Wow, this story is fabulous. I'm a sucker for minor-character povs, especially one as beautifully-conceived as your Dawlish. You've captured the essence of the "Great Man" view of the history, both its significant flaws and its compelling appeal. We see exactly why so many people, in so many times and places, have wanted their own Crouches and Scrimgeours, the men (yes, virtually always men) who are going to make everything clear and right. That they never can do so -- that such men don't even really exist -- never stops the Dawlishes of the world from seeking them. And I suspect we all have a touch of Dawlish in us -- the fear that we can't see the big picture and the desperate hope that someone can.
Whatever his limitations, your Dawlish is not a stupid man; now that I've finished reading, his perceptions continue to rattle around in my skull, making noise like the bones in John's head. So many great lines:
The strength of his knowledge fills him up and overflows, while mine just chews holes in my stomach.
They've both got presence, though. Even if it were eight in the morning and this place were packed from wall to wall, they'd be the only people here.
the pure and brutal love that mankind needs Breathtaking wording and perspective here.
I don't know if he cares one way or the other, though, that it's right. It's hard to say what he believes. He may not believe anything. I can't really blame him. Mr. Crouch's passionate faith was what crushed him, and what little of it was ever reflected in me hasn't done me any good, either. Love this distinction between the two Great Men. Your Scrimgeour overall is excellent; his insights into Harry Potter make great reading -- I can just feel his astounded frustration at the sheer cheek of it. I also love the pillow-talk scene, the way the situation is all about the politics for Rufus (forget being fair, it's not working) and all about understanding the leaders for John (what do they expect? Fudge. Of course. And John's line about how following Fudge can only be to the good for Rufus. Great insights, which make his final moral and personal confusion all the more painful.)
I love your small character cameos, too -- now you have me wanting Millicent Bagnold fic, for instance. And the image patterns -- the way you weave the Fountain (and all it implies) throughout the whole piece, building us up to that shattering final scene of Dawlish searching in the fountain for broken glasses, themselves the perfect symbol for the lost hopes and clarity, not only of John, but also of the whole wizarding world.
Sometimes, when it's very late and there's no one around to bother me, I come so close to understanding. Argh.