Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 620: The Minister Who Won’t Step Down

Fudge seemed momentarily distracted by Kyle’s words, responding with a distracted, “Yes, I can see that.” His gaze shifted, scanning the surroundings.

Kyle had deliberately chosen a secluded corner seat, one far from the windows and tucked behind a large decorative plant. From outside, it was impossible to see this part of the pub, and even for someone entering, the plant obstructed much of the view. Fudge, noticing the privacy, nodded in satisfaction.

For a while, the conversation stayed light, filled with idle chatter about trivial topics. It wasn’t until Madam Rosmerta brought their orders—Fudge’s Red Currant Rum and Umbridge’s Mead and Cherry Syrup—that the Minister’s demeanor began to shift. His smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression.

Once Madam Rosmerta returned to her post at the bar, Fudge leaned forward slightly and said, “I heard from Dolores that you wanted to see me?”

Finally, they were getting to the point. Kyle set down his Pumpkin Fizz and met Fudge’s gaze.

“Yes, Minister,” Kyle said. “I thought there was something you should know.”

“Oh? And what might that be?” Fudge’s expression remained carefully neutral, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity. He acted as if this meeting were a mere coincidence, a casual encounter over drinks.

“It’s about Professor Dumbledore,” Kyle said, pausing for effect. “A meeting he once hosted in his personal capacity.”

Fudge’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, but his face stayed calm. “I’ve heard of it,” he said evenly. “Albus is well-known in the wizarding world, and as the headmaster of Hogwarts, it’s only natural that he’d host gatherings with old friends now and then.”

“That’s true,” Kyle acknowledged. “But the subject of their discussion wasn’t exactly what you’d expect at a friendly gathering.”

“Oh? And what was it, then?” Fudge asked, his tone feigning casual interest. “Go on—after all, a drink at The Three Broomsticks isn’t complete without some good conversation. And don’t worry,” he added with a small smile, “I won’t breathe a word of this to Albus.”

Kyle gave Fudge a knowing look. He didn’t doubt the Minister’s promise for a second.

“They were talking about the resurrection of You-Know-Who.”

In an instant, the warmth drained from Fudge’s face, replaced by a deep, angry flush. His expression contorted, his red complexion making him resemble an irate hippo.

Next to him, Umbridge stood abruptly, her shrill voice trembling with indignation. She looked as if she might cast the Cruciatus Curse on Kyle right then and there.

“Ridiculous! Insane nonsense!” Fudge roared. “The Ministry has made it abundantly clear—he cannot and will not return! I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense. I thought you might have something worthwhile to say.” He turned his glare on Umbridge. “Dolores, is this the ‘surprise’ you mentioned?”

Umbridge flinched under his icy gaze but said nothing.

Fudge stood abruptly, as if to leave. “I don’t think I’ll be staying for a drink after all. Just to be clear, that man is not coming back.”

“But some people think he might,” Kyle said calmly, ignoring the murderous glare Umbridge cast his way. “That rumor could serve them well.”

Fudge froze mid-movement, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to Kyle, scrutinizing him carefully.

“Because,” Kyle continued, his tone deliberate, “everyone knows the only person who can stand against You-Know-Who is Dumbledore. Rumors like this would bolster his prestige significantly, and quickly.”

Fudge’s expression darkened, but he hesitated, finally sinking back into his seat.

“It seems we’re right to counter his lies,” Fudge muttered, his tone sharp. “Exposing them in The Daily Prophet ensures fewer people are fooled by his rhetoric.”

“Indeed,” Umbridge piped up, her voice shriller than ever. “And thanks to the Minister’s foresight, the wizarding community is already rejecting such preposterous claims.” Her sycophantic tone made Kyle uncomfortable, but Fudge seemed to revel in it.

“So, Kyle,” Fudge said, his voice suddenly friendly again, as though his earlier outburst hadn’t happened. “Would you be willing to testify to this publicly?”

“I’d be happy to, Minister,” Kyle replied with a measured smile.

Fudge’s grin widened at the response.

The Minister had long been uneasy about Dumbledore’s influence, particularly through his association with Harry Potter. While Fudge would never openly admit it, he understood the power of Harry’s reputation as The Boy Who Lived. It was an asset Dumbledore wielded effectively.

But Kyle’s allegiance to the Ministry changed the game. As the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin and the Triwizard Tournament champion, Kyle’s rising fame rivaled Harry’s—and with the Ministry’s backing, it could easily surpass it.

Fudge’s mind raced. He already knew who could help shape this narrative: Rita Skeeter. The scandal-loving journalist would be perfect for crafting stories to diminish Dumbledore’s standing while elevating Kyle’s.

Gulping down half his glass of Red Currant Rum, Fudge allowed himself to imagine a future where Dumbledore’s credibility crumbled under public scrutiny, leaving him as little more than a scapegoat for wizarding society’s frustrations.

For Fudge, it was an enticing vision—a triumph both personal and political.

“The Ministry of Magic will remember your contributions.”

Despite his excitement, Fudge made sure to paint Kyle a promising picture of his future. “And I’ve always been very optimistic about you. Chris can testify to that—I’ve mentioned to him several times that you should consider working for the Ministry. I’m confident you could break his record and become the youngest Head of Department ever.”

Kyle immediately picked up on the significance of Fudge’s comment about the Head of Department.

Isn’t Chris the Deputy Head now? Kyle thought. It seemed unlikely that Fudge had simply misspoken. Perhaps this wasn’t mere flattery—Fudge might be hinting at plans already in motion.

“Thank you for your trust, Mr. Minister,” Kyle said, his tone tinged with genuine excitement.

“I believe in my own judgment,” Fudge said with a confident smile. “I’m never wrong.”

The Minister leaned forward slightly, his curiosity sharpening. “But I am curious about the details of that meeting you mentioned... Did they have any other plans?”

Kyle took a moment to consider before answering. “Of course they did. The main topic of discussion was how to gain more supporters.”

Fudge’s expression faltered for a moment.

He couldn’t help but recall what he’d heard recently—that Dumbledore had met with Amelia Bones and Barty Crouch, the latter now positioned in the Department of Magical Transportation. Fudge had suspected that Dumbledore might be eyeing the Ministerʼs seat. Now, this seemed more plausible than ever.

Securing the role of Minister required a majority of the Department Heads’ votes, and Dumbledore was influential enough to sway key individuals.

Fudge’s chest tightened with panic as the implications sunk in. He had no way of knowing how many allies Dumbledore had already won over or how many were contemplating a switch.

Outwardly, though, Fudge maintained a façade of calm. “Every Department Head has a sharp mind and a strong grasp of the facts. They won’t fall for the lies about You-Know-Who’s resurrection. Dumbledore’s scheme is bound to fail.”

“That’s excellent to hear,” Kyle said with a faint smile. “If that’s the case, then any follow-up plans they have will be ruined as well.”

“Follow-up plans?” Fudge asked warily, his suspicion clearly piqued. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing too serious,” Kyle shrugged. “Just Dumbledore’s wishful thinking. He said that once he became Minister, he would do everything in his power to spread the news about You-Know-Who’s resurrection.”

“Why?” Fudge blurted, confused.

Wasn’t Dumbledore leveraging the fear of You-Know-Who to gain power? Why would he continue to push such a narrative after securing the Ministry? Wouldn’t that only lead to backlash and scorn?

“Because,” Kyle replied casually, “it would give him an excuse to declare a state of war in the wizarding world. And during wartime, there are no elections for Minister. As long as he avoids making any catastrophic mistakes... he could hold onto power indefinitely.”

“That’s preposterous—” Fudge began, but his words were cut off by a loud bang!

His hand had shaken so violently that his half-full glass of Red Currant Rum toppled to the ground, shattering upon impact.

Madam Rosmerta glanced over from the bar, startled. “Is everything alright, Minister Fudge?”

“It’s fine, I can handle it,” Fudge replied quickly, his voice strained as he tried to project calm.

He retrieved his wand, though the tremor in his hand betrayed his composure. With a clumsy wave, the broken glass reassembled, and the spilled rum vanished.

Taking several deep breaths to steady himself, Fudge turned to Kyle. “Kyle, I’m glad you’ve shared all this,” he said, his voice a touch unsteady. “You’ve done a great service to the stability of the wizarding world.”

“It’s my duty,” Kyle said modestly.

“Very good,” Fudge said, though his eyes looked distant, his mind clearly racing.

At that moment, the door to The Three Broomsticks swung open, and a group of students entered, their laughter cutting through the tension.

“Oh, is it that late already?” Fudge said abruptly, rising from his seat. “I wanted to chat with you a bit longer. Talking to young people always invigorates me... but alas, I have pressing matters to attend to.”

“I’ll see you out, Minister,” Umbridge interjected, already standing and ready to follow.

Fudge nodded, barely acknowledging Kyle as he strode quickly toward the door.