Rewinding to the end of last year…

The room smelled of expensive polish and old nerves. One of the Ministry’s more obscure chambers, soundproofed, warded, rarely used unless someone needed to panic in private without a paper trail.

Cornelius Fudge sat at the centre of the table, hands clenched, unclenched, then clenched again. His collar stuck to his neck. Sweat beaded at his temples.

Around him sat people who didn’t sweat as easily.

Lucius Malfoy lounged back in his chair, cane resting against the table leg, fingers folded neatly over the silver head. Beside him, Goyle Senior and Crabbe Senior sat broad.

Across from them sat the women.

Avery’s matriarch, rings heavy on both hands, lips curved in a faint smile that never reached her eyes. Bulstrode’s matriarch sat stiff-backed, chin lifted, her gaze fixed on Fudge.

Flint’s patriarch leaned forward with his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, expression bored. Nott Senior watched in silence, pale eyes locked on the oldest man on the table.

Selwyn.

The Selwyn patriarch sat straight, posture old as stone. His hair had gone iron-grey years ago, but his eyes still burned with the same dangerous glint that had once let his family stretch its reach across half of Europe.

The Selwyns had defied Merlin himself. Backed Morgana not because they believed her, but because they believed they could control the outcome. When Merlin won, the Selwyns executed their own patriarch and half their inner line without hesitation. Blood spilled to protect position. It worked.

Until the Rosiers.

Generations of bad blood sat between those two names. A feud that never quite cooled. Selwyn Patriarch’s only son had died by Rosier hands. Selwyn hadn’t forgotten.

Fudge cleared his throat. It came out thin.

“Are you… are you all certain?” he asked, eyes darting from face to face. “This is- these are serious accusations.”

Lucius turned his head slightly, smile easy.

“Cornelius,” he said. “We’ve been friends a long time, haven’t we?”

Fudge nodded at once. Too fast. “Of course. You’ve always supported me. Financially. Politically. You’ve been… very helpful.”

Lucius’s smile didn’t change. “Then trust us when we say this isn’t paranoia. Rosiers don’t do small.”

His fingers tapped on the table.

“Three years ago,” he said, “Cassian Rosier rewrote Hogwarts’ governance under your nose.”

Fudge blinked.

“Used the Sorting Hat’s authority. Dug through parchment law. Found a clause that predates the Board itself. He cornered the governors and headmaster with a room full of staff behind him, all grinning like it was Christmas. Passed a motion in a single day.”

Avery let out a soft laugh. “And suddenly, the Board couldn’t override the Headmaster anymore. Couldn’t override him.”

Selwyn’s face didn’t move. “All under the banner of ‘protecting the school.'”

Bulstrode added, “And you let it happen, Cornelius. We all did.”

Fudge looked from one face to another. “But… that was during the Chamber of Secrets year. Children were being petrified. You want me to believe that was theatre?”

Lucius leaned in, sharp-eyed. “Think about it. Who solved it?”

Fudge opened his mouth.

“Potter,” Lucius said. “And Rosier.”

“And Lockhart lost his memory,” Avery murmured. “How convenient.”

“They found the Chamber. Defeated a monster. Became heroes.” Lucius smiled. “Or maybe… they got rid of Lockhart, staged the rest, and wrote the ending themselves.”

Fudge’s mouth worked. “That’s… no, that’s- students were petrified. Real attacks. I saw them.”

Lucius didn’t look away. “And who else can petrify like that?”

The question hit.

Fudge swallowed, falling back to his seat. His lips parted like he might ask something, then didn’t.

Because he remembered.

Cassian. Lupin crumpling mid-transformation like someone had thrown a Basilisk’s gaze at him.

Same posture. Same stillness.

Lucius gave him a long, slow smile. “Exactly.”

Fudge’s jaw clenched. “It’s just- this is… elaborate. An entire tournament compromised. International schools involved. To think Rosiers would scheme this deeply…”

Selwyn grunted in hatred just from hearing the name.

“They’ve always wanted Britain,” he said. “Check your history.”

Fudge shifted in his chair. “B-but Crouch Junior. The Dark Lord’s return. You’re saying all of that was fabricated?”

Avery’s matriarch laughed.

“Oh, Cornelius. Two people vanished with the Cup. Four came back.” She tilted her head. “Out of those four, who can testify?”

Fudge’s mouth opened. Closed.

The Longbottoms couldn’t speak. The Fenghuang boy had signed a blood contract. Cassian Rosier’s memory protections had shut down every probe the Ministry could think of. And now… now Cassian’s magic was gone. Lost at the most convenient moment imaginable.

It did look tidy.

Too tidy.

“But why?” Fudge asked weakly. “Why go to this trouble? All this show?”

Lucius leaned forward at last, eyes bright.

“Because you’re in the way,” he said. “Barty Junior is dead. Sirius Black walks free while you locked Barty Senior in Azkaban to rot. You authorised that. Then a ‘mysterious man’ replaces Moody. If we’re meant to believe Rosier’s version, that was Barty Junior all along.”

Fudge flinched.

Lucius continued. “And remember what Crouch Senior said before he broke. It was Magnus who pressured him to invite Ji and Ekwensi. To bring in foreign schools. That decision came right before the World Cup.”

Selwyn’s gaze sharpened. “They were laying groundwork years in advance.”

Goyle Senior shifted. “Rosiers like control. Always have.”

“You’re saying… this is about my seat.” Fudge raked a hand through his thinning hair. “Even if that’s true… this is internal. No one outside Britain would interfere. They’d be in breach.”

Selwyn’s face didn’t change. “Would they?”

Fudge frowned. “The international accord is clear. Magical nations don’t cross lines on domestic matters. It’d start a war.” He whispered the next part, “With them…”

Lucius tilted his head. “Ji and Ekwensi are loyal to their schools. But they like him. And Cassian knows how to write a crisis that looks like reform. If he asks for ‘assistance’ in stabilising Hogwarts… do you really think their governments won’t answer?”

Fudge shook his head, sharp. “That’s impossible. No Headmaster would allow it. No leader would dare-“

Selwyn cut him off. “You remember Grindelwald, don’t you?”

The room stilled.

Selwyn’s voice went quiet. “He wasn’t British. But Dumbledore fought him anyway. Even when they frowned. Even when he was warned not to.”

Lucius tapped the table. “And he made it personal. The law looked away.”

Fudge said nothing.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Lucius smiled wider.

“They don’t need to topple you outright,” he said. “Just make you look incompetent. Misled. Outplayed.”

Selwyn’s hand tightened on the table. “And once Rosier is in place, once his allies hold the schools, the students, the public, Britain becomes theirs again.”

The room fell quiet.

Fudge stared down at his hands. They were trembling now.

“I trusted him,” he muttered. “Cassian. He always seemed… reasonable.”

Fudge wasn’t seeing the table anymore. He was seeing stone corridors, whispering portraits, a school on the brink of hysteria. Recovered children. And wrongful imprisonment.

The Chamber of Secrets.

Cassian had stood beside him then. Calm and gentle. Hadn’t accused. Hadn’t shouted. Just quietly explained that panic always needed a culprit, and that history showed the Ministry was very good at choosing the wrong one.

“It wasn’t you,” Cassian had said. “It was your predecessors. They set the precedent. You just inherited the mess. Give Hagrid his wand back.”

And then Sirius Black. The fallout. The press. The questions no one wanted answered.

Cassian again. Sitting across from his desk, respectful. Calling him “Uncle,” like it was natural. Like it meant something.

“You don’t need to defend the past,” he’d said. “You need to correct it. Exonerate him. Clear Sirius’ name properly. Admit the Ministry was wrong, and look bigger for it.”

Fudge swallowed.

He’d listened. Merlin help him, he’d listened.

It had worked. The outrage had softened. The public had praised his “courage.” The Prophet had run the story exactly as Cassian suggested. For once, the Ministry had looked humane instead of cruel.

“He helped me,” Fudge said quietly, the words scraping his throat. “He got me through both disasters. He told me how to fix them.”

No one spoke.

Lucius smirked at Fudge. “Doesn’t it strike you odd, Cornelius? You knew the boy. His school records are there. Before that lecture stunt seven years ago, he couldn’t light a wand. Couldn’t hold a spell to save his life.”

He gave a mild shrug. “And now he’s a professor? The boy who bought N.E.W.T.s, is now a Professor.”

Selwyn handed him another sheet. “And here, his exam scores. Lowest of his class for seven years straight. Then, one day. He’s just… changed.”

Lucius’s voice was soft. “The boy who couldn’t cast Lumos. Now a scholar. It doesn’t add up, does it?”

Fudge’s face had already gone a shade paler. His eyes flicked between the people across the table. Of course he knew Cassian. Knew the Rosiers, too, who didn’t, if they’d been in politics longer than ten minutes?

Selwyn slid a sheet across the table. “Check this.”

Fudge hesitated. Then took it, fingers twitching at the edges. He scanned it. Then again. His hand froze halfway down the page.

“Is this real?”

Lucius nodded. “It is. Official.”

Fudge didn’t move.

Lucius glanced at the paper. “He bought the Daily Prophet, Cornelius. Quietly, yes. But it’s his now. They control the ink.”

Selwyn leaned back with a low huff. “Boy poisons the school from the inside. The paper does the rest. Spins it. Distracts parents. Gives them heroes. And soon? He’ll give them a villain to fight. That’s how it starts. Hype, fear, a bit of chaos. And when they scream for order, the Rosier name is waiting with a flag and a plan.”

Lucius looked at Fudge. “He’s playing the long game. Whispered reforms, bright-eyed students… and suddenly the Ministry looks outdated. You look outdated.”

Fudge stared down at the paper lips quivering.

“Mark my words,” Selwyn said, pushing to his feet, “this doesn’t stop at Hogwarts.”

A few days later, after the World Cup fallout had settled into whispers, they were back in the same room.

Fudge looked like he’d aged ten years in two months. His hair had thinned, collar looser than it used to be. The bags under his eyes could carry files.

Azkaban had been breached a while ago. Full assault. Half the worst names in Britain had walked free like the bloody doors opened themselves.

The headlines were still blaming him. “Ministry Fails to Contain Threat. Sources Say Internal Negligence.”

Selwyn poured himself a drink. “Told you, didn’t I?” He took a sip. “This is him. He’s not dragging the Ministry down from the front. He’s letting it collapse from the sides.”

Fudge didn’t answer.

Lucius unfolded a parchment and slid it forward. “Public support’s swung hard. Half the Prophet’s readers now back Dumbledore’s camp. And by extension… him.”

“Cassian,” Selwyn said, “is in every thread now. He’s turned Hogwarts into his base. Students quote him more than their textbooks. Parents write in to thank him. They trust him.”

He looked across the table. “They don’t trust you.”

Fudge pinched the bridge of his nose.

“After the last task,” Avery Matriarch said, “he gave a speech. Half the Hall cried. The Prophet printed it word-for-word. Said he saved their children.”

Lucius added, “He didn’t blame anyone. That’s the trick. He paints himself the hero without pointing a wand.”

“And they ate it up,” Bulstrode muttered. “All of them.”

“Paper points at you,” Selwyn added, “says you’re dithering. Slow. Out of touch. Rosier stays quiet, but every word in print shifts blame off Dumbledore. Off him.”

Bulstrode leaned forward. “You’re not a stranger to war, Cornelius. When the Dark Lord attacked, did he ever hide? No, he showed up, loud and bloody. They say he’s back now, but has anyone actually seen him? All this time?”

Fudge shifted in his seat. His eyes darted to Lucius, then back to Selwyn, but he didn’t speak.

“Barty Crouch Junior,” Bulstrode went on, “supposedly dragged half the school into that mess. Where is he now, if he’s alive like they said? There is no body to prove, is there?”

No one commented on that.

Bulstrode sat back again. “They’re playing both sides. Cassian controls the Order. Lucian, the Death Eaters. You say he was cast out. That there’s a bounty on his head. This is all a show. Lucian Rosier’s still working for the family.”

Fudge’s hands knotted together on the table. He looked down, lips pressed tight.

Selwyn didn’t blink. “You’ve been made a puppet, Cornelius. The public thinks you’re getting old. Dumbledore says ‘He’s back,’ and you panic. Then Rosier turns up with a tragedy, saves some children, and suddenly he’s the hero.”

Lucius smoothed an invisible crease on his sleeve. “The Order backs him. Hogwarts shields him. The Prophet sings his praises. And the students adore him. Doesn’t that seem… convenient?”

Fudge let out a slow breath. “I… I didn’t see it.”

“No,” Selwyn said. “You didn’t want to.”

He pushed a second sheet across the table. “Look at the names. Students loyal to him. Teachers. Past Aurors. Even foreign delegates. All of them orbiting the same sun.”

Lucius tapped the parchment lightly. “The moment he got that teaching post, the whole game changed. He’s recruiting, not just teaching.”

Fudge stared at the paper. Then at the wall.

“He’s building something,” Selwyn said. “And when it’s ready, it won’t be you they look to. It’ll be him.”

Fudge didn’t deny it.

A few months after that…

Once again, the table was full. Except for Nott Senior, he’d been taken by the bushery earlier that year. A shame, depending on who you asked. No one was asking.

Fudge was pacing. Fourth lap, maybe fifth, he’d lost count after the second rant.

He muttered to himself as he turned, heel squeaking on the polished stone. “He should’ve been gone. Vanished. Dead in a ditch somewhere.”

His voice rose. “We all saw it. No magic left. He was finished.”

But Cassian Rosier had come back.

Worse, he’d walked right back into Hogwarts like nothing had changed, now with a foolish beard and handed Dolores Umbridge her dignity in a sack.

Fudge spun on the spot, waving one hand. “I sent her myself. Undersecretary to the Minister. Handpicked. She was meant to replace him!”

Lucius looked bored. “And she tried. For what… ten minutes?”

Selwyn gave a slow shake of his head. “The school didn’t even take her seriously.”

Fudge’s lip curled. “He told her Hogwarts was a private institution. That I had no jurisdiction.”

“He’s not wrong,” Avery murmured.

Fudge rounded on her. “Of course he’s wrong. It’s a school! A British school!”

“No, Cornelius,” Lucius said, inspecting his cane. “It’s his school. You let that happen.”

Fudge pointed wildly. “She had orders! She was meant to take control of curriculum. Appoint staff. Oversee classes”

“She wasn’t even allowed to speak,” Selwyn said flatly. “Not without Cassian permitting.”

Goyle snorted. “She’s been stuck in the back of every class for months, writing reports no one reads.”

“She has an office,” Crabbe added. “But no key.”

The table chuckled darkly.

Lucius leaned forward, tapping a finger on the table. “This is what you let him build. That reform vote, remember? The one about ‘streamlining internal governance’? Passed under the Chamber of Secrets panic. Clever, wasn’t it? Everyone too busy wringing their hands over petrified students.”

Fudge’s mouth opened, then closed.

Lucius smiled. “The Board tried to sack Dumbledore. Rosier flipped it. Pushed me out. Took their power with him.”

Fudge shook his head. “But it’s still a school…”

“No, Cornelius,” Selwyn said coldly. “It’s a fortress. And worse, it’s training. That Duelling Club? It’s not duelling etiquette anymore. It’s field drills.”

Lucius gave a sharp smile. “They learn shield variants two decades ahead of schedule. Casting under stress. Team manoeuvres. Practical magic in closed-quarters. They’re not duelling.” He paused. “They’re preparing for battle.”

Bulstrode leaned back. “They know how to disrupt a charm circle. How to fight in smoke. How to cast silently. That’s soldier work not curriculum.”

“Children,” Selwyn said, voice quiet. “Turning into his soldiers.”

Fudge stared blankly at the floor. “He told me he was training them to defend themselves.”

“He is,” Avery said. “Against you.”

Lucius lifted another sheet, this one stamped with a half-dozen sigils. “And let’s not forget the House-Elf Abuse Reduction Taskforce.”

Fudge frowned. “That student group?”

Selwyn laughed. “On paper.”

Lucius went on, “He brought it to the Wizengamot floor. Passed it as a charity bill. Then slipped in a clause under magical welfare reform.” He held up the paper. “Guess who helped rewire the national tracking wards?”

“The Unspeakables rewrote half the net,” Avery said.

Fudge blinked.

“Dumbledore entered the WardNet archive recently,” Selwyn said. “What did he do there?”

Fudge looked like he’d swallowed glass. “If the WardNet’s been compromised…”

“Then your Ministry no longer sees everything it thinks it does,” Lucius finished. “And Cassian sees more.”

Current Time…

Fudge was pacing. Again. Sweating. Again. His voice went higher with every lap.

“How? How? We made sure the exam was difficult enough to fail most of the students. You said this would work.”

Lucius rose from his chair, grinning triumphantly.

“No, Cornelius,” he said. “This is exactly what we wanted. Exam was far too difficult. And everyone gets an Outstanding?” He gestured lazily. “It’s obvious. Rosier cheated.”

Fudge stopped walking. The colour returned to his face like someone had plugged him back in.

“He cheated.” It came out half-whisper, half-revelation. “He cheated. Of course he did.”

He looked around the table, desperate for agreement. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Lucius tilted his head. “Now all we need to do is prove it. Him and Dumbledore, one stone, two owls.”

Fudge nodded, too many times. His hands stopped shaking.

The others watched him in silence.

Now the hole was dug.

And Fudge finally looked ready to shove Cassian in.

Selwyn’s eyes gleamed as he spoke. “Gather all your forces, Cornelius. Empty the Ministry if you have to. It’s time to take back Hogwarts. It’s corrupted.”

(Check Here)

The case was simple… readers everywhere, evidence nowhere. Dirty business. Silence always leaves fingerprints, problem is, they’re invisible.

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