Compared to the scene just moments ago—where panicked students scattered in all directions under the relentless pursuit of Dementors, while professors scrambled to put out fires on every front—the situation at the Quidditch pitch had now completely reversed.
The hunted had become the hunters, and the former predators were fleeing in terror before two formidable Patronuses. The hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Dementors that had once surrounded the Quidditch pitch, sealing it off like an impenetrable wall, now dispersed in a chaotic frenzy, shrieking as they fled toward the distant horizon. But alas, against the overwhelming might of two absurdly powerful corporeal Patronuses, these soul-hungry scavengers were little more than a school of fish herded together by a pack of sharks. Trapped within the encirclement of five radiant Patronuses, they could only await their doom in despair.
"Hermione!" Harry shouted, one hand gripping his wand as he stumbled toward the witch slumped on the ground. Instinctively, he reached out to pull her into his arms, but his hand froze halfway, hesitating. After a moment of indecision, his trembling right hand settled gently on her shoulder instead.
"Get some rest for now…" Harry murmured, casting a Somnus charm over Hermione. Under the spell's influence, the pallor drained from her face at a visible pace, her features softening into peace. Watching her slip into a deep sleep, Harry offered a tender smile. Then, he rose to his feet, his gaze turning icy as it fixed on the swarm of Dementors hovering above the Quidditch pitch.
"You… deserve to die!" he spat.
The beam of light that had once blazed aboard the Hogwarts Express flared to life once more.
…
The noonday sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the Minister of Magic's office, casting golden rays across the polished oak desk. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, lounged comfortably in his high-backed leather chair, a glass of red wine in hand. He basked in the perfectly measured flattery of Dolores Umbridge, who stood before him, while between them sat an array of lavish dishes—courtesy of the ever-generous Malfoy family. Lucius Malfoy stood to one side, directing his newly acquired house-elf to serve the Minister and his Undersecretary.
Foie gras imported from France, a truffle-and-mushroom chicken stew specially ordered from the same country, Scottish smoked salmon, fine Bordeaux wine shipped from southwestern France, and, at the center of the table, a dish of escargot baked in garlic butter and served in shells with a rich buttery sauce—all meticulously arranged on gleaming silver platters. Accompanying the feast were two sets of pure silver cutlery: one placed before Fudge, the other before Umbridge, whose face bore a simpering, obsequious grin.
Fudge swirled his wine glass, the deep crimson liquid catching the sunlight in a mesmerizing dance. He took a sip, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
"Minister, I hope you're pleased with this luncheon?" Lucius Malfoy asked with a smile, watching Fudge, who seemed entirely enveloped by his chair.
"Oh, Lucius, I'm quite delighted with the meal you've provided," Fudge replied, spearing a piece of escargot with his silver fork and chewing it slowly. "But surely you didn't go to all this effort and expense for a little banquet in my office just to chat with us?"
"Nothing gets past you, Minister," Lucius said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "To be frank, I do have a matter I'd like to entrust to you and Undersecretary Umbridge."
"Speak freely," Fudge said with a grand wave of his hand, his tone brimming with magnanimity. "If it's within our power to assist, Dolores and I will stand by you."
"Indeed, Lucius," Dolores Umbridge chimed in, twirling her cutlery with a syrupy sweetness that could turn stomachs. "Our… relationship—don't you trust it?"
"Of course I trust the bond we share," Lucius replied smoothly. His eyes flicked to Fudge's nearly empty wine glass. With a tap of his cane, he nudged the house-elf at his side, who promptly refilled the Minister's glass with a flick of magic.
"But Black still has some sway within the Ministry," Lucius continued. "And with that halo of his—enduring over a decade in Azkaban to avenge his friend—I'm genuinely concerned that my bid against him for a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors might tarnish your public image, Minister, and yours too, Undersecretary."
Fudge let out a long, drawn-out "Ohhh." "This business of you vying with Black for a Hogwarts governorship—I've heard about it, as has Dolores. Rumor has it, it all started because your son was injured by some creature at school?"
"Yes, Minister," Lucius said through gritted teeth, his voice laced with venom. "On my own, I could've easily dealt with that gamekeeper and the beast that hurt my son. But then Potter had to go and blab to that meddlesome Black. And to make matters worse, the Weasleys got involved. Either one alone wouldn't trouble me much, but together? They've become quite the thorn in my side."
"The Blacks and the Weasleys combined are indeed a force to be reckoned with," Fudge mused, finishing off the last escargot before eyeing a plump piece of foie gras. "You know, Lucius, my position as Minister isn't exactly secure. So, in this matter, the help Dolores and I can offer might be… limited."
"I understand the difficulties you both face," Lucius said, a flicker of reluctance crossing his face before he masked it. "Which is why I've brought a small token—something I believe will prove quite helpful to you both."
Reaching into his robes, Lucius produced a pouch and withdrew two golden busts—one larger, which he handed to Fudge, and a smaller one for Umbridge. "A modest gesture. Please accept them."
Fudge ran his fingers over his likeness with a pleased grin. "Rest assured, Lucius, Black won't take that Hogwarts seat from you. As for the gamekeeper, though—that's something you'll need to handle yourself. After all, Dolores and I, as Minister and Undersecretary, getting directly involved in such matters… well, you understand."
"No need for either of you to trouble yourselves with the gamekeeper or that beast," Lucius said confidently, kicking the house-elf at his side. The creature scurried to place several exquisitely crafted cakes before Fudge and Umbridge, who had nearly finished their meal.
Watching the clumsy elf—who constantly needed prodding—Lucius couldn't help but think of Dobby, the elf Potter had tricked him into losing. His irritation deepened when he'd heard, by chance, that Dobby now served the Potter family. It gnawed at him.
Dessert was two chocolate frog cakes, adorned with edible gold leaf and jewel-like fruit. Once they were finished, Lucius departed with his elf in tow. But just as the elf opened the office door, a young clerk burst in, shoving it wide.
"Minister! T-Terrible news!" the young man stammered, his brown curls bouncing. "Word just came from those stationed at Hogwarts. The thousand-plus Dementors we left there—to guard against Death Eaters escaping Azkaban—they've all swarmed the Quidditch pitch!"
"What?!" Fudge shot up from his chair. "Why didn't you stop them?! Don't you realize what it'll do to me—to the Ministry—if a single young witch or wizard dies at the hands of Dementors we sent?!"
"I'm sorry, Minister Fudge, Undersecretary Umbridge…" The young man bowed his head, sweat dripping from his brow. "Our people tried to intervene, but the Dementors ignored us completely. By now… there might already be casualties at Hogwarts."
"Damn it!" Fudge paced the room in a frenzy. "What do we do… what do we do…"
Suddenly, he looked up at Umbridge, hope flickering in his eyes. "Dolores, any ideas?"
Umbridge frowned, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. A misstep here could cost Fudge his position—and her hard-earned foothold with him.
"Minister," she whispered, leaning close, "at this point, preserving your authority and the Ministry's reputation is paramount. So… why not pin it all on the handlers tasked with controlling the Dementors? Claim they were swayed by Death Eaters to attack the students. You'd bear only a minor oversight fault—issue a public apology, and that's that."
Fudge's eyes lit up. "Brilliant! We'll do it your way, Dolores. I'm leaving this in your hands!"
"Of course, Minister! I won't let you down!" Umbridge curtsied and hurried out of the office. Feeling the crisis averted, Fudge sank back into his chair, reaching for the wine to pour himself a calming glass—when his secretary burst in, breathless, with news that made his heart lurch.
"Minister! Albus Dumbledore's here at the Ministry—and he's brought Harry Potter!"
"What… Dumbledore… he…" Fudge's panic surged. He glanced around for Umbridge, only to realize she'd already left, leaving him with Lucius and two trembling clerks he barely recognized.
"Lucius, where's Dolores? Wasn't she just here?" Fudge asked, dazed.
"Minister, Undersecretary Umbridge stepped out to handle the Dementor situation, per your orders," Lucius replied, smirking faintly at the Minister's unraveling composure.
"Then what do I… Wait, tell them I'm not here! Make up any excuse—say I'm ill or—"
"No need for that, I think, Cornelius," came a voice as an elderly man in a purple robe strode into the room. "You look quite healthy to me!"
"Dumbledore, hello," Lucius said, bowing slightly. The two young clerks shrank into the shadows the moment Dumbledore appeared.
"Oh, Lucius, you're here too. Perfect—don't leave just yet," Dumbledore said with a wave. A chair materialized beneath Lucius, and an unseen force pressed him into it.
A bead of sweat rolled down Lucius's forehead. He'd never seen Dumbledore this furious.
"Dumbledore, wh-what do you want with me? Perhaps we could… discuss this calmly?" Fudge stammered, shrinking in his chair as he peered up at the towering figure.
"I do have business with you, and yes, I'm quite upset," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes steady behind half-moon spectacles as they fixed on Fudge. "But it's not me you need to answer to this time."
"Then… who?" Fudge stuttered.
"Me!" A young wizard in Gryffindor robes stepped into the office.
"Harry Potter?" Fudge blinked at the boy following Dumbledore, a wave of relief washing over him.
Oh, it's just Harry Potter, he thought. I was afraid Dumbledore was here to demand I account for the little witches and wizards whose souls were sucked out by Ministry Dementors. Turns out it's just this kid? With that, Fudge's nerves settled. He adjusted into a more comfortable position, composed himself, and flashed Harry the warm, approachable smile befitting a Minister of Magic.
"Harry, what's happened?" Fudge asked kindly. "Don't worry—whatever it is, you can tell me. I'll take care of it for you, as Minister!"
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