Scrimgeour's heart immediately clenched with tension.
He had a suspicion—there was little doubt that the ghost ship could only mean Voldemort.
And now he'd appeared in Diagon Alley?
"Gringotts?" he asked grimly.
The Auror shook his head. "No, Ollivanders."
The wand shop?
That answer caught Scrimgeour off guard.
Why there?
A grim thought crept into his mind—if Voldemort had joined forces with the Wild Hunt, was he planning to raid wand stores and arm those spectral knights with wands, disguising them as wizards?
Or even arm the rebellious goblins still at large?
That could mean hundreds of enemies.
Even if Harry and Dumbledore managed to stop them, the chaos it would cause in the magical world would be catastrophic.
He hadn't even been Minister of Magic for a full year yet!
Was this position cursed?
"Kingsley, go find Dumbledore," Scrimgeour ordered with a frown. "I'll take a look myself."
Kingsley hesitated for a second, then turned to instruct Tonks.
He knew exactly why Scrimgeour had assigned him the safer task while taking the risk himself. It was simply the duty of a Minister of Magic.
And he followed behind Scrimgeour, not out of heroism, but because it was his duty as Head of the Auror Office.
But by the time they prepared themselves and nervously arrived—
Diagon Alley was already in ruins.
White frost blanketed the world.
The once peaceful alley was now a wasteland.
Ollivanders was obliterated, collapsed, nothing remaining but a half-frozen sign reading "...established…"
The Weasleys' joke shop—its garish oversized doll had lost its head, still sputtering fireworks weakly.
The pet shop's staff clutched a pure white owl in anguish—this attack had hit them the hardest.
And above the devastation—
The Dark Mark hovered in the sky: a massive skull, spewing a writhing serpent, flamboyant and oppressive.
It declared to the wizarding world: Fear has returned.
Wizards fled; some crawled along the ground with mangled limbs.
"Check casualties. Treat the minor ones and the ones who can be handled on site," Scrimgeour ordered, rubbing his temples in pain. "The serious cases—send them to St. Mungo's."
Kingsley nodded and began dispatching Aurors.
Scrimgeour stood with hands on hips, his gaze heavy.
Crack!
A sharp sound rang out behind him.
He reacted instantly, raising his wand and spinning.
But before he could fully lift his wand, another hand pressed it down.
"Relax, it's me," a calm voice said.
Scrimgeour relaxed. "Mr. Potter—you're back?"
It was Harry.
He had been discussing with Yennefer how to extract the Horcrux fragment and was preparing to test their method on Nagini when Kingsley's Patronus arrived, delivering the message for Dumbledore to come to Diagon Alley—Voldemort had appeared again.
But Dumbledore was dead drunk.
So Harry had flown out from Hogwarts and Apparated here himself.
"Where's Voldemort?" he asked immediately.
Just hearing the name made Scrimgeour shudder.
Fear crept up from his core. He still couldn't stand hearing that name.
Up in the sky—
The Dark Mark glowed faintly, the serpent seemed even more menacing.
"He left," Scrimgeour replied, choosing not to say "fled," even though it sounded more dignified. "He was gone before I arrived."
"His target seems to have been Mr. Ollivander."
"The rest… were just collateral."
Harry looked up at the Dark Mark and raised his wand.
Expecto Patronum!
A silver griffin leapt forth, lunging at the serpent, engaging it in a fierce clash. After several snarls and swipes, the snake was shredded, and the skull shattered into pieces and vanished.
"Ollivander, huh?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "Notify Germany. Voldemort may be going after Gregorovitch, and then Eremeken—the final wandmaker."
Scrimgeour nodded and passed the order to a nearby Auror, then couldn't help but ask, "What is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named trying to do?"
"He's after the Elder Wand," Harry said plainly.
Scrimgeour froze.
He realized something, lowering his voice. "But isn't that thing supposed to be with Professor Dumbledore?"
"Voldemort doesn't know that," Harry replied flatly.
Scrimgeour nodded. He glanced toward the wreckage in the distance. "Mr. Potter, how should I explain this to the public?"
"Do I tell them You-Know-Who has returned again?"
That was his biggest concern.
"No need," Harry shook his head. "Come up with some other explanation."
"And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Scrimgeour asked hopefully.
"We know where he is. We know what he wants," Harry said softly. "By tomorrow—or the day after—he won't be appearing again."
Now they had Ciri.
Wherever Voldemort was—in this world or the world of the Aen Elle Elves—they could find him.
"He won't come back again, will he?" Scrimgeour was still uneasy.
Harry looked at him. "We have the last Horcrux. He has no more chances."
Scrimgeour finally exhaled, nodding heavily.
"I heard there was a goblin rebellion yesterday?" Harry asked casually.
Scrimgeour sighed. "At Gringotts. The Ministry's a mess right now."
"There were over three hundred goblins involved. We only managed to capture about thirty—thanks to Dumbledore's help."
"There's been heavy loss."
"If we demand reparations from the goblins, we risk a greater uprising. But if the Ministry pays instead, we can't afford it…"
He was already regretting becoming Minister. Too many headaches. It wasn't nearly as easy as being Head Auror.
"Was Ragnok caught?" Harry asked.
Scrimgeour shook his head. "No. That bastard slipped away before we could gather reinforcements."
"Pity," Harry murmured without expression.
He'd hoped to catch that goblin—there were quite a few materials in his bag that still required his craftsmanship.
The Auror sent out earlier returned quickly.
Bringing news.
"Gregorovitch has already been taken. According to the report, it happened earlier than we expected."
"And Eremeken's workshop was just attacked. Their reply arrived too late—the attackers already fled."
"But the same mark was left behind."
"The Dark Mark."
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Powerstones?
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