The rain before midsummer arrived showing absolutely no signs of weakening or relenting.
The relentless downpour had already flooded the streets of Hogsmeade, transforming them into rushing streams. Many residents of the village found rainwater backing up and seeping into their homes through doorways and window frames, pooling on their floors and ruining carpets.
Villagers throughout the settlement donned heavy raincoats and waders, rushing out into the punishing rain with grim determination. They worked frantically, busily clearing the various drains and gutters throughout the village, trying desperately to prevent worse flooding.
Even the normally crabby Aberforth had no choice but to grab his wand and rush out into the storm to take emergency remedial measures, working to prevent his "time-honored establishment" from collapsing under the assault.
Bryan stood at the doorway, watching Ludo leave. After the portly man took only two or three unsteady steps into the torrential rain, his silhouette vanished completely from Bryan's sight, swallowed by the gray curtain of water as if he'd never been there at all.
Bryan hadn't told Ludo what exactly he needed his support for. But judging from Ludo's hazy, uneasy expression before leaving, he seemed to have some inkling of what Bryan intended to do.
The sky above was as dark as nightfall despite the afternoon hour.
Out on the Black Lake, turbulent waves whipped into frenzy by the howling wind crashed violently against the cliff shores. Their thunderous roar was so tremendous it even drowned out the sound of actual thunder rolling across the sky.
Suddenly, a human figure emerged in this world of howling wind and torrential rain, rapidly becoming clear and distinct in Bryan's vision as they approached through the rainstorm.
The newcomer wore a practical waterproof cloak that repelled the rain effectively. His high black leather boots trampled through the deep rainwater pooling on the ground, splashing with each step.
Sharp eyes like those of a hunting lion surveying potential prey, set in distinctive dark yellow pupils that seemed to glow even in the gloom, penetrated the thick curtain of rain. They fell upon Bryan's face, which still bore that gentle, welcoming smile.
"I've arrived, Watson."
The voice was clipped, professional, revealing nothing beyond the bare fact stated.
"Ah, thank you for accepting my invitation, Rufus. I appreciate you coming in such terrible conditions. Was the journey smooth?"
The head of the Auror Office—the largest and most important "armed division" under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic—Rufus Scrimgeour had cold, hard eyes that had seen too much darkness.
He glanced up briefly at the bloodstained boar's head on the pub's sign, its gore so deep and old that even such heavy rain couldn't wash it clean.
Rufus made absolutely no attempt to hide his obvious distaste for this run-down place.
"Why here, and not at Hogwarts where you have a perfectly good office?"
His tone was sharp. "What, you don't want Dumbledore knowing about our meeting?"
Rufus's sharp gaze and fierce, intimidating aura pressed toward Bryan, but they stirred no ripples against Bryan's warm, unshakeable smile.
"I imagine you didn't tell anyone at the Ministry what you were going out to do either, did you, Rufus?"
Bryan countered smoothly, his smile widening slightly with knowing amusement.
He beckoned invitingly to Rufus, who still stood stubbornly outside the door in the pouring rain.
"Come now, Rufus, in such heavy rain, it's simply too foolish for us to stand at the door talking and getting soaked. Come inside. The bartender has gone out to deal with the flooding. Come have something to drink to relieve the fatigue of your journey and warm yourself. Mm, what would you like? I know Aberforth keeps some decent bottles hidden away."
Staring deeply at Bryan, who was shrouded in the dim, flickering candlelight, Rufus didn't immediately step into the Hog's Head.
He propped one hand against the pub's dilapidated, decaying doorframe. His cold, severe gaze swept over every corner of the pub's interior with the thoroughness of a investigator, checking for threats, for hidden accomplices, for ambush points.
Only after completing his careful sweep did his eyes finally settle back on Bryan Watson's calm, patient face.
Meeting Watson's eyes that held a distinct hint of amusement at his caution, Rufus's eyelids trembled slightly with suppressed emotion. Irritation surged hot in his chest, making his jaw stiffen.
Watson had seen through exactly what he was worried about, had read his thoughts like an open book. And those knowing eyes were saying clearly, almost mockingly, that if Bryan wanted to deal with him, there would be no need for something as crude as an ambush.
This was what made those truly powerful wizards so absolutely detestable. Aside from hoping desperately for their own moral standards and personal ethics to constrain them, there were no rules, no laws, no authorities that could actually control them.
In this instant, staring at Bryan's composed face, Rufus felt the same way about this young man as did that American MACUSA colleague who had opposed him.
"Whatever."
Eventually, Rufus still stepped into the pub. He spoke in a voice without a ripple of emotion, giving nothing away.
"Oh, hot-tempered people with your disposition aren't quite suited for drinks with a harsh burning taste, so let's have—"
Bryan moved behind the bar counter, talking to himself in a casual, pensive tone. His gaze swept thoughtfully over Aberforth's wine rack, examining the dusty bottles.
"Mm, musk sherry—that looks good, appropriate for the occasion—"
Tapping his fingers once on the bar counter in a rhythm, a bottle with a brown glass body heavily covered in years of accumulated dust floated out silently from its place on the rack. The cork plugging its mouth turned to nothing in a small wisp of gray smoke, and the liquid pouring smoothly into glasses made the pleasant, musical sound of clear spring water rushing through a stream.
On the ground covered with what appeared to be centuries of accumulated grease and dust, there were some damp, fresh footprints visible in the grime. One set paced back and forth by the bar repeatedly, belonging obviously to Bryan Watson. The other two sets led directly to a small round table positioned inside the pub's dim interior, where several empty glasses sat.
"It seems I'm not your first visitor today, am I, Watson?"
After a brief silence filled only by the drumming rain on the roof, Rufus turned to stare at the gray-haired young man by the bar. His tone carried a thread of mockery.
"Ah, indeed—"
Bryan's voice was light.
"I have no classes scheduled today and nowhere particular to pass the time, so I invited a few friends here for drinks and conversation."
"Heh, I'm certainly not your friend, Watson—"
Rufus said coldly and with sharp self-deprecation.
"Not before—" Bryan picked up his own glass. On his way to the round table, he casually pressed the second glass into Rufus's reluctant hand.
"But perhaps there'll be a chance in the future for that to change. Come now, Rufus, don't just stand there. Sit down—you've come such a long way through this storm on my account—"
His nostrils twitched slightly, and Rufus remained silent, his face was expressionless, as he walked to sit across from Bryan at the small table.
He glanced coldly down at the glass of sherry Watson had handed him, feeling absolutely no impulse to drink it. He set the glass gently on the table between them, pushing it slightly away, then looked up at Watson with a stern expression.
"Oh, an Auror's professional habits and caution."
Bryan seemed genuinely amused by Rufus's wariness. He chuckled softly.
"But you can't possibly think I'd poison you?"
"I'd best be cautious regardless. Better safe than dead."
Rufus said flatly, completely unmoved by Bryan's reassurances.
He wouldn't tell Watson that before coming here, he'd already left a will in his office—If this trip met with misfortune, if he didn't return, the will would tell everyone at the Ministry at whose hands he'd perished.
It was his insurance policy.
"I think time is precious for both you and me, Watson. Let's skip the meaningless probing, all the polite pretense, and get straight to the actual point."
Rufus leaned forward slightly, his posture was aggressive.
"What did you summon me here for? What do you want from me?"
A strand of damp, graying hair hung before Rufus's sharp yellow eyes, plastered to his forehead by rain and sweat, but he didn't bother with it blocking part of his vision. He remained focused, still staring at Bryan with those piercing, predatory eyes, as if interrogating a dangerous criminal in an interview room.
A real criminal might be genuinely intimidated by Rufus Scrimgeour's formidable reputation and position as Head of the Auror Office. But this couldn't disturb or rattle Bryan in the slightest.
He sat relaxed, leisurely savoring his glass of dry sherry, taking a slow sip and letting it rest on his tongue. Hearing Rufus's demand for directness, Bryan's face still bore that same gentle expression capable of embracing all things.
"Ah, straight to the point. I appreciate that direct style—"
Bryan said approvingly, setting down his glass.
"You want to know what I summoned you here for, Rufus. That depends entirely on a premise—or rather, depends on your answer to a question first."
Rufus's eyebrows furrowed slightly with suspicion. But he didn't speak. He sat rigidly, quietly waiting for Watson to ask his question, to reveal what this was really about.
"Dumbledore says that Voldemort has returned—"
Bryan's single sentence, spoken calmly and clearly, made the Head of the Auror Office's entire body tense.
"I say the same thing, but the Minister for Magic holds a different opinion. Rufus, as Head of the Auror Office, as a pillar in the fight against the dark forces threatening the wizarding world, what is your view?"
Rufus stared hard at Bryan across the table. Since the two had met today, since that first moment of eye contact, his eyes had never been so sharp as at this precise moment.
"This is the premise for us to begin formal conversation?"
"Precisely so." Bryan nodded with a smile.
"You need to provide evidence to support such a claim, otherwise—"
"If your view is only this, Rufus—"
Bryan raised one hand smoothly to interrupt Rufus before he could continue that line of argument. He looked calmly, steadily at this most renowned and capable Auror in the Ministry after the legendary Mad-Eye Moody.
During those dangerous years when Bryan had been lurking in the underworld, when he'd operated as the Golden Viper, many of the wizards he'd known—criminals and informants who operated in the gray areas between legal and illegal had feared this famous Auror above almost all others.
Scrimgeour had a reputation for relentlessness.
Rufus had once led a team of Aurors to corner the Golden Viper and the bounty hunters executing a mission with him in a ambush. But the Viper had knocked them all down, with a single powerful spell before disappearing into the night.
The smile faded gradually from Bryan's face now, his calm tone became permeated with unmistakable determination and severity.
"I'm afraid, then, we have nothing to discuss."
A wave of humiliated fury ignited with a bang from the bottom of Rufus's heart, surging up through his chest. He wanted desperately to jump up from his chair and rebuke Watson's incredible arrogance and rudeness.
But when his gaze met those purple eyes that seemed to look straight through to his very heart, Rufus's face paled. The surrounding air suddenly became thick and heavy, suffocating him like invisible hands around his throat.
Take a stance on whether the Dark Lord had been resurrected?
This was no simple question that could be answered lightly or easily. Rufus knew exactly what answer Watson wanted to hear. But if he gave that answer and his response somehow reached Cornelius Fudge's ears, then he, already in an increasingly difficult position, would probably end up like Sirius Black had.
Fudge knew that Sirius was absolutely Watson's direct subordinate, his loyal agent. He desperately wanted to expel Black from the Ministry. But he also feared that actually doing so would enrage Watson beyond tolerance and provoke retaliation.
Moreover, Amelia Bones, who stood firmly on Watson's side in this growing divide, was also protecting Sirius with all her might and political capital.
And Bones likewise knew that relying too heavily on Sirius, promoting him or giving him important assignments, would completely infuriate Fudge's faction and invite political backlash.
So, with both sides mutually wary, carefully watching each other, Sirius had been sidelined.
But had the Dark Lord truly been resurrected?
His emotions stirred turbulently, old memories of the first war were surfacing, Rufus's breathing also became disordered and uneven. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
This was already a question that didn't require much thought, wasn't it?
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