The Door to Chaos

Chapter 10 - The Old Lion's Plan

Rain. It was going to rain again. The pain in his stiff knee was a dead give-away.

For the hundredth time, Rufus Scrimgeour reflected bitterly that his knee had never been the same again after that last tendon injury. St. Mungo's finest had told him that repeated tendon ruptures could leave "slight" after-effects. Regrets, and put your leg up, be a nice cripple, give it a rest, put ice on it. Take it easy; leave the leg-work to younger Aurors. Delegate.

Take it easy? Even when he had made Head Auror, he had never been one to shy away from action, and no stiff leg would make him hide in his office now that he was Minister of Magic.

He was Minister of Magic. What a hoot.

Just what exactly had he accomplished since he got the job? Voldemort was still at large. Ok, so he had realised a nice catch of Death Eaters after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep them locked up, what with the Dementors having sided with the enemy.

And, the efforts of the Daily Prophet notwithstanding, all the security measures he had to impose on the Wizarding Community did not exactly make him popular either. What a shame that his efforts of winning the young Potter kid over for the Ministry had been in vain, no, worse than vain. Potter obviously had been completely brain-washed by the now deceased Headmaster of Britain's only wizarding school, Albus Dumbledore. If only his predecessor in the Ministry, Cornelius Fudge, had not been such a bloody fool and listened to the old chap earlier.

Dumbledore had been perhaps off his rocker about some things, but he had got one thing dead right - in the face of evil, unity prevails. Rufus had learned that in his years as an Auror. When you go into battle, you need people you could trust to have your back.

He put up his elbows on the heavy oak desk before him and let his face rest for a moment in his hands, strong fingers pulling tiredly on the long, strands of grey hair. Too much hair actually, he was thinking about getting his mane cut off.

I do miss the old fool. What a spirit. What power. What a waste.

A knock on the door shocked him out of his brooding. He stood up tiredly and messed his hair up some more by trying to flatten it. Another knock.

"Come in, come in!" He knew, he sounded irritated.

"Ah, Croaker, I was expecting you. Have a seat."

He took off his wire-rimmed spectacles and started cleaning them, while watching the man with keen yellowish eyes.

"This is about your last, failed experiment again? Your report was somewhat hazy. Do secure the room please."

The young wizard in front of him scowled. He muttered an incantation and waved his wand in at the door and the fireplace before facing Scrimgeour again, "With all due respect, Minister, we have explained to you that the spell did work. There is nothing wrong with the spell - we have gone over it again and again. We don't know why this Riddick person materialized instead of Black-"

"Figures." muttered Scrimgeour and glared. The younger man reddened a bit under that look, but continued bravely, "...But after our last studies, even if another person was brought back with this particular spell, that person should have the essence, memories and spirit of Sirius Back imprinted on him-"

"What?" Scrimgeour's eyes widened. "Are you saying that Riddick is actually Black walking around in another skin? Not just a couple of memories you added to smooth his integration at Hogwarts?"

With his furrowed brows, yellow flashing eyes and the mane of hair, the Minister looked more than ever like an old lion. Not a happy lion either.

"Yes, but- " Croaker was getting a shade paler.

Scrimgeour's sudden grin hit him like a slap in the face. "I forgive you. This is the best news I've had in months."

He leaned back in his comfortable armchair and crossed his arms, feeling good. Great even. Even the screaming pain in his knee had lessened.

"This is priceless. Are you telling me that we actually sent the REAL Sirius Black as a bodyguard and spy to his own godson? Not just some stranger with a couple of modified memories? Who better to discover whatever it is that young Potter and Dumbledore have been holding out on me? The man is brilliant. Remember, he was the first wizard who ever escaped from Azkaban! And nobody will recognize him. Even You-Know-Who does not know this face."

"Yes Minister... but Minister, what about Riddick?"

"What about him?"

The old lion was getting impatient again with the young Unspeakable.

Croaker shrank under that look. He wanted to point out how hard it must be for Riddick to get dragged back into life, only to share his body with another man's soul. He wanted to add that they knew nearly nothing about Riddick, other than that he seemed strange and violent. He wanted to ask if it was a good idea under these conditions to let him teach children. Besides, why should anybody at Hogwarts trust him after that Umbridge disaster? Much less Harry Potter.

Once again, their new, ruthless Minister seemed strangely blind for what he did not want to see.

He answered, "About that... promise you gave him."

Scrimgeour waved his hand impatiently, "That's not important. We'll work out some compensation for him later. He can't really expect us to bring back some dead girlfriend of his, that we know nothing about, now can he? I think I'll have an ad put in the next Prophet, about Black's good name being cleared or something. Long-term thinking, you know?"

For one crazy moment, Croaker wondered if the job of Minister of Magic itself was cursed to produce blind and stubborn leaders. It reminded him of that popular joke about the curse of the Mayflies, the recurring phenomena of one-year-only Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers at Hogwarts.

And 'long-term-thinking'? He remembered the menacing silver eyes staring into his own, the deep rough voice growling, "That's it. You people are in trouble." A perfect summing-up of the situation. The Department of Mysteries' proudest achievement was on the loose and nobody could tell what would happen. 'Long-term thinking', indeed.

Or something.

"Goodbye Croaker," said Rufus Scrimgeour.

"Goodbye Minister."

With the young Unspeakable gone, the ache in his knee increased again. Something in the man's demeanour had made him uneasy.

His plan was perfect, no? Black/Riddick gets Harry Potter to trust him and tell him about Dumbledore's plan to destroy He Who Must Not Be Named. Once he knows, Black reports to him, Scrimgeour, at the Ministry, the strong hypno-spell the Obliviators have put in his head would make sure of that. Black/Riddick tells his tale, Apparates back to the school and forgets about his mission. The Ministry uses Dumbledore's secret weapon or whatever and catches Lord... Thingie..Universal rejoicing, re-election guaranteed, some decorations and rewards to select people. The plan was perfect.

... So why did he have a bad feeling about it all of a sudden?