Chapter 604: I Serve Mr. Hermes
"He won't rest, Rufus. A new era is already unfolding before us. We need you to
be our eyes inside—to mobilize your resources when the hour strikes."
Sirius Black's dark eyes were fixed on Scrimgeour with an intensity that brooked
no evasion.
"Preposterous," Scrimgeour snapped, taking a sharp step forward. His tawny hair
bristled, and his thick eyebrows twitched with fury. The "Old Lion" was in a
towering rage. Had this former fugitive not tracked him down and cornered him in
a place he never expected to be found, Scrimgeour would have drawn his wand long
ago.
Now, he shot a glance at the surrounding shadows of the deserted street, his
wand already gripped firmly in his hand.
"Scrimgeour, we are on the same side," Sirius said with a heavy sigh.
Scrimgeour didn't move. He continued to glare at Sirius. In truth, it was
Sirius's reputation that gave him pause. A man of integrity. Sirius Black—a man
who had willingly endured a decade in Azkaban for a mistake he didn't commit,
and who had swum the North Sea alone just to save the orphan of his fallen
comrade. In the world of the Auror Office, there was no man more fundamentally
trustworthy.
"Don't you see, Rufus?" Sirius said quietly. "Dark times have arrived. Men like
us must stand together. What do you think my goal is? To infiltrate the
Ministry? No one wants to inherit a house that's already burning. Once Voldemort
truly rises, do you really believe the Ministry can remain independent of his
control?"
Scrimgeour's expression remained stony, but he watched Sirius's gaunt face with
a new level of scrutiny.
"We have come to you for one reason only: to save the lives that haven't been
lost yet," Sirius's voice echoed through the empty street, the words striking
Scrimgeour's conscience like a hammer on an anvil. "Fudge is a puff-skein. He
hasn't the spine to lead the Ministry through a war. All we ask of you is to
help us save as many as we can during the storm to come."
Sirius looked past Scrimgeour toward the end of the alley. A mile away, the
bustling Muggle commercial districts of London were teeming with life. People
wove in and out of shops, laughing and talking, completely oblivious to the
magical ward that separated them from this conversation.
"If there ever comes a day where you find our goals have shifted," Sirius added,
"you are free to walk away."
Silence stretched between them. Scrimgeour felt a touch of madness creeping in.
How is it that I actually want to believe this man? he wondered. He didn't even
know who was pullings the strings, what the organization was called, or who else
was involved.
"Why me?" he asked. He knew it wasn't a simple organization; they had found him
easily enough and had recruited a man like Black.
Sirius broke into a wide, toothy grin. "The Master was right about you. Look
around, Rufus. Look at these Muggles."
Scrimgeour frowned, following Sirius's gaze.
"How peaceful it is, isn't it? That is the goal. The mundane, the happy, the
ignorant... Fudge wants to protect it, and that's understandable. But he's
forgotten one thing: peace isn't a gift you just receive. It is the prize you
win through struggle."
"Who exactly are you people?" Scrimgeour demanded, his voice hard.
"A group of people willing to do whatever it takes to fight him to the finish,"
Sirius replied.
Scrimgeour was silent for a long moment. "What am I expected to do?"
"Take this." Sirius smiled, looking relaxed as he handed a small, silver object
to Scrimgeour.
Scrimgeour recognized it immediately: a Magic Hand Mirror, the brand-new
Fifth-Generation model. As a tool for the organization, it made perfect sense.
Since the release of the fifth-gen, it was rare to find a wizard in Britain
without one.
"When the need arises, this will display every wizard within a ten-mile radius.
In an emergency, you can forcibly intercept a signal from any other mirror in
range. It's like a 'Monitor'—you know the Muggle term? A way to track and pin
down criminals. It will be invaluable during a terror strike. Of course, you'll
only be granted that level of authority when the situation is dire."
Sirius shrugged, seemingly indifferent to the shock on Scrimgeour's face. "Also,
I'll need you to sign an Absolute Contract. It ensures that your use of the
mirror remains focused solely on the protection of the public."
Scrimgeour's eyelids flickered. He leaned in, his voice losing its composure.
"Where did you get this technology? This is... this belongs to..."
"We serve Mr. Hermes," Sirius said, his grin widening as he offered a deep,
reverent bow toward the mirror.
Scrimgeour felt a cacophony of voices in his mind. He realized he had been
pulled into a level of conspiracy far deeper than he had imagined. But the
thought didn't last long. He wasn't being "pulled in"—he was already in the
middle of it. He was a wizard living in a world at war.
If Voldemort rose, no corner of the Ministry would be safe. Viewed from that
perspective, this was the best news he'd heard in months. The "Future's Greatest
Wizard" was not sitting on the sidelines. He had picked a side, and it wasn't
Voldemort's. It made sense—after all, the boy had been hand-raised by
Dumbledore.
Scrimgeour felt his shoulders relax slightly. He asked one more question, his
voice raspy: "Are you Dumbledore's man?"
"Heh..." Sirius gave a cold laugh. "Don't bother with the interrogation, Rufus.
But I can tell you this: I am, through and through, a Sean Green man."
Scrimgeour's worldview took another hit. He said nothing.
"The Quidditch World Cup is coming up," Sirius continued, seemingly talking to
himself now. "There's a high probability of a riot. You'll need to deploy more
Aurors in secret... perhaps we can catch a few of his followers on the spot. His
ranks are thin right now; every one we put in a cell makes the world a little
safer. When that happens, Rufus, the organization will expect you to follow the
Master's lead. Everything for the people. Any more questions?"
Scrimgeour stood rigid for a long time. He didn't refuse. This mysterious
organization, led by a boy who was already a living legend, seemed to know
exactly who he was and what he hungered for. He had no reason to say no,
provided their hearts remained true to the public good.
"...At the very least, tell me the name of this organization," he said.
"The Stars," Sirius replied. A look of nostalgic wonder crossed his weathered
face, his eyes fixed on the darkening sky. He looked like a boy again, staring
at the infinite black void and marveling at its scale. "The devoted, following
this bitter journey, may eventually reach the stars. And thus, a small existence
can achieve greatness."
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