Rufus Scrimgeour sat alone in his dimly lit office, eyes scanning the countless parchments spread across his desk. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls, but Rufus barely noticed. His mind was racing with plans for the coming months—plans that had to be carried out with precision if he was going to stay ahead of the growing dangers.
Already, he could feel the weight of it all pressing on him. His acceptance of Goblin magic to fortify the Ministry had caused a stir. His opponents whispered behind his back, while even his allies had begun to question whether his methods were sound. Paranoid, they say. Foolish, others think. But they don’t see the bigger picture. Voldemort may have been defeated years ago, but Rufus knew the truth: the Dark Lord would return, and when he did, the wizarding world would be caught unprepared—unless Rufus finished his preparations in time.
They may call me paranoid now, but when the time comes, they’ll call me something else. Visionary, perhaps.
PETER PETTIGREW
Among the scattered documents on his desk lay a small piece of parchment with a name written across it: Peter Pettigrew. A man thought to be dead, hiding in plain sight as a rat—a literal one. Pettigrew had lived among the Weasley family for years now, unbeknownst to them. A Death Eater, living under the same roof as one of my own, Rufus thought bitterly.
He had known about Pettigrew’s location for some time, but capturing him was another matter. It couldn’t be a direct operation, not without exposing the truth about Sirius Black too soon. I need a reason—something concrete that doesn’t implicate the Weasleys or raise too many suspicions. A carefully planned move, at the right time.
But that time was not now. He couldn’t risk destabilizing everything when there were bigger plans in motion.
SPEAKING TO THE PAST
Rufus’s eyes drifted to the walls of his office, lined with the portraits of past Ministers of Magic, each with their own stories of triumph and failure. He often found himself speaking to them—after all, they were magical and more than capable of conversation. Some had already given their opinions, though Rufus seldom listened to them.
The portrait of Faris Spavin shifted in its frame. The elderly wizard with his characteristic long, flowing beard glared down at Rufus with an expression of disdain. "You're on a dangerous path, Scrimgeour. Over-preparedness is as bad as recklessness."
Rufus gave a low chuckle. “You were reckless, Spavin. Thirty-eight years in office, and in the end, you lost your grip on reality.”
Spavin scoffed. “You’ll lose more than that if you keep meddling with Goblin magic. You think those creatures care about the Ministry’s strength? You think they care about anything but themselves? Mark my words—they’ll turn on you the moment it suits them.”
“I don’t have the luxury of sitting idly by while a threat looms on the horizon,” Rufus muttered. “When Voldemort returns, and mark my words, he will, every precaution I’ve taken will be justified.”
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“I thought we defeated him,” came a quieter voice. Rufus glanced at the portrait of Leonard Spencer-Moon, his face solemn. "I led the Ministry through a war too, Scrimgeour. Victory came with blood and sacrifice. We must always prepare for the worst, but I wonder—are you ready for the cost?"
Rufus looked back at Spencer-Moon, his jaw tightening. "I’ll be ready when the time comes. This time, we won’t be caught unprepared."
"You’re one to speak of preparation," chimed in Archer Evermonde, his arms crossed. The strict, no-nonsense Minister had enforced secrecy during the First World War, ensuring that no wizards interfered with Muggle affairs. "You forget how fragile public confidence is. One wrong move, and you'll be cast aside as a madman."
“They already think I’m paranoid,” Rufus said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "But they don't know what I know. When the truth comes out, they'll see. Every move I make now is for the good of the wizarding world."
"Just don’t forget that your enemies are watching you as closely as your allies," Evermonde warned. "This Ministry can turn against you faster than you think."
THE MARAUDER’S MAP
His thoughts shifted to another item of importance: the Marauder’s Map. The map that could track every person inside Hogwarts. It was an artifact that could provide unparalleled insight into the school, but obtaining it would be tricky. Hogwarts was Dumbledore’s domain, and Rufus knew better than to interfere without good reason.
He needed the map, but any direct attempt to seize it would raise suspicion, particularly from Dumbledore. And Rufus had already made enough enemies with his policies. The last thing he needed was an open confrontation with the Hogwarts headmaster.
The map will have to wait. Without a valid reason to interfere with Hogwarts, I can’t risk making a move yet.
GILDEROY LOCKHART
His thoughts darkened as he considered another nuisance: Gilderoy Lockhart. The man was a fraud, and though Rufus had little patience for the likes of him, it seemed the Ministry was all too eager to push forward his popularity. The rumors of Lockhart taking up a teaching position at Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor were troubling. The man can’t even defend himself, let alone teach children.
Rufus rubbed his temples. Another thing to deal with later. Lockhart wasn’t a priority, but he was certainly on the list.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence. Evangeline Orpington, a former Minister from the early 1800s, peered down at him from her portrait, concern written across her features. "Rufus, you’re taking on a lot at once. Pettigrew, Black, Hogwarts, Lockhart... not to mention the opposition within the Ministry. Don’t you think you’re stretching yourself too thin?"
Rufus’s gaze flickered up to her portrait, his expression hardening. "I don’t have the luxury of doing one thing at a time, Evangeline," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Each of these matters is connected. Pettigrew’s capture will expose Black’s innocence. The Marauder’s Map gives me insight into Hogwarts, and Lockhart… well, he’s a distraction I can’t ignore for long. All of this must be handled carefully, but it’s necessary."
Rufus returned to his desk, sitting down with a heavy sigh. The months ahead were full of uncertainty, but every step he took was leading toward one goal: preparing for the inevitable return of darkness. The political landscape was shifting, and his acceptance of Goblin magic had created rifts even among his closest supporters. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was survival—survival of the wizarding world when Voldemort returned.
“They’ll see,” he whispered to himself. “They’ll see soon enough.”
The portraits of the past Ministers remained silent, watching as Rufus Scrimgeour quietly plotted the unseen war that was fast approaching.