Chapter Text

POV Cornelius Fudge

Chapter 31 – See No Evil

You are blinded, by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius!
You fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!
Fail to act – and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside for Voldemort.

Farah woke me, as she did every morning, with the smell of her freshly baked bread and a strong batch of tea. She had already set the breakfast table with honey, feta, Sarsheer, jam, and a plate of sliced tomatoes, when I came down the stairs in my morning robe.

“You are an angel; did I ever tell you that?”

“Every morning, darling, every morning.” She poured both of us a cup.

Though I was tired from a long night of work – one cup of her masterfully brewed tea could have invigorated the dead. They just didn’t make tea like this at the office. It just tasted like mildly flavoured water, anywhere else. Of course I’d never tell my secretary that. It would be very rude indeed.

“Will you have to work late again?” Farah asked.

“I don’t think I will. I’ll have to travel to Scotland for the afternoon, but I should be back for an early supper.”

“You know, my sister and her husband are visiting London…” She hesitated. She hated her sister’s constant criticism, her snide remarks, yet loved spending time with her. Once a year, every year… It was torture. But they wouldn’t have it any other way. “She will be expecting an invitation to dinner.”

“We could rob her of the opportunity to insult my mother’s china for once.”

“Cornelius! I couldn’t!” she exclaimed, though part of her was enjoying the idea.

“I meant we could take them to a nice restaurant, so you don’t have to cook all day. She doesn’t appreciate your divine creations.” I pulled the bread apart. Soft, yet crunchy on the outside. The sweet honey made it taste truly heavenly. “Remember the stew debacle of ’93?”

“It wasn’t a debacle!”

“She made the house elf cry! I didn’t even know they could do that! Poor thing… you wouldn’t want her to suffer, would you?”

She sighed, and poured herself a second cup. “Fine. Make a reservation. When will you be back from the old man’s mad castle?” She looked upset. She’d never liked Dumbledore, even back when I had believed him to be kind, yet eccentric guy. He’d been a pleasant enough house guest. There was no one with better manners, or more sparkling conversation topics. But Farah had always been a traditionalist, and she had been rather critical of her daughter being raised around a half-giant and getting a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor each year. My last wife had been more lenient towards him, even exchanged the occasional letter or Christmas present, which, of course, made things worse.

“Around five, I think. I might have to step in the office real quick to look over some paper work, but I can be be at the restaurant at seven thirty.”

“Optimistic,” she said, in that sing-song voice announcing a fight.

“Possibly. Let’s make it eight. They’ll have tea time in Diagon Alley anyways. You know how Bahar loves her scones!”

*

The weather in Scotland had gone from warm, almost hot, to rainy, when we arrived. Hogwarts towered over the landscape like a stony giant, and the Forbidden Forest looked pitch black and ominous in the rain.

We stopped at the iron-wrought gates, and waited, as cloaked figures with umbrellas came closer on the other side.

“He could have let us travel by floo powder,” I complained, as the water dripped off of my favourite bowler hat and onto my coat.

“We sent a request, of course,” Percy Weasley, ever the polite underling, offered. “But Dumbledore refused. He claimed it was a security issue. The only way into Hogwarts is through those gates. I did impress how important your visit was, and how limited your time is as Minister for Magic, but he wouldn’t budge.”

“Of course not.” I squinted, but couldn’t make out the figures. “Is that – is that Moody?”

“Oh no, he’ll do a thousand anti-intruder tests on us,” Dawlish moaned, while Williams and Chang simply chuckled, waving at the old man. Insane he might be, but even as the Aurors were investigating him, he inspired awe. His glory days of the 70es and early 80s would not soon be forgotten.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” he barked, and the unassuming, mousy-brown haired woman by his side nodded curtly, while her enormous glasses made her look like a second Sybil Trelawney. “We’ll have to follow safety protocols. If you don’t mind. Wouldn’t want Deatheaters impersonating you to get access to the kids.”

“Do we look like –“ Chang started, but Dawlish interrupted him.

“Of course. Just get on with it. we have more appointments today.” He stepped up to the gates first, and eyed the secrecy sensor with some apprehension, as it was pointed at him. The entire time, Moody stared at him, as though he wanted to burn a hole into his head.

One by one, we were stared at, asked useless questions, and probed with the sensor. Moody, I assumed, was using Legilimency – a useless feat against Aurors or dark wizards, but it wouldn’t exactly speed things up, if I told him that.

“In a hurry, are we?” he growled, at that exact moment.

“We are.”

“Well, come on in.” He tapped the gates with one of Dumbledore’s silver instruments, muttering an incantation. It sprang open at once, and creaked loudly.

Things were clearly falling apart in that place, once they’d lost Hagrid. The ivy covering the walls had grown wild, the intensely blue and yellow flowers close-by were weeds, and the giant boar hound standing by their side looked wilder than ever. He could’ve used a good brushing, or a bath, by the smell of it. at least they still had control over the Thestrals, as they let us ride the carriages up to the main entrance.

“Will you test our wands again?” I asked Moody, exasperated, as he made us stop at the door.

“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be allowed to bring wands in,” he responded, eyes narrowed. “But Dumbledore had a better idea – or so he says. Still, I’d argue –“ He exchanged a glance with the woman, and fell silent. Things must not be as rosy inside the Order as we’d thought.

When the front door swung inwards, I thought I’d have preferred to go in wandless.

“Welcome, welcome,” the man at the door said, his two-toned eyes glittering with malice. He stepped aside to let us in, and his dark robes swung around him dramatically. “I’m sure you understand the need for extra safety. Last time you sent us a flock of those,” he peered at the Aurors, “seven children lost their father.”

Nobody dared to look at Percy Weasley, which clearly had been Grindelwald’s goal. Percy looked straight ahead, ignored the remark like the professional he was, and Grindelwald gave up.

“Let’s just get on with it,” Moody growled. Both him and the woman looked livid at the memory of Arthur Weasley, which Grindelwald thoroughly enjoyed. He’d always riled up people against Aurors, even within their own ranks. It was one of his many disgusting specialties – sewing dissent. Poisoning the well with eloquent speeches and fancy spectacles. “How is dear Dolores? Well, I hope?”

“She got into a fight with a goblin,” Chang said, before anyone could stop him. “She’s at St – what? It’ll be in the papers tomorrow!”

“Goblins,” Grindelwald said, looking mildly amused. It made his features look colder. “Funny. I didn’t even know those were on her list. But I do look forward to reading about her many adventures in the Prophet. Thank you, young one.” He gave Chang a nod and a wink, which only managed to disgust Weasley. I couldn’t help thinking that most things Grindelwald said sounded like barely veiled threats. I’d have to place guards by Dolores hospital bed.

“He’s expecting you,” Grindelwald said, pointing at the stone gargoyles in front of Dumbledore’s office, who sprung aside for him. No password needed. It was bone-chilling, how much Dumbledore trusted this monster. To my utter surprise, he stayed behind.

“You’re not coming in?” I could have said nothing. It would likely have been better – Merlin knows, this man shouldn’t be challenged, though, as Minister for Magic, I did, of course, enjoy a certain level of protection. “How will he know what to say?”

Next to me, Weasley chuckled dutifully. “Very good, minister, very good!” He almost stumbled over his own feet.

“You’re meeting with the headmaster,” Grindelwald said in a bored voice. His cold face sent chills down my spine. “None of you pose a threat to him and I so hate listening to politicians.” He paused, his two-toned eyes glittering menacingly. “Would you like me to come in with you?”

“No, thank you!” I stepped in last, and slammed the door shut behind us.

Dumbledore didn’t bother to get up from the corner sofa, where he’d taken place next to a tea tray. A bright pink and red knitted blanket lay on his lap, and he looked spent. Tired. It was a strange sight indeed – I didn’t recall him showing his age quite as much in past meetings. This man, who apparently had been reading a two separate piles of sinister looking books, judging by the tiny side table, instead of doing any real work, didn’t seem like a headmaster. He reminded me of a retiree, and so did the cosy blue Kashmir sweater he was wearing instead of wizard’s robes. The tiny red and golden bird on his sleeve was so detailed, so masterfully done, it could only be Molly Weasley’s work.

“Welcome,” he said calmly, though his eyes looked colder than usual. Sharper. “Have you come to discuss school matters, or do you intend to attack more of my friends?” It was chilling, how even the mild implication of a threat showed his power, regardless of the circumstances he was suffering.

“We’re here on behalf of the school board,” I informed him.

He still didn’t move. Maybe he couldn’t. So we stepped into the little living room corner, down a set of stairs. It was cramped, with all of us in there.

“We want the exams to be held in a ministry building. The examiners shouldn’t have to come into this lion’s den of a… whatever it is you do here. And I’d like to know what you intend to do about the vacancies. Hagrid and McGonagall –“

“Professor Hagrid,” Dumbledore said softly, “has been replaced by Professor Grubbly-Plank. Professor Trelawney has been covering Minerva’s classes for all OWL and NEWT students. I’ve informed you via owl. You’re able to read a letter, aren’t you, Cornelius?”

“That doesn’t change the fact,” I started, trying to arrange myself in the new situation, trying, desperately, not to look over my shoulder, to see whether he’d have someone attacking us at any given moment, “that you need a Transfiguration Professor. And per Educational Degree No. 22…” I could have sworn the door had opened once more, and clicked shut. But when I’d turned my head, there was no one there.

“I’m aware. You’ve given yourself authority to appoint someone, if I fail to fill the position.” He looked down in mild indignation, as a cat jumped onto his lap, but didn’t stop the animal from doing so. Dolores’ cat. He simple went about the conversation, as if nothing had happened. “Have you come here to present such an appointment?” He laid down a set of quills on the sofa table, as if inviting me to write down a name.

“Did you – you kept her pet?” I stared down at the quills. They were long, thin, and black. I’d never seen such an instrument, but it didn’t look good. “What is wrong with you?”

Dumbledore looked down at the cat, which had started purring. “I wasn’t aware this cat belonged to anybody. She keeps visiting me from time to time.”

“I could appoint a replacement tonight,” I threatened him. “You’re obviously busy fighting imaginary wars and reliving the old glory days, instead of running this school –“

“Imaginary…” He looked at me through those annoyingly blue eyes that seemed to be able to look into ones brain and soul. “I see. How much longer do you intend to hold onto denial, Cornelius?”

“I’m not –“

“People are dying.”

“Your people! Committing suicide, and suffering from a lack of security measures and –“ I couldn’t speak on. It was clear from his judgmental look that he wouldn’t budge from his delusions. That he truly believed in this return to war times. Maybe he needed it – he’d been quite popular, back in the day. All the signs pointed to an age-driven delusion: hiring Lupin and Moody, his old Order friends. Holding insane speeches about You-know-who. Bringing back Grindelwald. Maybe it was dementia. Maybe this was how the once great Albus Dumbledore ended up. I almost felt sorry for him.

“It’s not too late,” he said, though his voice had become sharp. The cat in his lap had ceased purring. Even it seemed to listen intently. “Your Aurors have murdered a beloved ministry employee, but that was not your orders. Neither were Dolores’ abusive detention methods.” He pointed to the quills. “Your legacy is still being written, Cornelius.”

“I can see you’re going down with this… this delusion.” I tried very hard not to look at Weasley, who’d dropped some of his parchment notes of this very meeting, when his father was mentioned. Clumsy boy. He was a good sport, but he’d become a touch nervous lately, jumping when people walked into rooms and things like that. “Be that as it may: The students will be invited to the ministry, where they will sit their final exams. And I’ll have a new Transfiguration Professor for you by Tuesday. I’ll set up interviews with the schoolboard Monday and…”

“No,” he said, and there was nothing old or weak about him. His eyes were cold as ice; every line in his ancient face looked powerful and terrifying. I’d been told about his rage, about how it terrified people, but I’d never seen it simmering, just beneath the surface. Had it always been there? Were people just complying with him out of fear, behind closed doors? And why was that cat purring louder, when he was this ominous?

“I beg your pardon?”

“No, you will not endanger my students. I know who works for you. And I know – even though you don’t want it to be true – how many of your employees have been and are still linked to Voldemort. You will send the examiners to Hogwarts on the exam dates. I will oversee their safety myself. You may send me a suggestion for a new professor, but if you think I’ll let someone like Dolores into my school again, you know me very little.”

“I think that much is pretty clear!” I got to my feet, which wasn’t easy, as his armchairs were so annoyingly soft and comfortable. “Weasley, write down – meeting finished – Dumbledore uncooperative – making accusations –“

“Blood quills shouldn’t be used on children, don’t you think?” He spoke even more softly, but the threat in his voice was clear. “Would you accept it, if it were your daughters, Cornelius?”

“Are you threatening my family?” I could barely breathe. The room had suddenly become very small, and hot, and I felt like I needed air. The audacity, really!

“No, it is you who’s been threatening my chosen family. You, who put my friends on a made-up terrorist watch list, who misconstrued my brother’s and friend’s murders by leaning on the Prophet.” He didn’t bother rising his voice. As he kept speaking, it became harsher, yet more quiet. You could have heard a needle drop in the room. “Your petulant grip on power by any means is dangerous, and it will cost countless lives. I need you to know that. There will be no return from the path you’re on. There might not even be a Minister for Magic, in the near future – on paper, perhaps, but we’ll know who will reign, even though you’re closing your eyes to that eventuality. Why do you think Lucius Malfoy has been placed by your side?”

“You and your accusations again!” I grabbed my coat, and signalled to the others that we were about to leave. “Unbelievable! Noble, old family, the Malfoys… donations to excellent causes… Oh, there is no winning with you, is there? I tell you this – we’ll sleep soundly again, once you’ve been removed from this school for good!”

The cat lifted its head and hissed, glaring at me through glowing, blue eyes, even though I could have sworn they were brown earlier. Strange animal.

“You can try,” Dumbledore said, and he didn’t even attempt to hide the arrogance in his voice. “But we both know you have neither the wits nor the manpower to make that a reality. Good day.”

“Come on,” I yelled at Weasley, who was still on the floor, trying to pick up the last of his notes. “What are you doing there – just leave it! We’re out of here. Dumbledore – you’ll get a replacement for McGonagall, whether you like it or not. I’ll make the announcement Tuesday morning. Look forward to my speech.”

“Oh, I do look forward to seeing you next Tuesday,” Dumbledore said, in a tone so polite, so elegant that it almost hid the anger in his voice. The cat, for some reason, seemed to be very amused by his statement. If cats could be amused, that is. Several of the headmaster’s portraits in the room were whispering. Some giggled. I could have sworn Phineas Nigellus had thrown Dumbledore a wink. I really had no clue what was going on now. Had this entire place gone mad?

*

On the way out, we could hear students whisper and point. There was an ominous air to the place that I hadn’t sensed a year ago. Children seemed to hide, rather than showing open curiosity. I glimpsed sons and daughters of my own employees who wouldn’t meet my eyes. Were they frightened? Was Dumbledore doing something to them, controlling them in some manner?

I was so irritated, I almost bumped into a tall, surly looking boy with impressively broad shoulders.

“Sorry,” the kid mumbled. His small eyes widened when he recognized me. “Oh!”

“Not to worry, my boy, not to worry.” His Slytherin tie calmed me somewhat. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Vincent, isn’t it? Vincent Crabbe?”

“His name’s Goyle,” the weedy looking kid next to him answered. The boy and girl behind them looked as if I’d said something wildly offensive. I recognized them as the Parkinson girl – she looked just like her aunt Patricia – and… I couldn’t tell who the tall, dark-skinned boy was, but he was wearing a shiny, brand new Prefect badge.

“Ah, yes. so – are you enjoying your school year? Has it been very hard, losing so many teachers? Those constant changes can’t be easy. And losing someone like Dolores… Oh, I bet she’s hard to replace.”

“Professor Snape is doing just fine,” the small boy said, still glowering. I didn’t really recall what had happened to this Vincent person, but he must still be mad about my remark.

“Well, we’ll do our best to replace the other teachers as well, so you’ll be all set for your exams and have a little more, eh, supervision. Don’t you worry.” I tipped my head to them. “Have a good day.”

“How has Umbridge protected any of us,” the girl called after me, though the others quickly tried to silence her. “Where was she when we were attacked by Dementors?” When I turned, the boys had already pulled her around the corner.

“Those poor children!” I turned to Weasley, who stared after the students. “Dumbledore must be feeding them all sorts of lies!” Weasley remained silent.

“He can be very convincing, minister,” Dawlish said, nodding.

When we kept walking, none of the signs were calming to the nerves. The sacked Sybil Trelawney was still there, sharing a tea break with two girls on a nearby bench, the books Transfiguration for Beginner and Metamorphosis in their laps. More students – a Quidditch team, quickly lead past us by Madam Hooch, who didn’t have the manners to greet me, and a number of Ravenclaw students with very angry faces (“Come on, Marietta,” a tall, dark-haired boy said, pulling a puffy-faced girl away. He looked sad himself.) Somewhere, at the end of a hallway, I was certain to see Snape, though he turned and walked away, as we came closer.

As I walked by Minerva McGonagall’s old office, I could feel the lump in my chest. I’d gone to school with Minerva. We’d been friendly, or at least cordial, for so many decades. Just imagining she’d done this to herself, possibly distraught over all the stress Dumbledore had put her through… It was hard to keep ones eyes dry. I reminded myself that I had to stay presentable.

The door was ajar, and, just for a second, I could see Grindelwald talking to a tall, stunningly beautiful, dark-skinned woman wearing a bright white silk blouse. I couldn’t place her, and I had the feeling that I should. Was she here to replace McGonagall? Or was it a new Order member, one we didn’t have on our watch list?

“Who…”

“Zabini,” Dawlish whispered. “Oh, I don’t know her, but it’s impossible to forget that face. Her grandfather and his cousins were diehard Grindelwald supporters. The mother, too. Most are dead, just like her many husbands. You’ve seen her son earlier – the Slytherin prefect.”

“I see. So it could be a parent-teacher-conference?” It was my last, desperate hope. I’d read about the infamous Mrs Zabini – the woman who’d outlived seven husbands, and inherited all of their gold. It was clear to me what she was, especially, if she was close to people like Grindelwald. Did Dumbledore surround himself exclusively with serial killers these days? Snape, Grindelwald, Zabini, possibly Sirius Black? (The reports on that were weak and unspecific, though evidence kept popping up that Dumbledore had, in fact, believed Black’s story about his ‘innocence.’)

I almost ran into Weasley, when he stopped, out of nowhere. His face was ashen. It took me a moment to realize what was going on. We had met a group of students coming out of the Great Hall – chatting excitedly, pink-faced, with happy faces. Some of their smiles – and I could recognize from the flaming red hair that they must be Weasley’s siblings – had vanished. The twins, in the back, had started whispering to each other. The fiery-haired small girl next to Harry Potter glowered up at us.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded to know.

“Good day, students,” I said quickly, so Weasley was spared the embarrassment of a family fight. “We’re simply here on school business. A few new teachers need to be hired, exams are to be planned. Ah, I can see you’ve been studying,” I said, nodding at a bushy-haired girl, holding a stack of heavy books. “How nice.”

“Maybe, Minister,” the girl said, holding her head up high, and earning admiring glances from the others, “you might send someone who actually intends to teach us something, for a change. We can read theory books by ourselves.”

“You definitely can,” the tallest Weasley boy commented, swooning over the impertinent girl.

“He won’t,” Potter said, and his green eyes fixed me in a strange way. Unblinking. Cold. Clever. Had he always been this clever. “He’s too scared we might rise up and attack him, isn’t that right, minister? Evil, evil Dumbledore could train little children to drag you out of your position. As if anyone who wanted real power would sit in a stuffy old office with fake windows.”

“You – listen here, boy…”

But the other children had closed ranks behind him. I could see a glimmer in his eyes – foreign, a spark of red, no, a trick of the light – and I could tell that he wanted me to attack him. Whatever had gone wrong with this disturbed child – be it the attack in his childhood, or the Trimagic Tournament – he wasn’t right in the head. Hearing voices, seeing dead wizards return to life, imagining Animagi and telling tall tales… I should have known when they told me he was a Parselmouth…

“Let’s go. Weasley. Dawlish. Williams. Chang. We – we have appointments to keep. Good day to you all!”

I couldn’t breathe freely until we’d closed the iron-wrought gates behind us, ready to disapparate. The evening air had gone cooler, and it looked like it was about to rain. For the first time in forever, I couldn’t wait to meet my annoying sister in law for dinner.

“That Potter boy,” I told the Aurors, “he ought to be examined at St Mungo’s. Look into what authority we have over his guardianship, before the end of the school year!”