Fudge didn't have to wait long for answers.
Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, strode into the room carrying a Pensieve. With a flick of his wand, he carefully extracted a silvery strand of memory, his movements precise as he cast the spell to transform it into the shimmering liquid within the basin.
"Minister, you might want to take a look at this," Scrimgeour said.
It was a memory of their latest operation. Few wizards would dare to do something like this—pulling out their own memories for others to see. Memories were fragile, after all, and the slightest mistake could lead to unthinkable consequences.
Scrimgeour's grave demeanor immediately tipped off Fudge and Umbridge that something serious was afoot.
Fudge quickly sifted through the memory's contents. Despite his best efforts to hide his shock, his eyes gleamed with excitement. He shot a glance at Umbridge, a cryptic smile tugging at his lips.
"Minister!" Scrimgeour's face was etched with concern. "We need to be cautious about Gilderoy Lockhart…"
Before he could finish, Fudge let out a soft chuckle, waving him off with a single word: "Foolish!"
"What?" Scrimgeour's brows furrowed. He didn't have much respect for the politician standing before him, but some things required the Minister's backing.
"Gilderoy Lockhart is the expert consultant for our Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, got it?" Fudge replied casually, striding over to the office window. He pulled back a sliver of the curtain, peering down at the protesters and reporters gathered outside the Ministry.
"But he's Dumbledore's man, he—" Scrimgeour tried to argue.
"Rufus Scrimgeour, I'm disappointed in you!" Fudge turned, fixing him with a cool stare. "Tell me, do you think our charming Mr. Lockhart can stay at Hogwarts forever?"
"No, he can't. How long can he keep teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? You know the rumors—Hogwarts is cursed. No one lasts long in that post."
"Exactly. But the Ministry? Oh, there's no better place for him. Global influence, adoring fans, a glittering resume from teaching at Hogwarts, and all those bestselling books. This is where he belongs—like a fish in the sea."
Fudge's excitement grew as he paced the office, rubbing his hands together. "We need to cheer for our Ministry hero, Gilderoy Lockhart! He's thwarted a terrible conspiracy, faced down thousands of dark wizards, and stood tall in front of the Aurors, protecting everyone!"
Yes, that's the story.
He waved his plump arm enthusiastically. "He's a hero—our Ministry's hero!"
Scrimgeour's face darkened. He couldn't help but notice that Lockhart was about Rosette of Ravenclaw. Apparently, it wasn't just a matter of keeping an eye on him—Lockhart's fame was about to outshine the Auror Office's reputation once again. And worse, it seemed the entire Ministry would back this narrative.
Thousands of dark wizards? Did Fudge even believe his own words?
Could Fudge get any more absurd?
Apparently, he could.
Fudge turned to Umbridge, who was staring at the Pensieve with a mix of shock and uncertainty. "Get me a meeting with Rita Skeeter from The Daily Prophet," he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "That infuriating woman can be useful sometimes. We need to spread the word about the Ministry's great victory—and the heroic deeds of our star employee, Gilderoy Lockhart!"
"Make it quick!" he urged Umbridge.
"Minister!" Scrimgeour finally snapped, raising his voice. But Fudge turned, his usually comical, bumbling face now sporting a pair of cold, calculating eyes, as if to say, Think carefully before you speak, mate.
It was a humbling moment for Scrimgeour.
But Fudge's grin returned, as disarming and harmless as ever. He slung an arm around Scrimgeour's shoulder. "Look, mate, Lockhart's one of us now. I don't care how he ended up at the Ministry—he's ours."
"Dumbledore…" Scrimgeour started.
Fudge took a deep breath. "Dumbledore stuck him in the Beasts Department? Ha! I can offer him so much more."
He glanced at Umbridge. "We need to dig into our Mr. Lockhart. I want to know everything about him—what makes him tick, what'll keep him loyal to the Ministry."
Umbridge's eyes gleamed as an idea struck her. She pointed at Scrimgeour. "He's got a full investigation file on Lockhart—everything we need."
"Merlin's beard!" Fudge exclaimed, though he clearly already knew about it. "An investigation?!"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Cancel it. I don't care what Lockhart's done in the past—scrap it. He's our hero now, spotless and shining!"
He fixed Scrimgeour with a serious look. "You agree with me, don't you? We bring Lockhart fully into the Ministry's fold?"
Scrimgeour was silent for a moment before nodding. "Don't worry, I know what to do."
He'd seen Lockhart's file. Years of frontline Auror experience told him exactly what was off about the man. But sometimes, the world worked this way—no right or wrong, just sides.
Scrimgeour was on board with Fudge's plan to recruit Lockhart fully. He didn't mind smoothing over any blemishes in Lockhart's past—ensuring even a global Auror task force from the International Confederation of Wizards wouldn't find a thing.
"Good," Fudge said, clearly pleased. "Now, you…" He paused, waving it off, and turned to Umbridge. "You handle Lockhart. Make sure he doesn't get any bad ideas about the Ministry. I trust you'll make him feel right at home?"
Umbridge adjusted her glasses with a smirk. "I'll make him feel like he's back at Hogwarts."
"Excellent!" Fudge hurried to his desk, pulling out a quill and parchment to draft his statement. After a moment, he looked up at Scrimgeour. "Go to Hogwarts and get that poor boy—Vincent Crabbe, right? I want him here, whole and healthy, when I face the reporters. Get the Department of Mysteries' Unspeakables to stitch his soul back together—bright, grateful, and ready to sing the Ministry's praises!"
---
Lockhart didn't have to wait long in the Auror Office before someone from the Wizengamot showed up for an informal review.
And who was it? None other than the Chief Warlock himself—Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore looked a bit rushed, his robes carrying the weathered look of someone who'd been on the move. He took a sip of the strong coffee Kingsley offered, grimacing at the bitter taste before turning a complicated expression on Lockhart and Kingsley.
"Voldemort made a move, showed himself," Dumbledore said. "He knew I couldn't resist the chance to pursue him."
"Did you get him?" Lockhart asked bluntly.
Dumbledore shook his head. "He's possessing Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf. I cornered him in a werewolf community, but he slipped into a house protected by the Fidelius Charm."
It was a powerful safehouse spell, and even someone as formidable as Dumbledore could only do so much against it. The wizarding world was full of surprises—magic that could stump even the greatest. Sometimes, the weakest could wield a single obscure spell to fend off terrifying threats. That was the true magic of it all.
Voldemort, even at his weakest, always had ways to slip through Dumbledore's fingers. That was what frustrated the old wizard most. Unlike facing Grindelwald, where you could find him in the thick of things and duel him head-on, Voldemort was a shadow.
"But it wasn't a total loss," Dumbledore said, a glint in his half-moon glasses. "My magic trapped him in Greyback's body. Come the full moon, that's my chance to deal with the cup."
The cup. A Horcrux. Hufflepuff's golden cup.
Lockhart's eyes flickered. The next full moon was about two weeks away. Time to plan a little surgery for old Tom Riddle.
Interesting. He and Dumbledore had both caught Voldemort's tail. Horcruxes might make him immortal, but they also made him vulnerable.
Wait a second.
It wasn't just those two Horcruxes.
There was Harry Potter, too.
Lockhart's mind raced. He'd tried teaching Ginny to resist dark magic's influence, with limited success. But that didn't mean the approach was a dead end. Ginny might not have managed it, but Harry? Harry could be different.
The Boy Who Lived wasn't just a catchy title. When it came to defending against the Dark Arts, Harry had incredible potential.
Time to dig deeper, invest more in training him.
The office fell quiet. Dumbledore and Lockhart were lost in their own plans, while Kingsley sat silently, watching them both. He'd once thought Dumbledore recruited Lockhart like he did Mundungus Fletcher—a kind-hearted attempt to pull someone from the edge while hoping their unique skills could help in the fight against You-Know-Who.
But this? Lockhart was in far deeper than Kingsley had realized.
If that was the case, maybe Lockhart was worth investing in.
Kingsley, despite being "just" a seasoned Auror, had access to resources most couldn't imagine. He was a Shacklebolt, after all—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families. He knew secrets about people like Corban Yaxley, another pure-blood from the same elite circle, that could prove useful to Lockhart.
"What about Yaxley?" Kingsley asked Dumbledore, wanting to gauge the old man's stance.
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "He needs to face justice, but not now. If we want to track You-Know-Who more easily, Yaxley's our best lead."
"Leave it to me!" Lockhart cut in, grinning at both of them and licking his lips. "I've got some magical experiments that could use his… cooperation."
Kingsley felt a chill for reasons he couldn't quite place.
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