widely recognized as the greatest wizard of our time. Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards,” Fudge rattled off in one breath. “Also, he is the only wizard that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-named ever feared. He knows many secrets about the Dark Lord, probably…”

“Since this wizard is so great, why not let him defeat the Dark Lord?”

“This brings us back to our initial topic. You-Know-Who seems to be immortal,” said Fudge bitterly. “Or, he’s not easy to be defeated. Even Dumbledore can’t do it.”

The office fell silent again, and the Prime Minister stopped asking questions.

He couldn’t help but think, facing an immortal and terrible monster, could they really win in this war?

He felt that his head was in a mess and he couldn’t make sense of anything.

If possible, he really hoped to wake up and find that all this was just a dream.

About five minutes later, the silence was broken by the portrait, which suddenly spoke in its crisp, official voice.

“To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Requesting a meeting. Urgent. Kindly respond immediately. Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” said the Prime Minister distractedly.

As soon as his voice fell, the flames in the grate turned emerald green again, rose up, and revealed a second spinning wizard in their heart, disgorging him moments later onto the antique rug.

The Prime Minister looked at this scene without showing any fear.

Fudge got to his feet and, after a moment’s hesitation, the Prime Minister did the same, watching the new arrival straighten up, dust down his long black robes, and look around.

This man…

Looking at him, the Prime Minister’s first, foolish thought was that Rufus Scrimgeour looked rather like an old lion.

There were streaks of gray in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. There was an immediate impression of shrewdness and toughness; the Prime Minister thought he understood why the Wizarding community preferred Scrimgeour to Fudge as a leader in these dangerous times.

During the war, such a tough, hawkish figure was needed to lead.

Overall, the Prime Minister had a very good first impression of Scrimgeour, much better than that of Fudge.

He hoped that he could solve the current troubles, or at least not make the situation worse.

“How do you do?” said the Prime Minister politely, holding out his hand.

Scrimgeour did not rush to shake hands with the Prime Minister. His eyes swept around the room, as if to confirm whether it was safe.

His appearance made one suspect that a group of armed thugs might be hiding in the room.

Then, Scrimgeour grasped the Prime Minister’s hand hastily and pulled out a wand from under his robes.

“Fudge told you everything?” he asked, striding over to the door and tapping the keyhole with his wand. The Prime Minister heard the lock click.

“Er … yes,” said the Prime Minister. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather that door remained unlocked.”

“I’d rather not be interrupted,” said Scrimgeour shortly, “or watched. You don’t seem to understand your current situation. You are in danger. This office is not safe at all.”

He pointed his wand at the windows, so that the curtains swept across them.

It was clear that something resembling a pane of glass with edges appeared overhead, covering them.

A silvery-white glow flashed on the glass cover, and the space returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

The Prime Minister looked around, trying to adapt to the situation. It was just a spell. He didn’t agree with Scrimgeour’s statement. Apart from the Queen’s place, his office was the safest in the whole of Britain and even the world. However, he admired Scrimgeour’s measures, which were clearly professional.

“I just heard from Fudge…”

“It seems that Fudge didn’t tell you everything very well, or you didn’t understand,” Scrimgeour interrupted the Prime Minister and said impatiently, “I’m a busy man and don’t have much time to waste here. So let’s get down to business. First of all, we need to discuss your security.”

The Prime Minister’s initial good impression of Scrimgeour vanished. These wizards all seemed the same.

“Fudge just told me that a crazy wizard wants to come and control me. This is obviously ridiculous.” The Prime Minister drew himself up to his fullest height. “I am perfectly happy with the security I’ve already got. Thank you very —”

“Well, we’re not,” Scrimgeour cut in. “The protection measures you have here are equivalent to none. He can come here at any time if he wants. It’ll be a poor lookout for the Muggles if their Prime Minister gets put under the Imperius curse, especially in the current situation. By the way, the new secretary in your outer office —”

“I’m not getting rid of Kingsley Shacklebolt, if that’s what you’re suggesting!” said the Prime Minister hotly. “He’s highly efficient, gets through twice the work the rest of them —”

“Obviously, that’s because he’s a wizard,” said Scrimgeour, without a flicker of a smile. “A highly trained Auror who has been assigned to you for your protection, but according to the latest intelligence I have received, this is not enough.”

“Now, wait a moment!” The Prime Minister shouted, “You can’t just put your people into my office. I decide who works for me —”

“I thought you were happy with Shacklebolt?” said Scrimgeour coldly, interrupting him once more.

“I am — that’s to say, I was —”

“Then there’s no problem, is there?” asked Scrimgeour.

“I… well, as long as Shacklebolt’s work continues to be … er … excellent, there shouldn’t be any problem,” said the Prime Minister lamely, but Scrimgeour barely seemed to hear him.

“Now, about Herbert Chorley, your Junior Minister,” he continued. “The one who has been entertaining the public by impersonating a duck.”

“Fudge just told me that he was controlled by someone!”

“Yes, he has clearly reacted to a poorly performed Imperius Curse,” said Scrimgeour disdainfully. “It’s addled his brains, but he could still be dangerous, so we’ve taken measures to isolate him. You need to appoint a new Junior Minister, and we will arrange for an Auror to come over as soon as possible…”

“Wait, Herbert might just need a bit of a rest and less alcohol…”

“Do not interrupt me,” said Scrimgeour impatiently, rudely cutting in again. “Let me repeat, my time is limited and cannot all be wasted here. Do you understand the current situation? The Aurors in the Ministry of Magic are short of staff, and every elite Auror is extremely valuable. Yet, we are assigning another one here, to make every effort to protect you and ensure your security.”

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