Minister Fudge was nervous.
But his nervousness didn't stem from the return of Voldemort, as Dumbledore had claimed.
No, his anxiety was directed squarely at Dumbledore himself.
In Fudge's mind, Voldemort had been dead for nearly a decade. There was no way he could return.
Dumbledore was clearly spreading fear and lies!
The old man wasn't content with being the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Now, he was fabricating stories to seize control of the Ministry of Magic!
So, after receiving the report from the Aurors, Fudge had hastily consulted his closest advisors and rushed to Diagon Alley.
The Aurors hadn't gathered enough detailed information.
This left Fudge unsure whether Dumbledore had conspired with the goblins of Gringotts to push the narrative of Voldemort's return.
He also couldn't be certain if Dumbledore had already leaked this shocking falsehood to the Daily Prophet.
Thus, Fudge had come to Diagon Alley with two goals in mind:
First, to silence the goblins of Gringotts.
Second, to ensure the Daily Prophet reported only what he wanted.
But upon arrival, he realized there was a third task at hand.
Fudge spotted Dumbledore standing outside Ollivander's Wand Shop, accompanied by a half-giant with a criminal record.
A mix of fear, anger, panic, and resentment churned within him, but it all solidified into a steely resolve to protect his power.
He leaned over and whispered instructions to his secretary, a woman in a pink coat who was obsequious in his presence but haughty to everyone else.
She nodded and hurried off toward the Daily Prophet and Gringotts, flanked by two Aurors.
Feeling slightly reassured, Fudge straightened his robes and motioned for the remaining two Aurors to clear the few lingering witches and wizards from the street.
Then, he strode toward Dumbledore.
"Professor Dumbledore, I believe you owe me an explanation!" Fudge declared, his tone accusatory, even before he reached the old wizard.
"You too?!" Dumbledore snapped, his patience wearing thin. He might tolerate harsh words from an honest young wizard, but he had no patience for the provocations of a self-serving politician.
"W-what attitude is this?!" Fudge sputtered, his face reddening. "I admit you're powerful, Dumbledore, but don't forget—I, Cornelius Fudge, am the Minister of Magic!"
"Of course, Fudge, I know you're the Minister," Dumbledore said, forcing himself to calm down. But his tone remained sharp. "But you shouldn't be here. You should be at the Ministry, preparing the wizarding world for what's coming!
Voldemort has returned!"
"Nonsense!" Fudge's face twisted with disbelief and anger. "Stop playing these games, Dumbledore! Vold—I mean, You-Know-Who is dead! He's not coming back, and that's final!"
Hagrid, unable to stand by while someone questioned Dumbledore, stepped forward. As an eyewitness, he felt he had the right to speak.
"Minister, it's true! In the vaults of Gringotts, I saw him—Voldemort—attached to the back of a wizard's head. That horrible face—I'd never mistake it! He even cursed me!"
Fudge, already on edge, turned his fury on Hagrid.
"You, a disgraced wizard with a criminal record, think anyone would believe you? If You-Know-Who had cursed you, you'd be dead! If it weren't for Dumbledore protecting you, I'd have you thrown into Azkaban!"
"Enough, Fudge!" Dumbledore's voice thundered, his anger flaring. He couldn't stand by while Hagrid, already burdened with guilt, was insulted. "Hagrid is a good man. You have no right to speak to him like that!"
Hagrid's face was flushed with anger and humiliation. The injustice he'd suffered for years came rushing back, and tears welled in his eyes.
"I didn't kill anyone! Aragog didn't kill anyone! It was all Voldemort's doing! He opened the Chamber of Secrets, he killed that girl! And in the vault, he admitted it to me!"
"Bravo!" Fudge clapped sarcastically, his voice dripping with mockery. "Well done! So the great Dumbledore not only wants to use a dead man to overthrow me but also to pin another crime on him to clear your oafish friend's name!
The dead can't defend themselves, can they? What a brilliant plan!"
"No, Fudge, you're being paranoid," Dumbledore said, his voice earnest. "I believe Hagrid. Voldemort isn't dead. He will return, and soon. The wizarding world must be prepared!"
Fudge didn't believe a word of it.
He leaned in close, his face inches from Dumbledore's, and hissed, "Stop the act, Dumbledore. I see through your game.
If you don't want to be disgraced, or have your giant friend thrown into Azkaban, you'll stop spreading these ridiculous lies. Consider this a warning from the Minister of Magic!"
With that, Fudge turned on his heel and marched toward the Daily Prophet, his two Aurors in tow.
The scene would have been dramatic, if not for the slight tremble in Fudge's legs as he walked away—a detail no one noticed.
Left behind, Dumbledore felt the weight of his troubles grow heavier.
In just one day, his carefully laid plans had unraveled into chaos.
What was he to do now?
-----
Meanwhile, inside Ollivander's Wand Shop, Dudley and Harry were experiencing a very different atmosphere.
The shop was soundproofed, a necessity for the delicate work of wandmaking.
When the two boys entered, the counter was empty.
Their attention was immediately drawn to the towering shelves lining the walls, stacked high with wand boxes.
To a wizard, wands were like firearms to Muggles—a tool of power and precision.
This room, filled with wands, was like an armory, both awe-inspiring and magical.
And to Dudley, these wands held a special significance.