Chapter 159: Go Get Dumbledore!
Fudge was working at his desk. With his hands clasped behind his back, he had been pacing before the window, affecting the posture of a great leader.
Now, he was meticulously listing the family situations of various newspaper and magazine editors, as well as the personal connections of shopkeepers in Diagon Alley. He was deep in thought, plotting what combination of carrot and stick he would use to make this whole affair disappear.
He continuously scribbled on a piece of parchment with his quill. When he hit upon a particularly clever idea, a self-satisfied smile spread across his face, clearly pleased with his own genius. He was certain that family could be placated with this method.
"A small matter like this... I'll just have Umbridge go and have a nice word with them," he mused. "Give them a sweet deal, then hold the stick over their heads. They'll certainly yield."
He set down his quill and stretched.
Halfway through the stretch, the door to his office was blasted open.
He saw his own secretary stumble in, frantic. "This is terrible, Minister! Terrible! They've broken in!"
Fudge frowned. "Why didn't you knock? Who gave you permission to enter my office directly?"
He pointed sternly at the door. "Out! And knock!"
"Minister, they're really—"
"Out! And knock!" Fudge repeated. "Do not make me say it a third time!"
The secretary was at his wit's end. He wanted to scream. I offer my loyalty, and this is what I get. But he couldn't disobey a direct order from the Minister. If he did, he'd be subjected to a long, manipulative lecture—one that started with his ancestors, moved on to his parents' expectations for him, his future, his household expenses...
He exhaled sharply and shut the door, the frame rattling with his poorly concealed annoyance. The loud slam was a sound that displeased Fudge greatly.
He's never been this unprofessional before, Fudge thought, annoyed. Flapping about as if the sky were falling. Such a barbarian, no respect for his superiors, no etiquette. He doesn't deserve to be my secretary. I'll have him transferred in a couple of days. I need someone sharp, capable, and respectful.
Why is it so noisy out there? And why hasn't he knocked yet?
Fudge sat in the Minister's chair, as immovable as a mountain, the very picture of a high-status leader, radiating an aura of unflappable authority.
The clamor in the hallway grew louder. The office was well-soundproofed, but he could still hear his secretary shouting something like "You can't do that!"
What is he doing— Fudge's thought was cut short by a deafening BOOM.
The office door flew off its hinges like a cannonball, slamming into the far wall with enough force to shatter the glass frames hanging there. It whistled past Fudge's head, the wind of its passage overturning his teacup, scattering the papers on his desk, and mussing his hair, making the typically immaculate gentleman look rather unkempt.
He slammed his hands on the desk and shot to his feet. The papers swirled in front of his face, one even landing on his forehead, but it didn't stop him from roaring, "Insolence! You are all finished!"
But no one heard him. The sound of his voice was completely drowned out by the continuous roar of the crowd that followed the door's destruction. Smoke and dust filled the air.
When the dust finally settled, revealing the scene, the Minister of Magic's office was in ruins.
The door was gone.
The windows were shattered.
A wall was collapsing.
And Fudge was dumbfounded.
He thought he must be dreaming. Only a dream could explain the sight of a mob having just smashed their way into his office, angrily pushing back a handful of Ministry staff who were trying to protect him. The crowd advanced, forcing the employees to retreat step by step, back over the rubble of the wall. The sheer heat of their emotion was like a physical wave, making Fudge's eyes water.
They had fought their way from Diagon Alley, through the Ministry atrium, and all the way to his office. These "admonishers" were armed with a powerful truth: strength in numbers. Before this truth, the Ministry staff had collapsed, managing only to form a nervous protective circle around Fudge.
Just as Fudge was about to be overrun, at the last possible second, Scrimgeour and his subordinate, Kingsley, arrived to save the day. Like a hero from an old tale, arriving to save his king, Scrimgeour charged in, parting the crowd and forcing back the wizards at the front.
In Fudge's eyes, Scrimgeour was his pillar holding up the sky, his savior.
His lips trembled. "Now that is a man to be relied upon!"
"Everyone, calm down! Listen to me!" Scrimgeour shouted. Having realized Dumbledore's stance had changed, he wanted nothing to do with Fudge's mess. But he couldn't just stand by and let a mob tear the Ministry apart. As the only one present with the authority to act, he had no choice but to step forward.
The crowd's response was not calm, but a volley of spells.
"Stupefy!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Densaugeo!"
"Expelliarmus!"
A torrent of light flew at Scrimgeour. It was impossible to tell how many spells hit him, but a moment later, he was down.
Kingsley was baffled. He couldn't understand why the Head of the Auror Office, an elite Auror, a grizzled veteran who had fought Voldemort himself, had, after blocking all the offensive spells, seemed to intentionally graze himself with a harmless Stunner before collapsing theatrically.
But, Head Auror Scrimgeour was down. One couldn't be too critical. He had clearly done everything "within his power" to ensure Fudge's safety.
Kingsley: Is this for real?
Scrimgeour (already on the floor): What's the problem?
Fudge, who didn't understand wizarding combat and genuinely thought his best man had been defeated: "No!"
"You... you've attacked the Ministry! Attacked the Minister of Magic! Hurt the Head of the Auror Office! You'll all go to Azkaban for this!" Fudge shrieked.
Another wave of spells flew at him. He yelped and dove under his desk, using it as a shield against the assault. Amidst the splintering wood, a moment of inspiration struck him. He yelled at Kingsley:
"Quickly! Go to Hogwarts! Get Dumbledore!"
Hearing the order, Kingsley immediately sprinted toward the Atrium Floos, shouting as he ran, "I'm going to Hogwarts to get Dumbledore!"
Hogwarts.
Dumbledore was in the middle of explaining the subtleties of magic to Harry. He had just reached a critical point in his lecture, and the lesson was masterful, every word seemingly woven from pure magic. Harry, like a man dying of thirst finally receiving water, was completely entranced, a look of blissful understanding on his face.
Suddenly, Dumbledore stopped speaking.
Harry looked up, confused. "Headmaster? Is something wrong?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard and smiled. "We have a visitor."
~~~
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