The dim light of the streetlamp cast long shadows across the room as Rufus Scrimgeour settled into his bed, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. Despite his weariness, sleep was elusive, and his thoughts kept drifting back to a conversation he had once had—one that seemed oddly pertinent to the turmoil he faced now.
In his mind, he was no longer Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic. Instead, he was James—a man at a crossroads, a man who had once spoken passionately about the failings of the magical world over pints in a bar.
The memory was vivid, as if it had happened only yesterday. James had been sitting in a smoky pub, a drink in hand, his frustration spilling over into the dimly lit space. The conversation had begun with a stranger's comment on his Harry Potter tattoo, a symbol of his deep connection to the world he felt was so flawed.
“Nice ink,” came the voice from beside him, pulling James from his brooding. He turned to see a man with a well-trimmed beard and eyes that twinkled with an enigmatic gleam. “Harry Potter fan, I take it?”
James nodded, a trace of pride mingled with his weariness. “Yeah. Got this a few years back. Symbolizes a lot, you know? The books… they were more than just stories to me.”
The man chuckled, swirling his drink. “Oh, I can tell. So, what brings you here, wallowing in what seems to be a pit of despair?”
James sighed, taking another swig of his pint. “Just the usual. Life not turning out the way you thought it would. Reality’s a bitch, you know? And it doesn’t help that the world I fell in love with, the one in those books, is so… incompetent. I mean, seriously, how could so many smart people be so stupid?”
The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”
James, now loosened by alcohol, began a tirade. He ranted about the Ministry of Magic's inefficiency, the ineptitude of Cornelius Fudge, and the flawed decisions of Albus Dumbledore. His anger spilled over as he criticized the Ministry's handling of dark forces and its inability to deal with threats like Voldemort. “How do you have a society that’s been around for centuries, full of magic, and yet they can’t figure out basic shit like mind control defenses or putting Sirius Black on trial? It’s insane! And don’t even get me started on how they handle Voldemort. Half the time it’s like they’re begging to be taken over.”
The man listened, a small, knowing smile on his lips. When James finally paused, the man leaned closer. “You know, James, what if I told you that you could change all that? That you could step into that world and make it better?”
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James snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. And I’m the Queen of England.”
“I’m serious,” the man insisted. “What if you had the chance to go there, to really make a difference? Would you take it?”
James looked at him, trying to gauge his seriousness. The man’s expression was unreadable, a mixture of amusement and something else James couldn’t place. “Look, mate, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but even if that were possible, why the hell would you pick me? I’m just a guy with a boring job and a Harry Potter tattoo.”
The man chuckled, his laughter resonating through the bar. “Sometimes, the right person for the job is the one who sees the problems others overlook. And you, my friend, have seen quite a few.”
James stared at him, his mind reeling. This had to be a joke, a prank. But the man's serious tone cut through his skepticism.
“I’m giving you a choice, James. You can go back to your mundane life, full of frustrations and missed opportunities, or you can step into a world that needs someone like you. Someone who can make a real difference. The choice is yours.”
James blinked, the weight of the choice settling over him. The man’s words resonated with the part of him that had always longed for something more. “And what… what would I have to do?”
“Simple,” the man said, a sly smile on his face. “You just have to agree. That’s it.”
James laughed, a bitter sound devoid of humor. “Fine. Whatever. I agree. Just get me out of this shithole of a life.”
The man’s smile widened, and for a brief moment, his eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light. “Done.”
Now, as Rufus lay in bed, the weight of that old conversation pressed on him with renewed urgency. The Forbidden Forest’s disturbances and the impending threat of the basilisk weighed heavily on his mind. He recalled his past reluctance to intervene directly, hoping that allowing events to unfold would lead to necessary outcomes. But now, he saw the flaws in his reasoning.
Rufus, no longer just a man of policy and cautious strategies, saw himself in James’s position—a person with the power to act but hindered by hesitation and indecision. The realization struck him forcefully: if the threat was as severe as he feared, he could not rely on others, even the capable students of Hogwarts, to save the day.
As he lay in the darkness, Rufus resolved to act decisively. When the basilisk struck, he would not stand idly by. He would mobilize the full resources of the Ministry to tackle the threat head-on. No longer would he wait for the world to be saved by a child. He would confront the danger himself, wielding the Ministry’s power to protect those who were vulnerable.
The path ahead was clear. Rufus would not merely be a spectator in this unfolding crisis. He would become an active participant, a protector who would not falter in the face of imminent threats. The old doubts and fears that had once paralyzed him were swept aside by a newfound resolve.
As he closed his eyes, Rufus embraced this new determination. The storm that loomed over the Forbidden Forest and the dark clouds gathering on the horizon would meet with a force of unyielding resolve. And this time, he would not falter.