0443 Fudge’s Attitude

Bryan shook his head slightly. Dumbledore was as astute as ever.

“The witch I dueled tonight intended to take Harry away—” Their gazes met again as Bryan calmly continued, “Perhaps you’ve already heard about Harry’s dream during the summer holiday that caused his scar to react. The woman who appeared in Harry’s dream was her—”

“Tom has indeed found himself a capable ally—” Dumbledore said calmly. “When I heard there was a witch whose age and magical power were not far from yours, you can’t imagine how surprised I was, Bryan. So, are you saying this young lady wanted to take Harry away at the World Cup, following Tom’s orders?”

“Probably not, actually—” Bryan replied shaking his head. “Voldemort was furious about Cliodna’s appearance at the Quidditch field tonight. While it’s true that he is indeed plotting to get his hands-on Harry, his plan certainly wouldn’t involve such a brazen and public attempt at kidnapping – especially not in front of a hundred thousand witnesses. He probably has another scheme. And interestingly enough, I suspect it’s a plan that hasn’t received his new companion’s full approval. This irrational move tonight was likely Cliodna acting on her own initiative, outside of Voldemort’s direct orders.”

“Cliodna—” Dumbledore repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a hint of recognition.

Bryan’s mention of Voldemort wanting to get Harry didn’t surprise Dumbledore at all. In fact, both of them had anticipated this to some extent. It was the witch’s name that Bryan uttered that greatly intrigued Dumbledore. “If I’m not mistaken, this rather unique name should come from—”

“You’re not wrong, Headmaster,” Bryan confirmed, cutting off Dumbledore’s speculation. “The name indeed comes from the Druid mythology. It’s a name passed down through generations as a surname by the leaders of that sect. Cliodna is the current High Priestess of the Druid Order—”

“Well, this is truly a surprising turn of events,” Dumbledore blinked. “Although I’ve never had the opportunity to deal with them directly, I am somewhat familiar with the reputation of the Druid Order. I was under the impression that they were, in general, peace-loving individuals, more concerned with maintaining the balance of nature than involving themselves in the conflicts of the wizarding world.

Well, it seems I’ll have to look at Tom in a new light. How on earth did he manage to persuade them to work for him?”

“That’s something I’m curious about as well.” Bryan’s eyes flickered. There were still many aspects of this situation that he was actively investigating, and much of the information he already possessed was too sensitive or speculative to be fully disclosed.

Looking at the appropriately puzzled expression on Bryan’s face, Dumbledore’s beard twitched slightly, but in the end, he chose not to pursue the matter further.

The two took the elevator to the first underground level, where Fudge’s office was located. After the Greyback incident, Bryan had frequented the Ministry for a period of time, so he was quite familiar with the place.

Pushing open the door, they found that Fudge wasn’t alone in the spacious, luxurious office. Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the Auror Office, was there too, reporting something to Fudge. When he saw Bryan enter the office first, Rufus immediately closed his mouth, his usually lion-like sharp gaze now avoiding Bryan’s scrutiny.

Rufus didn’t like Bryan. He always believed that Bryan wasn’t an upright wizard, and at the press conference on the elimination of Greyback, Bryan’s act of giving Fiendfyre a new name was undoubtedly an attempt to deceive the public, to sugarcoat a dangerous and destructive force of dark magic.

“Ah, Bryan, you’re here already!” Earlier in the VIP box, Fudge had also suffered some injury; his arm had been hurt by the falling ceiling. Now, his right arm was in a bandage. Before Bryan and Dumbledore entered, he had been sitting in his chair listening to Rufus’s report, which seemed to be causing him some difficulty, judging by the reluctance on his puffy face.

Upon seeing Bryan, Fudge instinctively started to stand up to greet him, but halfway through raising his bottom, he sat back down for some inexplicable reason. After fidgeting uncomfortably for a few moments, he gave Bryan a somewhat awkward smile.

Bryan noticed Fudge’s small gestures, but maintained a smile and a respectful tone. “Headmaster Dumbledore informed me that you wanted to see me, and I indeed should provide an explanation to the magical community about tonight’s events, that’s why I came here without delay. But it seems you’re dealing with other important matters. Should I perhaps come back later?”

“Oh, no—no, that won’t be necessary at all!” Fudge hurriedly waved his hand. ” You- you should definitely stay, Bryan. This matter actually requires your help too. Ahem, I mean… Rufus, don’t you have your own business to attend to?”

Rufus, being very tactful, quietly and decisively left the Minister’s office.

Now, only Fudge, Bryan, and Dumbledore remained in the office. The trio made their way to a circular conference table, its polished surface reflecting the flickering flames of nearby candles. As they settled into their seats, Bryan’s voice broke the silence.

“What’s going on, Minister Fudge?” he inquired, his piercing gaze focused on the Minister’s face. “Is Scrimgeour facing some difficulties?”

“That dark witch, Bryan, the one you captured—” Fudge pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his sweat, his expression somewhat unnatural. “The group of wizards in black robes who launched an attack—I mean, caused trouble tonight… Rufus just came to tell me that she was the only one captured alive. Apart from a few who died at the hands of the Aurors, the rest escaped. Rufus is interrogating her downstairs, hoping to extract their motives, but, oh—”

Fudge glanced cautiously at Bryan and Dumbledore on either side of him. “Rufus wants my authorization to examine the dark witch’s memories or use methods like Veritaserum.”

“Is there a problem with that?” Bryan asked, feigning confusion. “If I remember correctly, the Ministry can use some extraordinary measures for criminals who have committed serious offenses.”

Fudge nodded vigorously, relief flooding over his features at Bryan’s apparent support. “Of course, that’s why I approved Rufus’s request, but the issue is—” He paused, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. “The cage you conjured to trap the dark witch also protects her in a sense. Rufus and his team have tried many methods but can’t open it.”

The Auror Office, led by Rufus Scrimgeour, was widely regarded as the Ministry’s most elite force. These were wizards and witches of exceptional skill and power. Yet, they couldn’t break open a cage casually conjured by Bryan Watson. Not only was this embarrassing, but it also made Fudge fully aware that Bryan Watson’s magical prowess had completely surpassed the Ministry’s control.

Bryan’s response was maddeningly noncommittal. “Oh, I see—” he said simply, nodding once before falling silent. His closed mouth and neutral expression showed neither acceptance nor rejection of the implicit request in Fudge’s words.

This ambiguous attitude left Fudge squirming in his seat, completely at a loss. Beads of sweat formed anew on his brow as he wrestled with the predicament. Unable to find a graceful way forward, he turned his gaze towards Dumbledore, silently pleading for assistance.

Dealing with Dumbledore was something that Fudge found terribly agonizing. On one hand, he needed to maintain a wary distance, mindful of Dumbledore’s far-reaching influence and unparalleled prestige in the wizarding world. His power, both magical and political, was a constant source of anxiety for Fudge, who often felt overshadowed by his reputation.

On the other hand, when faced with serious difficulties, it was often Dumbledore who provided the most constructive and insightful suggestions. At least compared to the young Bryan Watson, Dumbledore seemed more reliable. This wasn’t Fudge’s personal bias, but rather the result of Dumbledore’s low-key and modest demeanor over the past half-century, which made him appear less dangerous.

Dumbledore, for his part, seemed content to let the moment stretch. He sat with his long, slender fingers interlaced against the chair back, his posture relaxed. He clearly understood what Cornelius’s gaze meant, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he met Fudge’s eyes, his bright blue eyes shimmering with solemn light.

“What I’d rather know, Cornelius, is whether the Ministry has obtained specific casualty figures from tonight? How many wizards were victimized in this turmoil, and how many unfortunate souls perished?”

The shift in focus was subtle but significant. Dumbledore’s question was to remind Fudge of his responsibilities as Minister, steering the conversation away from the immediate problem of the caged witch and towards the broader impacts of the night’s events.

Fudge’s demeanor changed noticeably as he understood Dumbledore’s hint. The forced formality he had maintained with Bryan melted away, replaced by a more casual, albeit agitated, manner. He waved his hand dismissively, his frustration evident in every movement.

“It’s impossible to know so quickly, Dumbledore,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Keep in mind, over a hundred thousand wizards were there tonight. Some of them fled back to their countries as soon as the black-robed wizards appeared, but most stayed until the end.

I’ve tasked Amelia with this, she’s at the scene with her team taking a tally. Ten minutes before you walked in, Amelia sent me a note.”

Fudge’s expression darkened as he told the preliminary findings. “Many people were injured, but the vast majority were from the stampede during the escape. Some were caught in the crossfire when our people were trying to capture the dark wizards.” He paused, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. “And yes, there were fatalities!”

The seriousness of the situation settled over the room like a heavy blanket. Bryan’s face remained expressionless, showing no surprise at this outcome. His mind, however, was racing. Although he didn’t know the exact reason for Lucius Malfoy’s change of plans, he understood that the underground bounty wizards recruited were meant to cause chaos at the World Cup, not to massacre wizards from various countries. It seemed that if people truly died tonight, it was likely due to the disorderly evacuation rather than deliberate attacks.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his bright blue eyes dimming slightly behind his half-moon spectacles.

“So, Cornelius,” he said softly, his gaze steady on the Minister, “what do you plan to do next?” The question was simple, yet it was the final straw for the already overwhelmed Fudge.

As if a dam had finally burst under unbearable pressure, Fudge’s fragile composure shattered.

“What am I supposed to do?!” he cried out, his voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. He flung his handkerchief onto the table with a frustrated swipe, then pushed back his chair with a harsh scrape. Clasping his hands tightly behind his back, his knuckles white with strain, he began to pace frantically around the conference table, his expression on the brink of collapse.

“Everyone in the department asks me what to do when they see me!” Fudge continued, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “And now, you’re also asking me what to do, Dumbledore. Oh, I’d like to ask someone else what the Ministry should do!”

“Needless to say, we’ve become a complete laughingstock, haven’t we?” Fudge’s voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. “This can’t be kept secret. By tomorrow morning, the whole world will know what kind of Quidditch World Cup we hosted. The Daily Prophet—oh yes, they’ll certainly sing your praises, Bryan, But what about the Ministry? How am I supposed to explain to wizards worldwide that so many unidentified dark wizards suddenly invaded our supposedly foolproof Quidditch World Cup and caused a—oh, a duel of the century!”

Fudge’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white as he breathed heavily.

Bryan lowered his gaze. Fudge’s current outburst was more or less what he had expected. Dumbledore, already accustomed to such scenes, sighed softly, “You’re the Minister of Magic, Cornelius. People naturally expect you to come up with solutions.”

Fudge let out a dry, humorless laugh. His gaze, filled with a mixture of hatred and resentment, fell upon his seat behind the ministerial desk. At least at this moment, he sincerely wished he wasn’t the Minister of Magic for Britain.

The office fell into an uncomfortable silence. Bryan, sensing that it wasn’t yet his time to speak, remained quiet, as his eyes continued to follow Fudge’s agitated movements. Dumbledore with his years of experience in dealing with such situations also kept his thoughts to himself. He knew all too well that offering unsought suggestions at this juncture would only serve to aggravate Fudge’s already fragile nerves.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece and Fudge’s increasingly labored breathing.

Finally, Fudge’s political instincts began to reassert themselves. He had, after all, been in the position of Minister of Magic for nearly half a decade. While his abilities might be somewhat lacking in certain areas, he was certainly qualified as a politician.

Having vented his frustrations, Fudge felt slightly better, though his expression remained troubled. He turned to face Dumbledore; his eyes narrowed in thought. “I think the Dementors of Azkaban need to be mobilized, Dumbledore,” he said, his voice carrying a note of decisiveness.

Bryan’s face remained emotionless, but internally, he couldn’t help but chuckle. Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes, peering over his half-moon spectacles, flashed with obvious resignation. It was clear that the method Fudge proposed hadn’t escaped either of their predictions.

“The experience of capturing Sirius Black has taught us, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said carefully, “that those life-draining creatures from Azkaban will only cause more trouble for you, rather than being of any help.”

Fudge’s expression soured at Dumbledore’s gentle rebuke. He wasn’t new to dealing with Dumbledore and was well aware of some of the tricks he liked to use. “Alright, don’t hold back, Dumbledore, If you have any good suggestions, just say them!”

Dumbledore nodded, seemingly not offended by Fudge’s rough manner.

“The aftermath is currently the most important issue; The Ministry must bear the losses. All treatment costs for wizards injured in the turmoil should be covered by the Ministry. For those who unfortunately perished, the Ministry needs to send personnel to discuss compensation with their families.

My suggestion is that the Ministry makes a public statement, using all the profits from this World Cup for consolation and compensation.”

The flesh on Fudge’s cheeks trembled violently, his complexion paling noticeably. “All the profits—” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Compensation was necessary; Fudge knew this without Dumbledore telling him. But all the profits from hosting the World Cup… This wasn’t a decision he could make alone, involving as it did the allocation of significant Ministry resources. Yet, he had to admit that such a gesture would indeed gain the understanding and goodwill of many people.

“Very well,” Fudge said finally, his voice stressed. “I’ll consider your suggestion carefully, Dumbledore. But the key issue is that we must provide an explanation for tonight’s attack—”

Before Fudge could finish his thought, Bryan’s voice cut through the tension, startling both the Minister and Dumbledore. “The group of wizards who attacked the arena, the witch who appeared later, and the ugly wizard who finally appeared in the sky above the stadium—they’re all part of the same group. This is something the Ministry needs to emphasize to the public.”

Bryan’s sudden interjection left Fudge looking startled and Dumbledore falling into silence.

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