Cornelius Fudge straightened his tie before stepping out of the fireplace. The moment he emerged, he found dozens of Ministry officials crowded inside his office, all staring at him with anxious, burning eyes.
"I'm sorry, Minister, I really couldn't stop them," croaked Umbridge in her shrill voice.
"Fudge—" Rufus Scrimgeour stepped forward, ready to speak, but Fudge cut him off.
"Everyone, we are in a state of emergency!" Fudge took a deep breath as Charles Gold's words flashed through his mind. His tone hardened. "I'm afraid the Dark Lor—no, I'm afraid Voldemort has been resurrected!"
The room erupted into chaos.
"Don't say that name!" a female official shrieked, and the men didn't look much better.
"Fudge, that name has power! He can feel it when we speak it!"
Fudge almost laughed. The sight of these trembling bureaucrats was nearly comical. Of course, he knew why they had come—to demand his confirmation, to push him into action, and perhaps, deep down, because they thought he was too much of a coward to face Voldemort.
And once, that might have been true.But not anymore.
After all—hadn't that so-called Dark Lord already been defeated by Charles Gold?
The Dark Lord?Ha! Just another loser.
My leg is the thickest one to cling to now! he thought proudly.
Still, these thoughts stayed in his mind. Outwardly, he wore a solemn, resolute expression."Let him come, then!" he declared boldly. "Let him come and kill me! I'm not afraid!"
He strode to his desk like a man walking to the gallows. The performance might've looked ridiculous—this portly little man pretending to be fearless—but no one dared laugh. The name "Voldemort" wasn't a joke to anyone.
"Oh, Fudge—who would've thought?" said Amelia Bones dryly. "I always took you for a coward. It seems I was mistaken."
Amelia Bones—Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, technically Scrimgeour's superior. If Fudge were ever removed, she was the most likely successor. In the original history, she would be killed resisting Voldemort's forces.
"I know some of you think I'm unfit to be Minister for Magic," Fudge said loudly. "That's fine. Perhaps I'm not the most capable—but I am still your Minister. I won't run from the duties that come with this office!"
His sudden passion stunned the room into silence.Kingsley and Crouch, who'd both seen Fudge's pitiful state in Dumbledore's office before, could scarcely believe it. Now, here he was—brave, commanding, determined.
"That evil wizard has returned," Fudge continued. "He once brought disaster upon our world! Every one of us lost loved ones and friends to his madness! If we fight him again, such tragedies may repeat—our lives may be in danger! But we cannot retreat!"
He slammed his bowler hat on the desk and called out, "Bartemius Crouch! Where are you?"
Old Barty stepped forward.
"Good. First, contact the Scandinavian Ministry of Magic. Tell them everything about the Durmstrang headmaster's involvement. I have a memory from Mr. Gold containing evidence that Karkaroff was used to resurrect Voldemort. Kingsley, you'll send them the memory of Voldemort killing Karkaroff. Demand that they answer for this! I expect them to send Aurors to aid us in this war!"
Crouch took the small vial of silvery memory, his face grim. "They may not agree," he said quietly.
The name Voldemort inspired terror across the globe. Even the smallest act of aid could draw his wrath—and no one wanted to risk that.
"If they refuse?" Fudge barked. "Then go to the International Confederation of Wizards! Their hands are long enough, aren't they?"
Crouch couldn't help the faint curl of his lip—but he nodded and left the office.
"The rest of you, get moving!" Fudge ordered briskly. "Especially the Auror Office, the Misuse of Magic Office, and the Law Enforcement Patrols. You'll all be very busy soon."
He turned to Umbridge. "Dolores, contact the Daily Prophet. The public has the right to know—war is coming, and peace is ending!"
He sighed dramatically. "Ah, if only Voldemort would go wreak havoc abroad instead—that'd save us all the trouble."
But few in the room shared his attempt at humor. Their faces were grim.
"What's wrong?" Fudge asked when no one spoke.
It was Scrimgeour who finally voiced the question that hung over them all."Fudge… what does Dumbledore say about this?"
"What does he say? He says it's awful, of course! Who could've expected the man to come back?" Fudge replied offhandedly.
But that wasn't the answer they wanted.
"I mean—does Dumbledore have any strategy? Any plan?" Scrimgeour pressed. "You know he's the one person the Dark Lord truly fears. Can he work with the Ministry—stand with us against him?"
Everyone leaned forward, waiting.But Fudge merely looked up, his small eyes glittering.
"No," he said. "He's over a hundred years old. What can you expect from him now? His power has faded. He no longer has the strength to fight Voldemort."
Faces darkened around the room.
"But there's no need to worry," Fudge continued cheerfully. "Without Dumbledore, we still have Harry Potter! Doesn't the prophecy say he'll be Voldemort's greatest enemy?"
That made the mood even worse.
"But he's just a child!" Arthur Weasley protested. "He's in his first year! We can't send him to fight!"
Scrimgeour spoke again. "Then what about Charles Gold? Can he help us?"
The room stilled at once. Everyone turned to Fudge expectantly.
According to Kingsley, Charles Gold had technically lost during Voldemort's resurrection—but he'd fought the Dark Lord alone for a long time without injury. That itself was a miracle.
Scrimgeour had even asked whether Gold had his Pokémon with him. Kingsley's answer was no.
So—if he could battle Voldemort without his Pokémon, what could he do with them?And what if every Auror had a Pokémon of their own?
The idea filled Scrimgeour with hope.
"I'm afraid he has other matters to handle," Fudge said flatly, picking up a file from his desk.
"What could be more important than fighting the Dark Lord?" Scrimgeour demanded.
"Why, the American Ministry's inquiry into Gold's violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, of course!" Fudge sneered. "Those Aurors who infiltrated Hogwarts have handed over their so-called evidence to the International Confederation. The trial documents will arrive any day now! And I intend to ask—who let them in?"
"They were from Mahōtokoro—"
"Mahōtokoro?!" Fudge's voice rose sharply. "Mahōtokoro doesn't have white or black wizards! Don't tell me you can't even tell the difference anymore!"
The office fell silent again.
"Sometimes we shouldn't let the Confederation meddle in our affairs unless they're willing to lend a hand," someone muttered. "Who helped us last time the war broke out?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Fudge said, sinking into his chair with a weary sigh. "Now, everyone out. This isn't the time for another meeting."
When the last official had left, Fudge exhaled heavily and wiped the sweat from his brow, finally letting his mask slip.
"The Ministry's stance is united now," he murmured, eyes glinting. "But I still need the rest of the world to shut up—and that depends on Mr. Gold's next move. I just need to follow his lead."
Not long after, Umbridge returned—bringing along a familiar face from the Daily Prophet: Rita Skeeter.
That woman and Umbridge were truly two of a kind.
Soon after, Fudge stood at the entrance of the Ministry, announcing a grand press conference.
"What's going on? I heard the rest of the tournament's been canceled?"Ron squeezed out of the crowd, spreading the rumor he'd just heard. Having lost his own match, he wasn't too upset—but if the event was canceled, it meant more time for exams.
"No idea. Seems something big happened," Harry said, shaking his head.
"I saw the other schools' teachers leaving in a hurry," Fred added. Of course, he'd confirmed it through the Marauder's Map.
By the next day, they knew exactly what had happened.
The front page of the Daily Prophet read:"Dark Lord Returns—Another Wizarding War Begins?"Minister Cornelius Fudge publicly confirmed Voldemort's return and declared a wartime state of emergency, sending panic throughout the wizarding world.
"But… how did he come back?" Harry asked, frowning. "We stopped him from getting the Philosopher's Stone! Dumbledore said it was destroyed!"
"Guess he found another way," Ron muttered, scanning a letter from home. According to his father, the news was genuine.
"It's all right," Hermione said quickly. "Even if he's back, we still have Professor Dumbledore."
Ron shook his head. "I'm afraid not this time. Dad says Dumbledore admitted to Fudge himself that he's too old now. I think the only one who can stop the Dark Lord now is Professor Gold."
"Professor Gold?" Hermione's curiosity flared. She rarely had access to inside information.
"Yeah. It's got to do with Pokémon. Some people think he broke the Statute of Secrecy—they're trying to prosecute him! Can you believe it? They raise dragons every year and those get spotted all the time!"
Dark clouds seemed to settle over Hogwarts.And yet, daily life went on.
Voldemort's supposed return became nothing more than a whisper—he vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared. People began to doubt he'd truly come back at all.
But far away, in Malfoy Manor, many Death Eaters had gathered, pale and trembling.
"Lucius… I heard—the Master has returned?"
They spoke in whispers, afraid even of their own voices.For all their former loyalty, they had quickly renounced Voldemort when he fell. None had sought him since. That was betrayal by any measure.
Now he was back—and none of them had felt his summons. That could only mean one thing: he had no intention of forgiving any of them.
"It seems so," Lucius replied coolly. He wasn't nearly as frightened. Not long ago, he had followed Voldemort's command and sent him a vial of unicorn blood.
Charles Gold had told him then not to worry—that everything was under control.
Now that Voldemort was resurrected, Lucius wasn't sure if that was part of Gold's plan too. But in any case, he had obeyed. Perhaps the Dark Lord would spare him.
"But we haven't been called!" one man whimpered. "What if the Master won't forgive us?"
The words had barely left his mouth when a sharp, icy voice echoed from outside the door.
"Did you really think I would forgive you?"
The cloaked figure of "Voldemort" stood in the manor's courtyard, pale as death.The Death Eaters collapsed to their knees, trembling.
"Master—Master! Forgive us!"
"We never betrayed you, Master!"
"Never betrayed me?" Voldemort sneered, stepping forward with regal confidence. "I know many of you thought I was dead—or powerless. You were quick to distance yourselves, weren't you?"
He strolled to the front, as if he were once again the rightful lord of the manor.
"But I must commend Lucius—yes, Lucius, well done."He reached out a bony hand and pulled Malfoy to his feet."I permit you to speak to me standing."
"Thank you, my great Lord," Lucius said, bowing low, his heart hammering.
(End of Chapter)