The Pureblood Coup

Sheherazade: Yes, it is cool to show what probably happened. But it's agonizing cause I know so little, I can't get it exactly right. Sorry it takes so long to update but I want to do the best I can for a first draft. I was also wondering if you like the Pink Floyd reference? Are you familiar with that band?

Continuation of previous chapter:


Chapter Two: Waiting for the Worms


Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, Thorfinn Rowle and Travers stepped onto a purple carpet. A single, long straight corridor led down to two tall, varnished oak doors that apparently was the Minister of Magic stateroom. Four sentinels stood outside. Death Eaters: Nott, Jusgson, Antonin Dolohov and Severus Snape.

As Voldemort approached, with the others flocking behind him in a v- formation, the others raised their left arms at a ninety-degree angle, each sleeve fell back on every left forearm exposing a skull chewing a serpent’s tail. Solemnly the sentinel Death Eaters chanted their allegiance, “Hail the Dark Lord.”

“…Well, Severus…What is the situation here?”

“Shacklebolt tried to reach the Minister, My Lord. We made a barrier so none but a person with a Dark Mark can enter now. There is no chance the Auror reported our presence, as I modified his memory.” Snape said with cool control.

“Then my coup remains immaculately clandestine,” Voldemort surmised with satisfaction.

“But I think Shacklebolt has guessed correctly that today it happens, My Lord. The Auror office has known about this for awhile-“ and then Severus Snape’s tense explanations were interrupted. Voldemort had held a large white hand up to silence him and he stopped speaking at once.

“I understand. Travers outside the doors. Severus, Bella and…Rowle come.”

Travers let Bellatrix and Thorfinn Rowle pass, as he was to remain as one of the four guards on duty with Antonin Dolohov, Jugson, and Nott. Dolohov’s brutal features did not look the least bit content with remaining in his position. Yet, Snape showed no sense of glee at being relieved.

Voldemort, his wand out, held it to the cracks between the doors and with an ominous flash of green light both doors simultaneously flung open.

The stateroom was revealed to be very spacious, but other than that, it looked like any other exorbitant office with additional features adorned throughout.

Rufus Scrimgeour skyrocketed from his red leather armchair as if he had been waiting for this. His wand was straight up, his face toughened, ready for battle. He did not look frightened, but looks can be deceiving.

Percy Weasley, the only other staff member who comes in before lunch as of these days, gaped at Voldemort and his notorious supporters with dazzled disgust. His eyes widening behind horn-rimmed spectacles, his face not losing color, but reddening. Percy absentmindedly dropped the feather quill in his hand, and stood defenseless.

Yet, the Minister and his Junior Assistant at the other end could not do anything. Scrimgeour tried to keep up a fighting stance, but his wand-arm drooped. Rufus knew deep down he did not stand a chance against four on one, not to mention the most powerful Dark Wizard on the face of the earth. All his skills as an Auror, everything he knew was about to end, and he wouldn’t even get to live his dream, to die fighting.

Voldemort advanced onto Scrimgeour, aggression in his every twitch of motion. Like a vicious dog, he had eyes only for his prey, and so did not spot Percy Weasley at the other end.

“You dare stand proud with your wand raised at me? Knowing I am fully backed by all my forces. You are foolishly alone, my Death Eaters have surrounded the place….Drop your wand.”

With a smirk, that did not go unnoticed by Voldemort, the Minister of Magic threw his wand clattering like a plastic dish to the floor.

“Severus, bind the Minister.”

Snape’s obsidian eyes blinked and then then he waved his wand, casting the Incarcerous Spell nonverbally. Thick, ropes tied Scrimgeour’s limbs all the way down to his bound ankles from his broad clavicle. Amazingly, Scrimgeous remained upright, for despite being in Voldemort’s presence he did not tremble and fall; he remained just as graceful and lordly a lion as he ever was.

“Tell me where Harry Potter is, and I might spare your life,” Voldemort spat to the Minister of Magic. This was a lie of course, Voldemort would not consider for an instant letting him live.

Scrimgeour did not respond verbally, but his face darkened, the bushy brows casting doubt, whilst shadows were cast on the glass doors as if they were foe glass. Clouds were building up in the sky outside. There was no chance he could flee to the balcony anyway.

For some reason, he surreptitiously glanced at the perused book on the desk that he had been poring through just before: “The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore” by Rita Skeeter. Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes made him think pious thoughts of honor, and in a split-second he knew how he could fight before he died. Like Dumbledore had said, "for the greater good". It was either this or a coward’s death by divulging information on the Chosen One. Scrimgeour did believe the boy was the Chosen One, even though he had never admitted it to anyone. Harry Potter was the Wizarding races’ one chance of salvation from the horrors of Lord Voldemort, or whatever he really was, Scrimgeour did not know.

“The whereabouts of Harry Potter!” Voldemort demanded as if it was a cinch to order Rufus Scrimgeour around like a servant in order to get him to talk. Already knowing the ex-Auror was not going to listen, Voldemort had said it as an intolerant method to break down his mind to the precise information.

Scrimgeour staggered to remain in balance, his thighs leaning against the edge of the desk. He looked into Voldemort’s red, slit-like pupils and murmured, “No.”

Voldemort ignored the jibe and waited. Scrimgeour repeated, in deep defiant unctuousness, his scarred neck and jaw jutting out, “NO.”

The enraged Bellatrix Lestrange who came on him from the sidelines kicked him vengefully in the shins. Bellatrix was naturally furious. Scrimgeour had defied her master, and that caused her to physically assault him.

The Minister finally swayed and then fell on his side. Percy was looking down, biting his lip so hard it was bleeding. He did not dare move. Rowle meanwhile just watched detachedly.

“Hold him, Severus! As I am to put him under torture. We don’t need our friend, Scrimgeour writhing in his agony. I must have him focused to do the Legilimency thoroughly.”

Severus answered curtly, “Yes, Master.” He knelt in back of Scrimgeour’s tawny hair flecked golden and gray. Snape’s bony, veined hands clutched like an octopus’s tentacles on Scrimgeour’s arms, pinning him. Bellatrix knelt grabbing his shins. Voldemort did not want them to do the Petrificus totalus spell because that would render him incapable of speech, so they had to keep him perfectly inert non-magically. Rowle meanwhile, spotted Percy but did not say anything, thinking it was inconsequential.

The Dark Lord paced around Scrimgeour in a circle, prowling like a wolf about to devour his prey. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. The eyes like flames bored into Scrimgeour from above as he thundered, “Crucio!”

Scrimgeour’s body stiffened if possible even more as he struggled against the bonds and his eyes rolled back, but Voldemort was already inside his mind. The Minister’s mind was as blank as a gun with empty bullet cartridges. There was nothing there for Voldemort. Scrimgeour happened to be an exceptional Occlumens like Severus Snape is.

Voldemort shifted to stand in back of Snape, looking down at Scrimgeour’s head, the Minister’s color draining from the sallow tinge to a milky white complexion.

“Is Harry Potter…at one of the homes of the Order of the Phoenix?! Or with the ridiculous friends he keeps? Answer me!” Voldemort sounded to be losing control over his emotions. He knew Scrimgeour held the answer, “Where is he today? Right now…Tell me, so I can finally KILL the boy who should never have been….Crucio!”

Scrimgeour moaned trying to constrict his vocal cords so as not to be so loud, as he did not want to lose any dignity in his last moments.

“Severus, get your Legilimens blade. I want his memories encapsulated,” Voldemort hissed violently.

Snape delved into a front pocket of his frock coat and whipped out a tiny blade. He raised the blade and plunged it into Scrimgeour’s receding hairline at the crown of his head. With a surgeon’s expertise, Severus wound out silky threads, as Voldemort continued to torture him.

Scrimgeour’s shrewd eyes spurted liquid. It oozed in copious trickles down to his goatee. It was replications of his thoughts coming out.

“Useless…As empty as space!” Voldemort screamed insanely vexed. If only he was cognizant enough to remember that space is not empty, he would have created a better analogy.

Snape nodded silently to himself, well aware that black colored memory strands are completely pointless, as they contain no information.

Scrimgeour whispered as if in prayer, “Strength and honor…Shadows and dust.”

The high-pitched voice of Lord Voldemort issued, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

And then the controversial leader, Rufus Scrimgeour was struck with a green jet of the killing curse and the Minister of Magic of Great Britain was dead. The yellow eyes were oddly clear, despite the liquid still oozing out the sockets. In one swift execution the coup had been officially accomplished by the assassination of the head of state.

Voldemort threw his shoulders back, standing taller than ever, his presence commanding. For now he was in charge and his crazy subconscious equated it with the universe put at his mercy. And The lank body of the assasinated minister just layed there on the floor, frothy liquid oozing down the cheeks and neck, like blood. For everybody had just turned away from him. Scrimgeour had died dark and alone...The crowd had held back when Voldemort did the deed.

“Rowle…Transport Scrimgeour to the Malfoy’s, and put it away safely, and then return back to the Ministry.”

Rowle smiled pleasurably, glad to finally be delegated a task.

Percy was still standing there twenty yards away, miraculously unnoticed. Percy gazed bravely at the empty shell of the one he admired. In an epiphany he knew that he did not want to become Minister anymore.

The huge blonde Death Eater’s muscular arms hoisted the bound corpse of Rufus Scrimgeour over his shoulders and sent it with him through the emerald flames.

There is still more things to show surrounding events at the Ministry that day!!! And Scrimgeour's corpse will be in the story later.