Rufus Scrimgeour pulled on his waterproof cloak with sharp, decisive movements, fastening it securely against the lingering dampness in the air. He strode away from the Hog's Head, and quickly disappeared into the flooded alley.
Bryan stood at the doorway, watching Rufus's retreating figure intently until it reached the main road and turned the corner, vanishing from sight completely. Only then did he withdraw his thoughtful gaze, his mind already moving to the next piece on the board.
Scrimgeour had ultimately been persuaded by him.
Unlike Kakus Fawley and Ludo Bagman, Bryan hadn't promised Rufus anything tangible.
Because Bryan understood very clearly that if he tried to exchange power for promises with someone like Rufus Scrimgeour, someone so proud and principled despite his precarious political position, the man would simply turn on his heel and walk away without a second glance.
He'd dared to invite Rufus out for this meeting and ultimately succeeded in persuading him because, at their core, beneath all the political complexity and factional divisions, the two men shared the most fundamental common goal: protecting the wizarding world from Voldemort's return.
Of course, this was still a transaction in its own way, and delivering on power, on real, meaningful change was essential.
Rufus would expect results, not just words.
Turning his head, Bryan found Aberforth standing behind the bar, gazing deeply at him with those blue Dumbledore eyes. His expression was incomprehensible, complex with emotions Bryan could only partially decipher.
Bryan's lips curved into an easy, disarming smile.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, Aberforth. I know I've caused you a bit of trouble today with all these visitors. Oh, but you don't have much business anyway at this hour, do you? Hardly anyone comes in on weekday afternoons."
"A bit of trouble?"
Aberforth seemed to want to laugh mockingly at this, but couldn't quite manage it. His face contorted with the attempt. His lips twitched and trembled, and his heaving chest, rising and falling with rapid, angry breaths was enough to show anyone watching how absolutely furious he was beneath his attempted control.
"You're conspiring to overthrow the Ministry of Magic in my pub, using it as your headquarters for sedition. Huh, and this is just 'a bit of trouble' in your view?!"
His initially low, controlled tone turned into a full-throated roar at the end, building like a wave.
"If you want to spend the rest of your life consorting with those evil dark creatures in Azkaban, rotting in that hell, I can't stop you, Watson! That's your choice to make! But I'm telling you right now, I absolutely don't want to take even half a step into that cursed place. Oh, I can't just let you run wild and drag me down with you. I'm going to write to the Ministry right now and report you, tell them everything I heard!"
"Overthrow the Ministry of Magic?"
Bryan laughed, looking genuinely amused by the characterization.
"Oh, what a terrible misunderstanding, Aberforth. When did I ever say I wanted to overthrow the Ministry of Magic? Those weren't my words at all. I'm just, ah, trying to correct some fatal strategic errors the current Ministry leadership is committing in its handling of the Voldemort situation."
"Don't try to fool me with slippery politician's talk, Watson!"
Aberforth roared fiercely, his face was flushing red with anger and perhaps fear.
"I absolutely don't want to be dragged down just as I'm about to enter my coffin, to enrich my life resume with a stint in Azkaban in my final years. I'm going to report you, Watson. Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do! I'll write to Fudge himself!"
Putting on his own traveling coat and waving his wand casually to clear away the scattered leftovers on the table, Bryan chuckled good-naturedly, looking utterly unworried.
"Then be my guest, Aberforth. Write your letter. But I'm afraid I don't have time to continue wrangling with you here. I have other important meetings scheduled today. Well then, goodbye for now—"
Bryan waved cheerfully to the young woman in the portrait hanging above the fireplace—Ariana, whose bright eyes gleamed with curiosity as she timidly observed this conversation. Then he likewise strode quickly toward the door and out of the Hog's Head.
The bell rang sharply as the door closed behind him, the sound echoing was through the dim bar with its accumulated filth on the floor, mingling unpleasantly with Aberforth's heavy, frustrated breathing.
His bright blue eyes stared darkly, intensely at the closed wooden door. Suddenly, in a particular moment of realization, Aberforth's expression broke open.
He rushed to the door with surprising speed for a man his age and flung it open violently, but the empty path before him made Aberforth's anger explode completely into rage.
"Damn you, Watson! You didn't pay for the drinks!!"
Bryan neither returned to Hogwarts through the secret passage at Honeydukes with its hidden entrance nor entered the castle through the main school gates where he might be observed by students or staff.
Instead, he had climbed over the high, muddy slope where the Shrieking Shack stood in its lonely isolation. From there, he'd entered the deep, shadowy Forbidden Forest through the undulating wilderness that bordered school grounds, traveling all the way to the forest's edge in his shadow form—that useful ability that made him nearly invisible and intangible.
Pausing at the tree line, gazing from his concealed position at the flooded grounds and the young wizards who, having finished their afternoon classes and preparing eagerly to go for their usual evening run, were instead helplessly blocked in the entrance hall by the floodwaters, Bryan once again praised himself quietly for his cleverness in avoiding that mess.
The heavy rain had transformed the Forbidden Forest into an ocean as well, a waterlogged maze. The dark forest, normally filled with sound, held no insect chirps or bird calls now. Instead, it was filled everywhere with the constant sound of flowing water.
Looking around carefully, judging his route, Bryan could see the water in the forest was deep enough to require boats for normal passage. Only a few tangled tree stumps and moss-covered rocks protruded above the murky surface were creating small islands of relative dryness.
After roughly determining his direction by the fading light and his memory of the forest's geography, Bryan once again transformed smoothly into living shadow. He skimmed rapidly across the water's surface like a dark ghost, moving with ghostly speed. Ten minutes later, barely winded despite the distance, he appeared at the entrance to the centaur settlement.
The rain had just stopped; the clouds were finally breaking apart. The weak skylight coming through the dense canopy no longer held summer's usual brightness and warmth. Instead, blazing torches were being lit throughout the area, illuminating the pitch-black Forbidden Forest one by one like beacons, pushing back the encroaching darkness.
The centaur tribe dwelling in the Forbidden Forest had survived here, had made this dangerous place their home, for far longer than Hogwarts itself had existed. They were ancient, with traditions stretching back millennia.
With such sufficient experience accumulated over countless generations, they naturally wouldn't be troubled by a mere heavy rain. The centaur settlement itself was wisely built on high ground in the Forbidden Forest, well above the flood-prone lowlands.
Looking up at the high wooden poles planted firmly beside the stockade gate frame, Bryan's eyes fell on several relatively fresh corpses hanging there like grotesque decorations. They'd been pierced into virtual pincushions by multiple wooden spears thrust through their bodies.
Bryan raised an eyebrow with interest at the brutal scene.
"Are these the ones who recently broke into the forest uninvited?"
The centaur elder Horn, who had been patiently waiting at the gate for Bryan's arrival, swayed his silvery mane in acknowledgment. He scraped a shallow pit in the damp ground with his front hoof.
Horn didn't seem as visibly annoyed or hostile as Firenze and Ronan behind him, both of whom held flaming torches. His old voice instead carried a tone of genuine sorrow and weariness.
With his hands clasped calmly behind his back, under the steady gaze of the three centaurs watching his every move, Bryan strolled casually beneath the corpses hanging on the high poles like chilling swings. He carefully examined each dead face, studying their face, searching for recognition.
"They are not British wizards. Foreigners."
Finding no "acquaintances" among the corpses, he shook his head in slight disappointment, then smiled again with dark amusement.
"You know, Horn, if Hogwarts fails in what's coming, there will be even more foreigners appearing here in your forest in the future. Many more. They'll flood across the borders—"
Hearing this dire prediction, both Firenze and Ronan showed visible unease in their expressions. Both looked toward the elder's back, seeking guidance, wondering how he would respond to this implied request.
"I am very sorry, Mr. Watson—"
Horn lowered his head in what might have been shame or merely diplomatic regret. His old voice sounded particularly weary, aged beyond even his old years.
"Centaurs will not defy the will of the heavens, the dictates of fate. The movement of the planets has already shown the centaurs what will happen in the near future. That destiny is written in the stars. It is destined to occur, unavoidable. We will not intervene in wizards' wars, no matter how we may sympathize."
"Hehe, Horn, do you honestly think this is—"
Bryan gestured meaningfully with his eyes toward the dead men hanging in mid-air above them, then looked back at Horn with piercing significance.
"A wizards' war?"
Firenze seemed anxious, as if wanting to say something, to argue or explain. But he was stopped by Ronan's sharp glance and subtle shake of the head. Meanwhile Horn continued to avoid Bryan's gaze, remaining silent with lowered eyebrows, refusing to be drawn into debate.
Seeing this evading, Bryan didn't press further. He merely said lightly,
"Let's go, then. Take me to them."
The sound of three centaurs treading through standing water echoed in the darkness-dominated forest, their hooves were making distinctive splashing sounds. Meanwhile Bryan floated beside Horn with his hands still clasped behind his back, advancing slowly through the gloom, matching their pace.
"Do they know about this visit of mine?"
Bryan's voice, devoid of joy or anger, tore through the darkness and heavy silence of the dense forest.
"I received your notice about your intended visit, but I haven't had time to negotiate with them yet about your arrival."
Horn admitted somewhat uncomfortably.
Bryan nodded slightly in understanding, thought for a moment as they walked, then said in a lowered tone.
"Regarding Cliodna's fate, how much do they know?"
"They don't know that Miss Cliodna has already been imprisoned in the wizards' prison—"
Horn stumbled suddenly in a deeper puddle than expected. Firenze and Ronan behind him quickly stepped forward with concern to support the elder's sides as he carefully stepped out of the puddle. After stomping his hooves twice to regain his balance and shake off the clinging mud, Horn continued with audible exhaustion,
"When Miss Cliodna sent the members of her sect into the enchanted forest here, she specifically informed them that they couldn't maintain any contact with the outside world, or they would face serious dangers from multiple parties.
Before being sent to the wizards' prison after her capture, Miss Cliodna seemed to have anticipated this outcome. She told her tribespeople that she had to carry out a mission and needed to be away for a long, indeterminate time."
Thinking of something troubling, Horn looked toward Bryan, whose expression had grown noticeably somber and shadowed in the dim torchlight, and hesitated before continuing.
"If possible, Mr. Watson, I hope that when you meet those people in a few minutes, you won't tell them this news about her capture and imprisonment."
His voice became almost pleading.
"You must know that she... is very beloved among them. This news would be cruel to them, devastating. And moreover..."
Horn's words faltered and died, unable to complete the thought. Bryan expressionlessly helped him finish the sentence, his voice flat,
"And moreover, it would intensify the conflict?"
After a long silence, with only the sound of water and their movement through the forest, the breeze carried away two nearly simultaneous sighs.
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