Rufus Scrimgeour sat in his office, the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight casting long shadows across the walls. The room was bathed in a golden hue, the sunlight creeping through the high, narrow windows, dappling the wood-paneled walls and adding a fleeting warmth to the cold, austere space. His desk was cluttered with parchment and envelopes—each one a testament to his rising influence within the Ministry and beyond.
Reports from Auror missions, requests from various departments, formal appeals for magical creature control regulations, and congratulatory notes from foreign dignitaries stacked high, each demanding his attention. But despite the sheer volume of letters and their weighty content, Rufus found his gaze drifting again and again to the conspicuous space where one letter, in particular, should have been.
Clara, his assistant, knocked gently before entering with yet another stack of letters, breaking him from his reverie. She was always efficient, always timely. "More correspondence for you, Minister," she said in her crisp, no-nonsense tone, placing the fresh pile on his desk with practiced precision.
Rufus nodded absently, his eyes still focused on the letters in front of him. "Thank you, Clara," he replied, not looking up from the document he was scanning. His quill moved deftly, scribbling a quick note in the margin of the parchment before he set it aside with a sharp flick of his wrist.
Clara hesitated, hovering near the door. For a moment, it seemed as though she might say something more. Perhaps she had noticed the way Rufus's expression had faltered earlier when she'd handed him the pile of letters, or perhaps she sensed the tension hanging in the room like a tangible presence. But when Rufus didn’t speak further, she merely inclined her head slightly and exited the office, closing the door quietly behind her.
Rufus leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath. His eyes fell back to the fresh pile Clara had brought in, but the same dull sense of dread filled him as he stared at the envelopes. He already knew that what he was looking for wouldn’t be there.
With a sigh, he began working through the letters. He had always been methodical, a man of action and precision, never letting emotions interfere with the business of governance. But today, as his fingers brushed over the parchment and he read through the various formalities, his focus was frayed.
One letter was from the Head of Magical Law Enforcement—an update on a covert Auror operation. Another from the French Ministry, regarding the upcoming international conference on magical creatures, in which Rufus had been asked to give the opening remarks. Another, a diplomatic note from Bulgaria concerning the rare Antipodean Opaleye dragon that had recently been spotted near the Northern Balkans.
But none of it held his attention.
There were several more letters filled with pleasantries and barely veiled requests from figures trying to curry favor with him, most of them written in the ornate, flowery language of pureblood families. But as he scanned through them, there was no sign of the one letter he truly anticipated.
No letter from Gene.
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It had been days since he'd heard from her. Geneviève Delacroix—Gene, as she had asked him to call her—was someone he had grown accustomed to hearing from regularly. They had exchanged letters ever since that dragon presentation at the Ministry, her sharp mind and candid observations always cutting through the noise of the day.
Ever since that last exchange, he'd been waiting for her thoughts on the project he’d sent her. He valued her opinion on magical creatures, particularly her unique insights into the nature of dragons and their integration into wizarding society. It had become more than just professional curiosity. He respected her, not just for her knowledge but for her ability to see things from angles he sometimes overlooked.
But the longer he waited for her response, the more that respect began to shift into something resembling disappointment.
Rufus let out another sigh, this one a bit heavier, and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. It wasn’t like Gene to remain silent for so long. Perhaps she was busy—her work with magical creatures took her to remote locations from time to time, and communication could be sporadic. Or maybe she was simply waiting for the right moment to respond, crafting the perfect letter as she often did. She had always been thoughtful in her correspondence, never rushing.
Whatever the reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation that gnawed at him, a feeling that had become uncomfortably familiar in the past few days. He told himself not to take it personally. Their correspondence was friendly, yes, but it wasn’t something that should preoccupy him like this.
After all, he had more pressing matters to attend to. Auror missions, political maneuvering within the Ministry, delicate negotiations with international bodies—it wasn’t as though he had time to worry about something as trivial as a delayed letter.
Yet, as the day dragged on, the absence of Gene’s familiar handwriting in his inbox weighed on him.
The silence in the room was broken by a soft throat-clearing sound from one of the portraits on the wall. The old, stern-looking wizard—one of his predecessors, no doubt—stared down at him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
"Expecting someone important, are we?" the portrait remarked, his eyes gleaming with the kind of mischievousness Rufus had little patience for.
Rufus shot a glance at the painting, his face remaining impassive. "Just doing my job," he said coolly, picking up another letter and tearing open the seal with deliberate calm.
"Is that so?" the portrait responded with a chuckle. "Because from where I’m sitting, it looks an awful lot like you’re waiting for a very specific letter."
Rufus’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t dignify the remark with a response. He focused on the remaining letters, forcing himself to concentrate. One from a representative in Italy, another diplomatic note about the Hungarian Horntail’s integration into the Ministry’s magical creature control programs. A few more mundane updates from his staff.
He sorted through them mechanically, his eyes scanning for that familiar handwriting, hoping against hope that the last letter in the stack would be the one he was waiting for.
But when he finally reached the bottom of the pile, there was nothing.
Clara knocked again, entering cautiously, as though she could sense the tension in the room. "Minister," she said, her voice low, "the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would like a word about tomorrow’s meeting."
Rufus looked up, pushing aside the disappointment that had settled in his chest. He straightened his shoulders, falling back into the role of the composed, unshakable leader he had always been. "Of course," he said, his voice steady. "Tell him I’ll see him in a few minutes."
Clara nodded and exited the office. Rufus glanced at the clock. It was later than he’d realized. He would have to push thoughts of Gene aside for now. There were still matters to attend to, and the Ministry never stopped for personal musings.
As he stood and straightened his robes, preparing for the next meeting, his eyes once again drifted to the stack of letters on his desk. No letter from Gene.