"Any news lately?"
Outside, the sky hung grey and overcast, but the afternoon sun still found its way slanting through the window into the sitting room.
Sherlock sat sunk deep into the sofa by the window, his posture was leisurely.
He seemed completely unbothered by the fog drifting past outside or perhaps it simply matched the backdrop of his own thoughts.
Gemma sat across from him, a copy of the Daily Prophet spread open on her lap.
Her pale fingers traced across the dispiriting headlines, picking out anything that might be worth reading aloud to Sherlock.
"Same as ever."
Gemma's voice was clear and even.
"Death Eaters keep churning out panic in the Muggle world—if anything, more of it than before. The methods are as crude as ever, and they clearly couldn't care less whether Muggles notice."
She turned a page, brow furrowing slightly.
"A bizarre collapse near London Bridge, a mass fainting spell at a South Bank warehouse…
"The point's obvious enough, they're trying to force the Ministry's hand."
"Old tricks, nothing new. Frankly, there's no need to look into it too closely."
Sherlock's voice carried a note of weariness, along with a certain contempt for the Ministry's efficiency. He didn't even bother straightening his back.
"Even Ron could work this one out, and it wouldn't help catch the culprits one bit."
"Sherlock, that's rather unkind to Mr. Weasley."
Gemma shook her head, exasperated, though the corner of her mouth twitched up all the same.
"Ah, if he ever raised the point, I'd apologize to him for it."
Sherlock said this with no sincerity at all, then added. "Though I suspect he wouldn't even notice the remark in the first place."
Gemma sighed softly and wisely decided to steer around the subject.
"Compared to the Ministry running around like headless chickens, I'd say the Muggle Prime Minister's side has actually handled things rather more sensibly.
That's because our esteemed Prime Minister finally knows the truth, and he's actually willing to do something about it. That much, at least, puts him ahead of the Ministry."
Sherlock shifted his position, sinking even deeper into the sofa.
"And say what you like about most of the Ministry's foolishness—Kingsley Shacklebolt genuinely counts as one of the sharp ones.
Placing him at the Muggle Prime Minister's side was one of the few sensible things the Ministry's done lately.
Kingsley's steadiness, and his grasp of Muggle society, will help the two worlds stay connected and it'll also keep the Death Eaters from worming their way into Her Majesty's government.
Mycroft's there too, of course, which makes that harder for them but he's no wizard, in the end, and if he ever had to face a large enough group of Dark wizards, he'd fall short.
Actually, I'd originally hoped it would be Ron's father who went in. But as things stand, Kingsley's turned out rather well himself."
At the mention of this, Gemma set down her newspaper and asked, with evident interest: "Kingsley told me your brother's been cooperating rather nicely?"
"Cooperating?"
Sherlock let out a soft laugh, a flash of slyness was on his eyes.
"Gemma, isn't there another possibility—that it's Kingsley cooperating with my brother?"
"Of course!" Gemma laughed as well at that. "It is Mycroft Holmes we're talking about, after all."
"Speaking of which, I do wish he'd move a bit faster and get someone in who can actually get things done.
"Watching the current Ministry bumble about day after day is thoroughly off-putting."
Sherlock's gaze drifted to the purple pamphlet on the coffee table, his tone was growing more scornful.
"Take a look at their latest offering."
Gemma understood at once and picked up the Ministry-published pamphlet, its cover printed with bold lettering:
[PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES]—Published with the authorization of the Ministry of Magic
The wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters.
Following the simple security guidelines below will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.
Do not leave home alone. Exercise particular caution after dark, and try to be back before nightfall whenever you go out. Check the security measures around your home, and make sure every member of your family knows basic emergency spells—the Shield Charm, Disillusionment Charm, and so on. Underage children in the household should learn to Apparate alongside an adult. Agree on a security question with friends and family, so as to detect Death Eaters using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate someone else (see page 2). Unconfirmed reports suggest Death Eaters may now be employing Inferi (see page 10). If you see or encounter an Inferius, notify the Ministry of Magic at once.
"You don't think these are of any use?" Gemma tilted her head and asked.
"Not entirely useless, no."
Sherlock said flatly.
"But Fred and George tell me that even the people working at the Ministry can't manage a decent Shield Charm.
"And yet this little pamphlet expects an ordinary wizard's entire family to cast it—ha.
Also, according to the pamphlet's instructions, you were supposed to check a security question with me today, to make sure I'm not some Death Eater who's drunk Polyjuice Potion to impersonate me."
"I don't think that'll be necessary."
Gemma set the purple pamphlet down, a smile she couldn't quite suppress tugging at her lips.
"With the way you talk, there aren't many Death Eaters who could pull off impersonating you."
"That does sound about right, but for future reference, let me tell you something all the same."
Gemma's curiosity was instantly piqued. "What's that?"
"My childhood dream," Sherlock said with a soft laugh, "was to become a pirate."
Gemma's eyes went wide with surprise.
A moment later, she burst out laughing. "Who else knows this—Hermione? Luna?"
"Neither of them," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Apart from you, the only friends of mine who know are Harry and Ron."
At that, Gemma's smile grew even brighter. "If I were a Death Eater, that's certainly not the thing I'd try to fake."
Just then, the fire in the hearth roared up with a sharp crack, its flames turning from orange to a bright, brilliant green.
A moment later, a familiar figure stepped out of the fireplace amid a swirl of flying soot—a little unsteady on her feet, but neat about it all the same.
"Oh?"
Hermione seemed genuinely surprised to find Gemma sitting in the Holmes family's front room, and said, half in jest: "Seems I've come at a bad time?"
"No, you've come at exactly the right time," Sherlock said. "We were just talking about you."
"Come sit, Hermione!" Gemma shifted over, making room for her on the sofa.
Hermione settled in beside Gemma and asked curiously, "What were you saying about me, then?"
"Gemma was just asking whether you and Luna know about my childhood dream."
Hermione: "..."
Gemma: "..."
The two girls exchanged a look.
The atmosphere turned faintly awkward.
"When I was young, I wanted to be a pirate. Per the Ministry's guidance pamphlet, you two can use this fact from now on to confirm my identity."
"Pfft—"
Hermione couldn't help bursting into laughter at that.
"Sherlock, I don't think anyone could actually manage to impersonate you—the way you talk alone is something almost nobody could learn to imitate."
"My thoughts precisely."
Gemma nodded, smiling, and handed over the newspaper in her hands.
"Any word on that 'freak hurricane' out west?" She scanned quickly through the pages.
"Pretty much confirmed—it's connected to the giants," Gemma said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, some of the giants ended up joining the Death Eaters after all."
"Thank goodness Dumbledore sent Hagrid and Madame Maxime out there, or all of them might have joined the Death Eaters."
Hermione said, still a little shaken at the thought. "Oh—has there been any word back from Lupin and Tonks?"
Werewolves, after all, were hardly less dangerous than a tribe of giants.
"Still nothing though Sirius and Amelia Bones have already set out to make contact."
Gemma added, then asked with a smile, "By the way, Hermione, did you know the Order of the Phoenix has taken on some new members recently?"
"Besides Cedric Diggory, who else?" Hermione asked, a little puzzled.
"Fred and George Weasley," Sherlock said.
"Them?" Hermione looked surprised. "Aren't they run off their feet keeping that joke shop of theirs going in Diagon Alley?"
"They've been putting part of the shop's profits toward funding the Order's operations," Gemma explained, "even though Professor Dumbledore's told them there's really no need."
Sherlock said flatly: "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is doing rather brisk business—I was only just mentioning this to Gemma.
A great many people, including some who work at the Ministry, can't manage a proper Shield Charm.
The Weasley twins originally thought their Shield Hats were just a bit of a joke.
Turns out the Ministry bought five hundred of them for the entire staff!"
"Shield Hats?"
Hermione blinked, considering this for a moment.
"Aren't those the ones where you just put the hat on and stare the other person in the face, and the curse bounces straight back?"
"That's the one. They've recently developed Shield Cloaks and Shield Gloves as well—they can't handle Unforgivable Curses, but they'll deal with your run-of-the-mill hexes well enough."
Sherlock said, in a distant sort of way.
"It's only when the tide goes out that you find out who's been swimming naked.
The moment war actually arrives, people seem to discover, rather suddenly, that most of the wizards in this country aren't nearly as capable as they thought.
Honestly, I'd say a fair share of the blame for that goes to Hogwarts changing its Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher every single year."
Hermione and Gemma exchanged a glance.
It did seem to... actually make a fair bit of sense?
Either way, the average Defence Against the Dark Arts standard among their own year groups was considerably higher than in the years before them.
Remus Lupin, a true angel!
Just then, a flurry of wingbeats sounded outside the window.
Gemma's owl, Erin, came in through the transom left open above the window and landed on the arm of the sofa, a fresh roll of the Evening Prophet tied to its leg.
"Sherlock, look!"
Gemma untied the string and quickly unrolled the paper—the large black-and-white photograph on the front page instantly caught all three of their eyes.
A man with a receding hairline and greying hair was waving up toward the ceiling.
Below the photograph ran a bold, eye-catching headline:
[SCRIMGEOUR REPLACES FUDGE]
"Finally…"
Sherlock sat up straight, a sharp glint crossing his eyes, the weariness seeming to vanish all at once. "Read it out, Gemma."
"I'll do it." Hermione reached out at once, and Gemma passed the paper to her without a word, as if by some unspoken understanding.
Hermione cleared her throat and read aloud in a clear voice,
"Rufus Scrimgeour, former Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, officially succeeded Cornelius Fudge today as the new Minister for Magic.
Given the poor performance of former Minister Cornelius Fudge, this appointment has been met with broad and enthusiastic approval throughout the wizarding community…
Only hours into his term, Minister Scrimgeour held a meeting with Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.
The two held a warm and cordial discussion, exchanging views with full candour on both sides…
Minister Scrimgeour stated that the Ministry will pursue deep cooperation with Hogwarts, and will adopt a series of robust measures to ensure the safe return of all students to school this autumn…
For reasons of security, the specific details of the plan will not be disclosed…
But according to sources close to the matter, the measures will include a powerful combination of defensive spells and charms, a sequence of anti-jinx countermeasures, and a dedicated squad of Aurors stationed at Hogwarts to carry out security duties…"
Hermione finished reading, and for a moment the sitting room fell silent.
Sherlock's long fingers tapped a light, rhythmic beat against the arm of the sofa. After a moment, he spoke slowly.
"Sounds like a decent start, at least."
"Rufus Scrimgeour? The former Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement?"
Hermione looked at Sherlock, a question in her eyes.
"I thought the Head of the Department was Amelia Bones? I rather assumed she'd be the obvious choice."
"There's no question of Amelia Bones's ability."
Gemma spoke up to explain. "But she's always preferred to be out on the front lines herself, rather than sitting behind a desk handling paperwork and politics which is why she's gone off with Sirius on this mission instead."
"This Scrimgeour fellow was Dumbledore's choice—Mycroft had a hand in it too."
Sherlock added at this point.
"As for Cornelius Fudge, he hasn't left entirely.
He's stayed on at the Ministry as a 'Senior Advisor.'
The official line is that he's handling liaison work with the Muggle Prime Minister whenever the new Minister can't spare the time."
"Advisor?"
Hermione couldn't help sneering at the word, her tone was dripping with contempt.
"He still hasn't given up? Still dreaming he can hang onto a scrap of influence?
Professor Dumbledore said he even tried to privately contact Harry and you, looking for support!
And he could barely get your name right even once!
The man has absolutely no shame left!"
She thought back on everything Fudge had done or failed to do over the past year, her face was filled with disgust.
If he'd only listened to Dumbledore and prepared properly ahead of time, would Azkaban ever have fallen?
Sherlock, though, seemed entirely unconcerned by any of it.
"Never mind him with Mycroft around, whatever he tries to do is nothing but a futile little farce.
Judging by this new Minister's stance, the wind really does seem to be shifting.
And besides, I've had another bit of good news recently."
"Good news?" Gemma and Hermione both turned to look at him, puzzled.
"It seems our esteemed Dark Lord has finally decided I'm worth his personal attention."
Sherlock paused, then continued slowly, under Hermione and Gemma's startled gazes.
"He's personally set Draco Malfoy a task with me as the target."
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