Cornelius Fudge listened to Dudley, his eyes gleaming.
If he followed Dudley's advice, it would be a disaster for the Ministry's high-ranking officials. The staff might be completely overhauled.
But, of course, the ones who would likely be affected were the old pure-blood wizarding families, probably those who were loyal, or had once been loyal, to Voldemort. Even Dumbledore's old friends wouldn't be affected. While they had worked for a long time (over a hundred years of service) and had enough seniority as members of the Wizengamot, their official positions were too small and their power too limited.
Any expression of their displeasure would only come in the form of a ridiculous and ineffective protest like resignation.
Even Fudge wouldn't bother with them.
"Mr. Minister, the Ministry of Magic is decaying. It's no longer the Ministry that once served wizards and the Minister. I believe the Ministry needs an infusion of fresh blood—a new generation that is loyal only to you…"
Dudley's voice was a whisper in Fudge's ear.
It kept seeping into his mind.
A Ministry loyal only to him… what a beautiful thought.
"Of course, this can be done slowly. You're still young and have plenty of time…"
"You see, Mr. Minister, this is not a bad thing at all."
After hearing Dudley, a light bulb seemed to go off for Fudge. His wrinkled old face broke into a smile as bright as a chrysanthemum. Suddenly, everything became clear.
At that moment, he felt he could take control of the situation again. He felt powerful and capable.
"To our wise and mighty Minister of Magic."
Dudley raised his glass and toasted Fudge with a smile.
He had painted a grand picture for Fudge, and whether Fudge could actually achieve it was another matter entirely. Frankly, Dudley didn't believe Fudge could outsmart the pure-bloods, but at the very least, he could start the charge. Without some upheaval, it would be too difficult for new wizards to climb to the top.
Fudge happily raised his glass and took another big gulp, inevitably choking again.
Dudley shook his head slightly. It seemed Fudge wasn't suited for this drink.
What a waste of the "Godfather," a drink Dudley had mixed himself.
After getting the answers he wanted, Fudge and his new secretary left, satisfied.
Dudley watched them walk away until they were out of sight, then smirked and snapped his fingers, and the wicker chairs disappeared.
Fresh blood?
Where would the fresh blood come from?
A good-for-nothing like Fudge couldn't even build his own team; Dudley had to do it for him.
Oh, maybe there was one… Dudley thought of a pink toad.
Just a petty clown who only knew a few tricks; a nobody.
Dudley's gaze shifted to the neighbor's lawn, where a strangely dressed man was standing. It was the leader of the Squibs, Mr. Curifor, who was respectfully nodding to him.
"Mr. Dursley, Mr. Gargamel sends his warmest regards."
Dudley nodded to show he understood, and Curifor respectfully melted away.
Dudley, under the guise of Gargamel, had given Curifor's group a clear order: obey Dudley and protect Petunia and the others at all costs.
His family's safety was always Dudley's top priority.
It's worth noting that the idea of placing the Squibs on Privet Drive came from Fudge's current secretary, whose name was—Percy, Percy Weasley.
In Fudge's eyes, Percy was an outstanding and highly-regarded assistant.
Dudley composed himself and smiled as he walked toward his family.
"Harry… The dangerous fugitive who escaped from Azkaban. The next time you see Peter, you can avenge your parents with dignity."
As Dudley reached Harry, he said this in a low voice.
Harry's shoulders trembled slightly at the words, but he quickly regained his composure.
"I will."
His voice was firm and resolute.
Harry had given Peter a chance. If he had stayed put in Azkaban to atone for his crimes, Harry would have left him alone.
But he chose to escape…
This meant he didn't regret what he'd done, not even betraying the Potters.
When Harry saw him again, he wouldn't hold back.
Not long after the Grangers moved into Privet Drive, the Dursleys were once again busy. There were crowds of people, neighbors who came to congratulate them, a cake bigger than a person, a mountain of gifts, and a lavish buffet in the garden.
It was an important day.
For every member of the Dursley family.
Because today, the Dursleys' little princess—Lily Dursley—was finally one year old.
Everyone was smiling, and the Dursley home was more lively than ever. Even the usually grim-faced Snape had a slight upward curve to his mouth. And that was with his mind still closed from Occlumency; if he had let his guard down, his smile would probably have stretched all the way to his back teeth.
After a little more time on Privet Drive, Dudley, Hermione, and Harry left for Godric's Hollow.
They planned every holiday this way.
If Privet Drive was their Muggle home, then the old castle in Godric's Hollow was their wizarding home.
Both Hermione and Harry loved their magical home.
They had planted every plant in the garden themselves and decorated every room in the castle.
With the two old wizards, Pippy and Lucius, looking after the place, everything in the castle was in perfect order. The cabbages were thriving in the garden, the pumpkins were getting brighter, and the Mandrakes…
The only flaw was the iron thorns that served as a fence. They were still the same height, the same hardness, and had very little defense compared to the magical plants.
Honestly, their defenses were no better than the Mandrakes.
They truly lived up to their name as a useless magical plant.
All show and no substance.
It's worth mentioning that after Dudley and the others left Privet Drive, Snape didn't return to his house on Spinner's End. Instead, he found a house nearby and would often visit the Dursleys to see little Lily.
Yes, perhaps that was the main point.
He was now little Lily's godfather.
As soon as Snape said it, Petunia agreed, and Vernon didn't object. Vernon already had a good impression of Snape. While his hair might be a little greasy, his overall image was decent, and he heard he was a professor at Hogwarts—a respectable job, much better than some good-for-nothing layabout.
He naturally didn't have a big problem with it.
Even if little Lily couldn't become a witch when she turned eleven, Snape would continue to guide her and fulfill his duties as a godfather.
By the way, I really want to complain about something. The "Wild-Ball Fist," is that really what you think it is?