The Legacy of Salazar

The Fear of Fudge

The fireplace roared with brilliant green flames, and a short portly man wearing a bowler green hat emerged. Albus Dumbledore had known this moment would come, but the sight of the Minister of Magic, blustering, purple, and brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet as if it were a rapier still made him sigh.

Cornelius Fudge marched up to his desk, huffing and wheezing. His brown eyes were popping, but the headmaster saw that beneath all the anger and disbelief was blinding fear. The man had never been very good with confronting his fears.

"Memory evidence of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? What is this nonsense?" Fudge threw the newspaper onto Dumbledore's desk and took a deep breath, as though the action had left him winded.

Dumbledore glanced down at the Daily and inwardly sighed again. Rita Skeeter had never been good at handling delicate matters. She was more likely to shatter them with biased words and inappropriate facts—although surprisingly this particular article was more accurate than her usual stories. In front of him, Fudge was shouting again.

"I want to scrutinize the memory personally. It has to have been tampered with, or just some nightmare the boy had," Fudge shook his head, turned away for a moment and started to pace. "That Skeeter woman is right. What were you thinking? Children aren't supposed to submit memories. Warped details, I tell you. They don't see things the same way, are more susceptible to suggestion. That Quirrell fellow—he planted the idea in his mind. Scared him silly just so that he could have a big laugh while the rest of us run around in panic!"

"Cornelius," Dumbledore said calmly, "you are welcome to peruse a copy of the memory, but to suggest that the memory I personally took from the boy in front of the Wizengamot is not authentic borders more on just ignorance." His tone had taken on an icy quality, and Fudge actually took a step back when Dumbledore had finished.

"I'm not blaming you Dumbledore," he said in an offhand way. "If the boy believed it then the memory—" he shook his head. "It's just not possible."

"I'm afraid you are the only wizard who believes that."

Fudge took another step back, his face purpling again. "You-you're going to cause a panic Dumbledore. Scare the general population for no reason! One child's memory isn't proof; there are a number of reasons for what he saw. You would throw us back into the chaos we had before?" he roared.

Dumbledore got to his feet and Fudge flinched when he spoke, despite the fact that the headmaster's voice never rose. "It will only turn to chaos, Cornelius if we ignore it and do nothing to prepare for the possibility that he will come back."

The Minister of Magic opened and closed his mouth wordlessly for a moment, his bottom lip trembling like a scolded toddler. "He's not coming back," he whispered before shaking his head again and retreating to the fireplace. "You're mad, Dumbledore. You'll ruin everything."

And he vanished in another blaze of green flame, leaving behind air rancid with fear.