Fudge's sudden loss of composure stunned everyone around him.
People stared in confusion, unsure what had happened.
Dumbledore hurried over and lowered his voice, "Calm down, Cornelius. What happened?"
Scrimgeour stepped in, his face grim, answering for the panicked Fudge. "A wizard calling himself Herpo unleashed large-scale dark magic in the streets of New York City. Tens of thousands of Muggles have been driven insane. The city's basically in chaos."
"The warning clock at the headquarters of Magical Congress of the United States has hit its highest alert level."
"Dumbledore... much as it pains me to say it, our world has been exposed. The International Statute of Secrecy is finished."
Scrimgeour hadn't bothered to keep his voice down. The other professors who had followed Dumbledore over heard every word, and their faces instantly changed.
"What the hell is the Magical Congress doing?" Madame Maxime snapped, shocked and furious. "Where's that wizard now? Haven't their people started wiping memories?"
"It's useless," Scrimgeour gave a bitter laugh. "Muggles don't spread information like they did seventy or eighty years ago. They've already broadcast it on television. The signal's gone nationwide... probably worldwide by now."
"And with wizards exposed, a lot of concealment magic has stopped working. New York is a complete mess."
"..."
Dumbledore frowned deeply, "Herpo? That's impossible. He was severely injured."
Fudge whipped around to stare at him. "You know that Herpo? Dumbledore, why didn't you ever tell me? Who is he?"
At that moment, Fudge was seething.
He felt like an idiot. Dumbledore had known all this, and he hadn't heard a thing. The others turned to Dumbledore too, their expressions full of doubt and confusion.
Dumbledore could see the anger plainly enough.
"Cornelius," he said, trying to calm him, "that Herpo is the infamous Herpo the Foul from history."
Fudge's eyes practically bulged out of his head.
"Yes, I knew you'd react like that." Dumbledore shrugged helplessly. "That's exactly why I didn't tell you. You wouldn't have believed me."
"And on top of that, he was badly wounded by a friend of Riddle's. We didn't think he'd recover fast enough to cause trouble anytime soon, so we kept it quiet to avoid causing panic."
"But who could've guessed he'd recover this quickly?"
"I can back Dumbledore up." Sanchez stepped forward. "With several professors here as witnesses, a powerful witch named Jeanne d'Arc defeated Herpo and even destroyed his physical body. But unfortunately, he still managed to escape."
"Jeanne d'Arc?" Madame Maxime looked completely lost. "You mean... the Saint? The Maid of Orléans?"
As a Frenchwoman, even a witch, there was no way she wouldn't know that name.
The other wizards looked even more bewildered than Maxime.
Herpo the Foul.
Jeanne d'Arc.
Were they listening to reality, or some kind of fairy tale? Why did all these legendary figures keep popping up one after another?
After Dumbledore's explanation, Fudge realized he'd blamed him unfairly.
He was still irritated, but this was hardly the time for it. Pushing it aside, he said quickly, "Then what do we do now? And Albus... where's Riddle?"
Dumbledore scanned the area, but Tom was nowhere to be seen.
He was debating whether to go to New York himself and assess the situation.
But if Herpo was still there... even Dumbledore couldn't guarantee he'd make it out unharmed. Either he brought Grindelwald with him... or Tom.
Or perhaps they'd need to call on Jeanne d'Arc again.
Just as Dumbledore hesitated, the air in front of them suddenly condensed into a phantom-like projection, forming Tom's figure.
"Professor, I'm already on my way to the United States. Please have everyone remain inside the Dream Arena and wait. Do not move around carelessly."
Before disappearing, the projection cast a meaningful glance at Fontaine. Then it vanished.
Fontaine's heart skipped. A strange, inexplicable sense of guilt rose in his chest.
He had no idea why.
And luckily, no one else seemed to notice that little detail. All they heard was that Riddle was already heading to New York, and almost everyone let out a quiet breath of relief.
To everyone there, he felt as dependable as Dumbledore himself, perhaps even more so considering his youth and remarkable talent.
...
..
Crossing the ocean wasn't simple. There were very few places at sea suitable for Apparition.
But for Tom now? It was about as troublesome as dropping by the next neighborhood over.
A few rapid Apparitions later, he reached the East Coast.
And in the blink of an eye, he landed precisely in the heart of Manhattan.
"Don't move! Stay where you are, or we'll open fire!"
A person appearing out of thin air sent the street cops into instant panic. Guns were drawn and pointed at Tom.
The boy looked up. His gaze swept over them.
Then a faint flash of light flickered, and the officers' eyes rolled back as they collapsed unconscious.
After a moment, above him, shrill alarms blared.
A helicopter circled low overhead, its loudspeaker booming across the streets, "Mutation spotted near Fifth Avenue! Immediate capture authorized! Target is a minor with the ability to use witchcraft!"
Tom clicked his tongue. "What a pain."
Listening to the endless broadcasts and the panicked screams around him, irritation rose fast.
He'd only come here to assess the situation and track down Herpo. So how the hell had he somehow ended up in the X-Men universe as a mutant?
.
.
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