Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 722: A Terrified Fudge

Kyle had expected to be taken to 12 Grimmauld Place, but instead, Fawkes led him to the second floor of the Ministry of Magic, directly into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Before Kyle arrived, the place was already crowded with familiar faces: Chris, Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Auror Kingsley, Tonks... And, of course, Dumbledore.

When Kyle entered, Dumbledore was bent over, a warm yellow light flickering against the corridor walls, emanating from the tip of his wand.

“Fawkes is back!” someone exclaimed, and all heads turned towards the phoenix—and Kyle.

“Kyle?” Fred blinked, rubbing his eyes as if he couldnʼt believe what he was seeing. “Wait, aren’t you the Healer from St. Mungo’s?”

No one answered his question. The crowd instinctively parted, revealing the grim scene ahead. Blood pooled on the floor in a strange, iridescent purple hue. Amelia Bones, a senior member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, lay in the midst of it, her breaths shallow and labored. Dumbledore knelt beside her, his wand poised above her, radiating the golden light Kyle had noticed earlier.

In that moment, Kyle realized why Fawkes had brought him here.

“Here?” Kyle asked, ignoring the wave of dizziness washing over him.

“She cannot be moved,” Dumbledore said urgently. “Time is of the essence. Fudge is already on the seventh floor.”

Kyle nodded briskly and opened his suitcase without hesitation.

“Wait... wait...” came a faint, strained voice. Amelia’s eyes fluttered open, the effort visibly draining what little strength she had left.

“Death Eaters... attack... Ministry...” she managed to whisper, her words disjointed and weak. “Tell Aurors... strike... don’t... get... left...”

Her voice faltered further, trailing into near silence.

“Hurry!” Dumbledore’s tone sharpened. “Mr. Weasley, Fudge is nearly here...”

Though his words were veiled, Fred and George caught on immediately. They nodded in unison and sprinted down the corridor, vanishing around the corner.

Kyle’s suitcase was now fully open.

“Turn around!” Chris commanded firmly.

Without question, the others turned to face the wall, their trust in Chris absolute. Even Chris himself obeyed his own command, though not without a touch of vigilance—he flicked his wand as he turned, conjuring a mirror on the ceiling to keep a watchful eye on the scene behind them.

“Oh, Mr. Minister, youʼre here!”

“It’s horrible. You must be prepared... really, I don’t even want to look.”

Fred and George’s voices carried through the corridor.

“By Merlin, what on earth happened?!” Fudge’s voice trembled with undisguised panic.

“I really don’t want to remember. You’ll see for yourself.”

“Slow down, Minister, and watch your step. Don’t fall over.”

“Out of the way, you two, don’t block the path!” Scrimgeour barked as he approached.

He quickened his pace, his imposing frame emerging at the end of the corridor, with Fudge trailing closely behind, his stomach preceding him slightly. Fred and George stayed back, their expressions carefully neutral.

At this point, they flanked Fudge on either side, holding out their hands as though fearing he might topple over if he moved too quickly—a gesture that looked unsettlingly servile.

“Oh!” Fudge gasped as he caught sight of the scene before him. Clutching his chest, he stammered, “Is that... Amelia?”

“I think so,” Scrimgeour said gravely, striding quickly over to the prone figure.

“She’s been petrified.”

Scrimgeour knelt beside Amelia Bones, her ashen face eerily still. Drawing his wand, he tapped her rigid form and muttered, “Rennervate... Finite Incantatem! Revelio!”

He tried several counter-charms, but Amelia’s condition remained unchanged.

“Very clever dark magic,” Scrimgeour muttered, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the bloodstains smeared across the floor. “But also very fortunate—the petrification has preserved her life.”

Straightening up, he turned sharply towards the gathered crowd, his gaze landing on Kingsley and Tonks. His tone was severe as he asked, “Tell me, what exactly happened here?”

“Death Eater attack,” Kingsley replied tersely. “Just ten minutes ago, in the Ministry of Magic.”

“They were heading to the first floor, but while in the lift, Madam Bones saw through their disguise. So they changed their target at the last minute.”

At Kingsley’s words, Fudge, standing nearby, shuddered violently. The realization struck him like a blow—the first floor housed the Office of the Minister for Magic. The Death Eaters had been coming for him.

If Amelia Bones hadn’t been in the lift, he might have been the one lying on the cold, hard floor.

Fudge felt a wave of cold wash over him, his legs threatening to give way. He stumbled slightly, leaning heavily against the wall for support. Yet no one seemed to notice his faltering composure.

After hearing the explanation from the two Aurors, Scrimgeour was livid.

“What were you doing? Why wasnʼt an Auror present when something like this happened?”

“I’m not trying to dodge responsibility,” Kingsley said, shaking his head. “We arrived as soon as we heard the commotion, but by then, the Death Eaters had already escaped.”

“That’s impossible,” Scrimgeour retorted. “How could they have escaped when Apparition is prohibited within the Ministry?”

“It wasn’t Apparition—it was a Portkey,” Kingsley replied solemnly. “We saw it ourselves. The Death Eaters gathered around a walking stick and disappeared together.”

“Could there have been more than one Death Eater?” Fudge asked, his voice trembling with unease.

Scrimgeour, however, didn’t seem surprised. Amelia Bones had not become Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by being weak. In a one-on-one encounter, it was unthinkable that Death Eaters could subdue her so quickly—unless they had sufficient numbers.

But how had the Death Eaters infiltrated the Ministry? Scrimgeour couldn’t make sense of it. Every entrance had been heavily guarded, particularly the corridor with the fireplaces, where two large Sneakoscopes had been installed. Logically, it should have been impossible for anyone to enter unnoticed.

Yet, there had been three Death Eaters, and the Ministry had received no warning. This failure felt like a stinging slap to Scrimgeour’s face.

“I think we need to investigate the Department of Magical Transportation,” Tonks suggested. “I suspect someone there may be aiding them.”

“So what are you waiting for?” Scrimgeour barked in exasperation.

Once Kingsley and Tonks departed, Scrimgeour turned to the still-petrified Amelia. Using his wand, he levitated her carefully. “Minister, I need to take her to St. Mungo’s immediately. Excuse me.”

“Yes, yes, St. Mungo’s,” Fudge stammered, shrinking against the wall as if hoping it would swallow him. The attack on Amelia Bones within the Ministry seemed to have shaken him to his core.

“Thank you,” Scrimgeour said curtly, frowning at Fudge’s demeanor but refraining from commenting. Without another word, he guided Amelia’s levitated form toward the lift.

Fudge hesitated briefly before following. “Wait, Rufus, I’ll come with you.”

Perhaps Fudge believed he would be safest alongside the head of the Auror Office, and his decision to follow was immediate and resolute. As for appearances—surely, it was only natural for the Minister to show concern for a colleague who had been attacked, wasn’t it? After all, nothing was more important than his own safety.

Once they had left, Dumbledore and Kyle emerged quietly from an office adjacent to the corridor. Dumbledore had led Kyle into it mere moments before Scrimgeour had reached this section of the hallway.

“We shouldn’t be in the Ministry right now, neither you nor I,” Dumbledore explained, his tone calm but firm.

Kyle suspected the real reason was that Dumbledore didn’t want to be hassled by Fudge or anyone else. He wisely kept that thought to himself.

“But, Professor, what’s going on?” Kyle asked, still standing in confusion. He didn’t fully grasp what had happened or why Amelia Bones had been targeted, nor could he understand why Dumbledore was even at the Ministry.

Before Dumbledore could reply, Chris, standing nearby, whispered, “Someone else is coming.”

The warning was unnecessary. The sound of dense, hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor, unmistakable evidence that a group of people was approaching. Likely, Ministry officials who had caught wind of the situation were rushing to investigate.

“This is not the place to talk,” Dumbledore said briskly, gripping Kyle’s arm. “Follow me.”

In an instant, Kyle felt himself spin, the sensation familiar yet disorienting. When his feet found solid ground again, he realized they were standing in the entrance hall of 12 Grimmauld Place. Directly opposite them hung the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black.

But this wasn’t Hogwarts anymore—where he had last seen the empty frame in Dumbledore’s office.

“Who’s there?”

Mrs. Weasley’s voice rang out, sharp and cautious. She had rushed into the hallway, wand in hand, ready for anything.

“Dumbledore? Kyle? What are you doing here?” she asked, her expression shifting from alarm to confusion.

“It’s a long story, Molly,” Dumbledore replied, his tone as composed as ever. “Could I trouble you for a cup of tea? Lots of sugar, if you have it.”

“Oh, no problem. I’ll get it ready,” Mrs. Weasley replied quickly, bustling toward the kitchen.

Dumbledore and Kyle followed her, the tension of the Ministry incident still heavy in the air.

“You’re wondering why I was at the Ministry, aren’t you?” Dumbledore said, turning his gaze to Kyle.

Kyle nodded. Fawkes had only told him that a Basilisk was needed, then whisked him away. There hadn’t been time for questions.

“I received information that the Death Eaters were planning an attack on the Ministry,” Dumbledore began, sitting down at the table. “Their aim was to sow fear among the populace.”

He paused, his gaze distant. “I assumed their target would be Fudge—and indeed, that was part of their plan. The assassination of the Minister of Magic would have been a catastrophic blow to morale. But events unfolded in an unexpected way.”

“Madam Bones realized the Death Eaters’ disguise, didn’t she?” Kyle guessed.

“Yes. She saw through it, as she always does,” Dumbledore confirmed with a slight sigh. “I arrived as quickly as I could, but it was still too late. Amelia has always been a meticulous and perceptive witch, traits that were evident even during her school days.”

He paused, his tone growing heavier. “But this time, I almost wished she hadn’t been so sharp… Your father and his team were stationed on the first floor the entire time, yet they came up empty-handed.”

“They must have thought Madam Bones carried more influence than anyone else,” Kyle speculated. “She’s the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and a prominent member of the Wizengamot. Her influence isn’t far behind Fudge’s.”

“You’re right. I underestimated the situation.” 

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley returned with a teapot and cups, setting them on the table. She placed a small pot of Pumpkin Fizz in front of Kyle.

“Amelia, what happened to her?”

“She was ambushed by Death Eaters and seriously injured,” Dumbledore replied.

“Oh my, in the Ministry of Magic?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice trembled slightly. She had always considered the Ministry of Magic, apart from 12 Grimmauld Place and Hogwarts, one of the safest places.

Kyle glanced at Mrs. Weasley. This was exactly what the Death Eaters—or rather, Voldemort—wanted, wasn’t it?

Since his return, Voldemort had not made any significant moves, and the few attempts he had made had ended in failure. He was not one to remain in the shadows; Voldemort thrived on instilling fear. Kyle could tell that this time, Voldemort was using the attack to remind everyone of the terror they had felt when the Dark Mark was a constant threat more than a decade ago.

As Dumbledore had said, killing the Minister of Magic under the protection of Aurors would have far greater psychological impact than murdering an unknown wizard or bystander.

“But, Professor, won’t they try to finish the job at St. Mungo’s?” Kyle whispered, cautioning, “There’s a big difference between killing someone and leaving them seriously injured.”

“Don’t worry. Sirius, Alastor, and Remus have already gone ahead to St. Mungo’s,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Remus is carrying a Two-Way Mirror, so he can contact me at any time.”

He took a sip of his black tea, then paused, his gaze becoming momentarily distant as he looked at Kyle.

“Professor, what’s wrong?” Kyle asked.

“Nothing, just reflecting on how magical life can be,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head slightly. “The Basilisk, which Tom once used as a killing weapon, has somehow become the key to saving lives.”

“You said that before.”

“Did I?” Dumbledore sounded mildly surprised.

“At St. Mungo’s,” Kyle reminded him, “when we first used the Basilisk to counter the dark magic on... well, on that wizard.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said softly. “No matter how many times it happens, it still feels remarkable—like the Killing Curse suddenly turning into some kind of healing spell.”

He stirred his tea and then added, “By the way, you should make an effort to remember Sturgis’s name. He’s also a member of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said with a shrug. “I honestly forgot.”

“Professor, there’s one more thing,” Kyle began.

“Go on.” Perhaps dissatisfied with the taste of his tea, Dumbledore added three more spoonfuls of sugar.

“It’s about the Department of Magical Transportation. They...”

“I can’t answer that yet, Kyle,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I don’t know enough details myself, and I need more time to investigate.”

“But I trust Barty. He would never work with Death Eaters—of that, I am certain.”

“Well, I trust him too,” Mrs. Weasley added. “Arthur told me that Barty seemed a bit off for a while, but he soon got back on track. He even came up with a better way to manage the Floo Network.”

“That’s just like him, so meticulous about his work, no matter where he is.”

“Hm, okay.” Seeing that both Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley trusted Barty Crouch, Kyle refrained from saying more but gave Dumbledore a slight reminder.

The Department of Magical Transportation might not seem vital during peacetime, but in times of war, its importance is equal to that of the Auror’s Office.

Surely, Dumbledore was already aware of this. He had lived through some of the most renowned conflicts in wizarding history and had far more experience than Kyle.

Five minutes later, Dumbledore finished his tea and prepared to leave. His responsibilities were many, and he couldn’t linger here all day.

“Do you need Fawkes to take you back to Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked before departing.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Kyle replied, shaking his head firmly. “I can Apparate to Hogsmeade and then return to school.”

“That’s fine,” Dumbledore said, “but be careful not to get caught by Filch. The new school rules punish unauthorized absences quite severely. Even as Headmaster, I can’t grant you extra credit for things that happen outside of school.”

Kyle was momentarily speechless. Didn’t Fawkes bring him here? How had this turned into sneaking out without permission?

Before he could say anything, Dumbledore had already left. The door closed behind him, and the room returned to its quiet stillness.

“Honey, how about eating here before going back?” Mrs. Weasley offered kindly.

“Though I’d love to, I’m afraid I can’t,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “I need to be back before dinner to avoid suspicion.”

”That’s fine,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile, yet she still handed over a large bag of homemade fudge and beef pasties, firmly insisting they be taken to school despite her earlier agreement.