Rufus sat back in his office chair, staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought. He had already sent his secretary Delores, home for the day, ensuring she wouldn't eavesdrop on this meeting.
He glanced at the latest copy of the Prophet lying on his desk, its headline loudly extolling the 'virtues' of the Werewolf Task Force. He hadn't bothered reading anything beyond the first paragraph before tossing it aside in disgust, a bitter taste rising in his throat.
Despite everything that happened in the Alley, Harkwell and Egwu's alliance still appeared to be holding, but he doubted it would last much longer — not with reality bearing down on both men.
He glanced at the clock — it was almost time. He sat up, staring intently at the fireplace as he waited for Harkwell to arrive. He wouldn't be blindsided this time, refused to be caught off guard by whatever tricks his former mentor had up his sleeve.
He kept his expression neutral as the fireplace flared to life and the head of the Werewolf Task Force strolled into his office, a confident smirk on his face, acting as if he owned the place.
"Rufus, glad you called," Harkwell said gruffly, brushing the soot off his jacket. "Where are you on the formal Authorization for the use of unfogivables against the werewolf threat?"
Rufus tightened his jaw, his eyes flashing with anger as Harkwell presumed to order him around, treating him like a subordinate rather than the Minister of Magic — his superior.
"Still sore about that last meeting, eh?" Harkwell said, chuckling at the disgruntle expression on Rufus's face. "Don't give me that look. It's a lesson you needed to learn anyway," he added dismissively.
"And what lesson is that?" Rufus asked, his voice tight as he regarded his former mentor, wondering what it was he'd ever seen in the man.
"The politics, the bureaucracy," Harkwell replied, dropping casually into the chair opposite him. "This whole place is a den of snakes, each waiting for their opportunity to strike and throw anyone they need to under the bus to hold on to the power they have or make a grab for more."
"Ogden was always going to betray you. It was just a matter of when and how. All I did was speed up the timetable," he smirked.
"Thank you for the lesson," Rufus said, the sarcasm dripping from his tone. "I won't make the mistake of trusting you again."
Harkwell chuckled confidently. "You're the one who wanted to get into politics, Rufus. I warned you not to, didn't I?"
Rufus's eyes flickered to the fireplace as it lit up again, already having a good idea who it was. He raised his wand, muttering the spell to shut down the floo connection just as Egwu's face appeared, confirming his suspicions.
"What are you doing?" Harkwell asked, eyebrow raised as the fireplace extinguished.
"Taking your advice," Rufus replied, his voice cold. "I ordered you here for this meeting — not your friends in the press."
He let the words hang, reminding Harkwell exactly who was in charge, and who was the subordinate.
Harkwell rolled his eyes. "A bit dramatic, even for you, Rufus. Either way, it changes nothing," he added with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'll share my memory of exactly what happened in this meeting with Egwu, and we'll see if you still have a job by the end of the month."
Rufus smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. A cold satisfaction settling in his chest at what he was about to reveal. "I think after today, Egwu's going to want to distance himself from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harkwell asked, confusion flickering across his face.
"It means your 'request' to allow the use of Unforgivables is denied," Rufus said flatly, waiting for the explosion he knew was coming from his former mentor.
"What?!" Harkwell demanded furiously. "You can't do that!"
"You are woefully misinformed on what either of us can do, Harkwell," Rufus spat, openly glaring at the man.
"You want to play your little games?" Harkwell demanded, shooting to his feet. "Fine, let's play. I can go over your head just as easily as I did the last time. Expect a Floo call from the Chief Warlock."
Rufus couldn't help but laugh, a sharp, unexpected sound that filled the room. He was enjoying the moment far more than he had thought he would.
"Laugh it up," Harkwell ground out, his voice low and venomous. "But you're not really in charge. You know that, right?" he taunted. "You're just a placeholder until the Wizengamot finds a more realistic choice for Minister."
"That's the thing, Harkwell," Rufus drawled, his voice steady and edged with satisfaction. "I am in charge, and there's no one around to tell me what to do anymore."
"What are you talking about?" Harkwell demanded, his voice rising. "Has the pressure finally got to you?"
"Not to me," Rufus replied, "but I can't say the same for the Chief Warlock. He's gone into hiding, hasn't returned any of my letters — and with him gone, so is your protection. So I'm going to do something I should have done the moment you stepped out of line. You're fired, Harkwell."
"You can't do that!" Harkwell shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. "Ogden's the one in charge. He's the only one who can fire me!"
"Do you really think a man like Ogden would ever allow his name to be attached to any of this?" Rufus asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Harkwell demanded, his voice rising sharply. "He said so himself to both of us!"
"But he never filed the paperwork," Rufus replied, his voice calm and measured. "And do you know why that is?"
Harkwell could only shake his head, not used to being the one out left of the loop.
"The Wizengamot never had the authority to form the task force, let alone take charge of it. In fact, the only department within the Ministry that can is the DMLE."
"What?" Harkwell asked, feeling like the ground had fallen out from underneath him.
"Yes," Rufus agreed. "I wasn't aware of it either, but a few hundred years ago someone was rightly afraid of what would happen if one branch of our government became more powerful than the others, and took steps to prevent it."
"My guess is the law has never been challenged before, and people simply forgot it existed," Rufus said, pulling out a sheet of parchment with the law written on it. "But it's still on the books."
Harkwell quickly scanned the parchment, hoping desperately for a mistake, for some loophole he could exploit, but there was nothing.
He met Rufus's eyes. "So what? No one even knows this law exists. How long did it take you to find this? Weeks? Months? Don't you think if the press knew about this they would have said something?"
"Someone knows — Rita Skeeter," Rufus replied. "She was the one who informed me about it, and there's more." He placed the three memory vials on the desk with a soft clink.
"Those are memories taken from the people who were in Diagon Alley that day."
Harkwell visibly paled, staring at the vials, knowing exactly which memories Rufus was referring to. "…You weren't there," he said, his confidence faltering. "You didn't see… we were fighting for our lives. We did what we had to do to survive. Anyone else would have done the same in our place."
"That's the thing, Harkwell," Rufus replied, his voice steady. "No one else did. Not even the werewolves used Killing Curses. And you didn't just kill werewolves — that would have at least been understandable. You and your men fired indiscriminately into the crowd, hitting civilians and werewolves alike."
"You need me!" Harkwell insisted. "Without me, without the task force, you might as well just roll over and let Greyback take over!"
"It's over," Rufus replied, refusing to hear any more. "Even if I wanted to, there's nothing I can do to help you. Skeeter is going to publish everything."
"I can fix this!" Harkwell said desperately. "Reporters can be silenced. It just takes the right pressure. She has a partner now — Lovegood. He has a daughter. I'll have a chat with them, and this story will never see the light of day."
Rufus looked at Harkwell wide-eyed, his own plans derailing as he finally saw the man for what he truly was. "You're insane," he said in disbelief, realizing why Harkwell had been quietly retired at the end of the war.
"Don't be naive, Rufus," Harkwell snapped. "That's how these things are done, and if you want to hang onto your job, you'll back me up on this!"
"Enough!" Rufus said, slamming his hand on the desk. "Stay away from Skeeter. Stay away from Lovegood and his daughter. It's over. Skeeter is going to print her article, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop it."
"Go home! This is enough of a mess already. If you're lucky, the Wizengamot will just bury this rather than put you on trial and reveal their own part in this."
"That's it then?" Harkwell demanded. "After everything we've been through, you're just going to hang me out to dry?"
"After everything we've been through?" Rufus repeated, his voice laced with incredulity. "You went behind my back and talked to Egwu, making me look like a fool in front of Ogden. After that, whatever loyalty I had for you died."
"Rufus," Harkwell said, his voice cracking. "Please… I need this. Don't… just don't. Not like this. I… I can't go back to that."
"Harkwell," Rufus replied, shaking his head. "I'm going to tell you something no one's ever had the guts to tell you before. You're your own worst enemy. Everything that's happened to you isn't some giant conspiracy against you. It's people finally realizing who you really are — and wanting nothing to do with you."
Harkwell stood from his chair in silence, sending one last glare at Rufus before he stormed out, slamming the door behind him with a sharp crack that echoed down the hall.
***
Harry sat under the oak tree at the Burrow, the latest Prophet article open in his lap. He stared at the words, frowning, still unsure how to handle his growing problem with Egwu, his frustration settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach.
Unlike with Greyback, this wasn't a threat he could face directly — not without playing right into Egwu's hands. The man was waiting for him to fly off the handle, egging him on with every article in the hopes he would finally snap.
The article went into great detail about him breaking into shops, conveniently neglecting to mention that the shops had already been destroyed by the werewolves earlier in the battle. The only things he and Draco had taken were medical supplies to treat the injured.
It called the wall he raised, splitting the alley in half, senseless destruction when he had used it to protect everyone caught in the crossfire.
It even went so far as to claim he got in the way of the Aurors and the Werewolf Task Force, making their jobs harder, even though a single Auror hadn't appeared until well after the battle ended.
He looked up, squinting against the sunlight as he heard a loud caw. Dermott shot into the sky, wings beating fast as he intercepted the post owl flying toward him.
'Another howler,' he thought, shaking his head as he spotted the familiar red envelope clutched in the owl's talons.
He couldn't help but smile when Dermott snatched the howler from the post owl before it even realized what was happening, then tore it apart with his beak — faint, distorted shouts echoing briefly before fading into nothing.
The post owl stared at Dermott for a long moment, flying in slow circles, clearly confused, before finally flapping its wings and flying away.
Harry laughed softly as Dermott let out another sharp caw, as if warning the owl not to come back, then dove in the opposite direction.
"Hello Harry," Daniela said, walking across the grass to sit down beside him under the tree. "What was that about?" She asked, an amused expression on her face as she watched Dermott preen from the roof of the Burrow.
"Another howler," Harry explained. "I don't think Dermott likes them much either."
"I can see why," Daniela agreed, shaking her head. "Those things are dreadful. Sending a letter just to yell at someone."
"There's a few more every day," Harry revealed. "I stopped listening to them after the second one."
"That's for the best," Daniela agreed.
"..Not to be rude, but was there something you needed?" Harry asked after a pause.
"I was hoping you had changed your mind about having a session," Daniela replied.
"I haven't," Harry replied. "And that won't change while Greyback is still out there."
"I understand," Daniela replied. "If I had as much on my plate as you, I might feel the same way. Is there anything you do feel comfortable talking about?"
Harry let out a long sigh, spotting another owl in the distance as Dermott took off, chasing it off. "I don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "Why is Andre's father doing this? What does he get by turning everyone against me?"
"There's a lot to unpack there, Harry," Daniela said after a moment's thought. "First, he's not turning everyone against you. I know it feels that way with the number of howlers you're getting, but there are over twenty thousand witches and wizards in the country, and you've received fewer than ten. This isn't an accurate representation of the majority — in fact, it's too small to even reflect a true minority."
"The more pertinent question is why Andre's father is doing this," Daniela continued. "On some level he knows you're not to blame, but if he acknowledges that, he has to accept that not only is his son gone, but that he's done terrible things that hurt a lot of people — and had he succeeded, an incalculable number more."
"What would you do?" Harry asked quietly, "If you were in my place."
"What you have been doing," Daniela replied. "Don't allow Mr. Egwu's actions to change who you are or how you treat people. Don't react to him. That's what he wants."
"It doesn't seem to be doing much good," Harry replied. "I haven't said anything to him, and he's accused the Quibbler of being in bed with me, claiming the pictures they print are doctored. They're even quoting 'anonymous' Aurors who said I was interfering in the battle and getting in the way of the Aurors."
"You're wrong, Harry," Daniela said, patting his hand gently. "It may feel like Mr. Egwu is winning, but he's not. The truth always finds its way to the surface, and every lie he tells, every half-truth, every exaggeration — people remember it. Eventually — sooner, rather than later he'll run out of people willing to believe him."
"There's something one of my teachers told me," she continued. "When we seek to destroy others, it is ultimately the self we destroy. Our words and our actions are not truth, but often a reflection of our own brokenness."
***
Quirinus sighed as he sat at his desk, staring at the towering stack of books Dumbledore had loaned him. The weight of them seemingly press down on his shoulders.
He still couldn't believe he had accepted the headmaster's offer to become the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He was in over his head. The books were no substitute for the practical training he desperately needed before term started, especially with everything falling apart in the country.
All of Dumbledore's promises had vanished like smoke after his 'quick' trip to France and the quarantine came down. Now he couldn't even get the man to answer his letters.
He had half a mind to send him his resignation, just as he had planned at the end of the last term, and at least spare himself the embarrassment of public failure.
The only thing stopping him was the thought of leaving his fellow professors in the lurch while Dumbledore sorted himself out, forcing them to shoulder his workload on top of their own classes.
Somehow he would have to make it work. Gain some practical experience. Put what little he could glean from Dumbledore's books to actual use before the students arrived in the fall.
***
Harkwell paced back and forth in his cabin, still furious over his meeting with Rufus. The fool didn't understand the realities of war — that things got messy.
He still remembered the look in the werewolf's eyes when he sent that first Killing Curse. How the sick smile dropped off his face. The fear.
They had the means to turn the tides on the werewolves, and Rufus was too weak, too obsessed with politics to act on it.
His lips curled into a snarl as he thought about the witches and wizards he and his men had killed. Disgusted by how they just stood there watching until Greyback threw a handful of galleons at them. How they had crawled over each scurrying like rats to grab the coins instead of fighting for their lives.
Losing a few witches and wizards like that was no great loss to society. If anything, it would make the rest stronger, more independent.
That was the one thing he could respect Greyback for. He didn't suffer fools, refused to allow weakness into his ranks — that very same strength was what they needed now to beat him.
He stopped suddenly as an idea struck him. What Rufus had said earlier — the Chief Warlock was in hiding. There would be no Wizengamot session without him, which meant there was a window of opportunity he could exploit.
Rufus was a follower, a quill-pusher, not a leader — not like him. That was why nothing was being done to stop the werewolf uprising.
The Wizengamot would fall in line quickly, especially after he dealt with Skeeter and produced actual results without Rufus hamstringing his efforts.
Silencing Skeeter would be even easier, and with both of them out of the way, no one would learn about the law challenging the legality of his task force.
The Wizengamot would fall in line quickly enough, especially after he got Skeeter out of the way for them.
He went to his fireplace, throwing in a pinch of Floo powder to call his most trusted men to strategize. They would need to act quickly — remove both Skeeter and Scrimgeour in the same night. He couldn't afford to tip either of them off and risk them ruining his plans.
After a long moment, he growled in frustration, throwing in another pinch of Floo powder when it became clear no one was home, then tried another member of his task force.
After the fourth try, he finally gave up on reaching them, deciding to handle it himself before Skeeter published her article and ruined everything.
At the moment, she was the bigger threat. He would have to deal with her first, and depending on what she knew, he might have to pay Lovegood a visit too.
He would have to be careful. Both reporters going missing would look suspicious. Skeeter, people would understand. She had a dangerous job — it was only natural that all the risks she took would eventually catch up to her.
Lovegood could be managed. Before Skeeter joined him, he had lacked any credibility, devoting his newspaper to every crackpot theory that entered his mind. The man was a joke.
A few well-cast memory spells would erase any memory of Skeeter's article, and a few more alterations to his mind would land him in the mental ward of St. Mungo's permanently — or better yet, frame him for Skeeter's disappearance, allowing him to kill two birds with one stone.
Then he would meet with Egwu. He was sure the man would be delighted. With the Quibbler gone, things would return to the status quo, with only one newspaper firmly on his side.
The country would be better off with him in charge. The people would understand that soon enough.
He sneered, thinking about the Potter boy. Without the Quibbler to defend him and Scrimgeour kowtowing to him. He would fall in line as well.
While he might be powerful, he was just one person. People could be corrupted, compromised, and in the end, the larger force always won.
He tried the Floo again, growling in frustration when there was no answer for the third time, reminding himself to give them each a dressing-down in the morning. They were all supposed to be on call, ready at a moment's notice in case there was another attack, not off at the pub getting drunk.
"Fine," he thought darkly as he walked to the door. He could handle Skeeter himself anyway, and it was probably better that way — less chance of leaving something incriminating behind, at least nothing he didn't want found.
After that, a quick stop at Lovegood's house. He wouldn't hurt the man — he didn't need to. All he needed was his wand. With that he could arrange things at Skeeter's home the way he needed, and all the clues would lead back to Lovegood.
***
Hi! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. I know I ended it on a cliffhanger, but the next chapter will pick up where we left off on this one. Any predictions on what Harkwell will do?
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f you would like to support me and my writing, please consider visiting https://taplink.cc/jumpin for all the stories I'm currently working on and early access to chapters 17, 18, 19, and 20 of Legacy of Shadows along with some character portraits for Merlin, Morgan and Nimue, and an audio versions of the chapters.