ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ | ᴛᴏᴍɪᴏɴᴇ

The Dark Lord's Heir, ch. 3

Scrimgeour's grip on her shoulder was still there after they side-Apparated. Everyone landed well on their feet, though Harmony wavered a little; Scrimgeour's hand kept her steady. Beneath her black boots were familiar cobble streets. She looked up to see her reflection in a window she had passed many times before: Flourish and Blotts.

"Diagon Alley, Ron?" Ginny inquired as they all got their bearings.

"It was the first place I could think of," said Ron, face going red.

"You did all right, Ron," said Mr. Weasley. "Come, let's get out of the open."

As one, they started down the street. Scrimgeour whipped his wand in Harmony's face.

"Follow."

Her body snapped to attention and obeyed. She wished she could spit a few curse words in his face, ones that would make even Ron gasp. How dare he use an Unforgiveable Curse against her? When she had first seen Scrimgeour's bloody state, a part of her had pitied him. Now her empathy for him vanished.

Harmony tried to remember her last trip to Diagon Alley but the memories eluded her. However, her trip to Knockturn Alley was still fresh in mind. She had spent a majority of her dueling competition winnings on Polyjuice potion to infiltrate Menkar Asylum and break Voldemort--at least who she thought was him--free. It was strange to think that had only been a week ago. Only a week? Was that right? So much has happened since then. She had been reunited with her soulmate, became engaged, helped take over the Ministry of Magic, and then lost him. All in seven days.

She needed a less exciting life.

While her distant memories of Diagon Alley were colorful and lively--hordes of young witches and wizards shuffling excitedly from shop to shop--it now resembled Knockturn Alley. Colors were muted, fog rolling in about their ankles, shopkeepers quietly holed up inside like scared mice. Shop windows and the brick walls between them were covered in posters. Voldemort's propaganda.

Your New Minister! Your Savior!

The Dark Lord Minister!

Embrace Your Power! Strong Before the Weak!

Many of the posters also listed Voldemort's endless list of new laws. As she had expected, he hadn't wasted any time enforcing his power over the Wizarding World. Death Eaters wearing brand new black robes with opulent silver Dark Mark brooches patrolled the streets with wands drawn, eagerly searching for witches and wizards to reprimand. Scrimgeour twitched his wand and Harmony's body forced itself into the group of adults, out of view.

"Look!" Ginny exclaimed, pointing up to the sky and all eyes followed. Soaring high above the pointed rooftops, Death Eaters flew on broomsticks in groups of two or three.

"Those buggers are everywhere," said George.

"They're patrolling the skies," said Mr. Weasley. He pressed an urgent hand into Ginny's back. "Come now, let's get inside."

They reached the Leaky Cauldron, although it was barely recognizable under the layers and layers of posters. Inside was dimly lit and smelled of tobacco smoke which swirled in a great cloud above their heads. Patrons of all shapes and sizes were scattered about in small groups with their heads bent close together, exchanging whispers. They approached the bar. The barkeep was bent over, rummaging glasses around the lower shelf. When he straightened, they were met with a rather thin, brown-haired, buck-toothed young man.

"Neville!" Harry and Ron exclaimed.

Neville's eye's popped open. Swinging a rag over his shoulder, he strode out from behind the bar. The boys came forward to embrace him, but Neville stopped them cold when he slapped a hand to heart and proclaimed: