A/N: Hey everyone, how are you all doing?
Alright, real talk—I just watched the new Harry Potter TV show trailer, and I genuinely hate it. It's so bad I can barely even put it into words.
I'm calling it right now—they're going to ruin Harry Potter the same way they did Lord of the Rings and Star Wars.
The casting feels completely wrong, the acting looks weak, and it's obvious they've changed a lot of the story. It doesn't even feel like the 1990s anymore—it just comes off like some generic, angsty teenage drama.
And the more I look at it, the worse it gets. I can't unsee it now. The casting especially just feels really off.
What makes it worse is that this TV show had so much potential. Unlike movies, TV shows actually have the time to do things properly. With something like eight episodes, you can easily get over four hours of content.
One of my biggest problems with the films was how much they had to cut or change because of time constraints. But a TV show doesn't have that excuse—and somehow, they still completely missed the mark.
Honestly, it just feels like a huge waste of what could've been. My expectations were not too high, and now they're completely crushed.
And like always comment, review and send some power stones. Helps a lot thank you.
************
"Why is your best friend looking at me like that — like she's expecting me to curse you on the spot?" Draco asked Hermione in a low voice.
They had just finished breakfast and were making their way along the long aisle between the house tables toward the entrance.
"Ginny found out I didn't come back last night," Hermione murmured, wearing a fresh shirt. "She thinks you might have done something terrible to me."
"What could I possibly have done — what I would have liked to—" Draco said, with an aggrieved expression.
Mid-sentence, he glanced over at the Gryffindor table, seized her waist, and drew her closer; then, using her momentary inattention, cast a coolly disdainful look at several disgruntled fifth-year Gryffindor boys.
"He did…" Hermione glanced at him sidelong, her gaze drifting over the clean line of his jaw and his lips, and murmured, almost to herself, in a soft, warm voice.
That morning, when she changed her shirt, she had noticed one or two marks on her ribs.
Evidence, presumably, of a particular moment of enthusiasm on his part.
She didn't quite remember it. Her butterbeer-soaked memory offered only fragments — snatches of images like grains of platinum sand: on the sofa, him leaning over her, those pale grey eyes intent and fascinated, and then — treating her skin like butterbeer pudding, she rather thought.
He hadn't done it deliberately, she was sure. He was always so careful with her, so gentle he was almost cautious. The marks were very faint — no pain whatsoever — which was all the proof she needed.
What affected her more, really, was the strange, particular psychological sensation of having been marked by him. That was the thing she couldn't quite settle.
Draco, basking cheerfully in the boys' outrage, looked over and asked, "What did you just say?"
Hermione blinked, and felt herself go warm.
This was awkward. How was she supposed to answer?
Tell him: you've left Draco Malfoy's personal stamp all over me?
He'd probably grin, and then lean down to whisper something far more outrageous directly into her ear in front of everyone.
Alternatively, he might panic in the middle of the Great Hall — given his unfailing tendency to overreact to the slightest mark or bruise on her body. That seemed equally catastrophic.
Neither option appealed. Hermione flushed and resolved never to bring it up.
Instead she shook out the freshly printed Daily Prophet and said to him, with performed surprise, "Oh — I mean, I don't understand why there's been nothing in the paper about any of it. Not the Dark Lord's plot, not Harry and Cedric being Portkeyed to the graveyard, not McNeil, not Bagman—"
"Rita Skeeter, you mean?" Draco asked.
"Who else? She can spin something out of nothing — yet today's issue reads like a peaceful Sunday morning." Hermione frowned. "This is completely unlike her."
"There was something about McNeil." Draco took the paper and turned to the back page.
Hermione looked. A small piece — the size of a playing card — was wedged between two unrelated articles. It described how Walton McNeil had been sent to Azkaban for "participating in the attack on the Muggle Roberts family" in violation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.
"Roberts…" Hermione stopped walking. "Isn't that the surname of the Muggle campsite manager from the Quidditch World Cup?"
"Fudge's people were reasonably efficient, at least," Draco said, with something close to grudging surprise.
"But why is this the only crime he's been charged with?" Hermione's voice sharpened. "Attacking Muggles is reprehensible, obviously — more than enough for Azkaban — but what McNeil did inside the maze was a hundred times worse."
She shook her head, puzzled. "Why not interrogate him properly? Find out everything. Expose the full conspiracy to the public, instead of rushing him off to Azkaban with a single charge and leaving the rest completely buried?"
"I have some guesses." Draco offered his arm; she placed her hand on it and he led her steadily out of the hall.
"I suspect our ambitious Minister of Magic had a hand in this. Do you remember the argument we had about him the night of the match?" He watched her puzzled expression and said calmly, "Ultimately, it comes down to Cornelius Fudge and his appetite for power."
"But his decisions back then came from not knowing the full picture — he thought his political enemies were causing deliberate trouble." Hermione steered him toward the stairs. "Now that McNeil's been caught, that's no longer the case, is it?"
She pressed on, very seriously: "By now, he should have worked out everything that happened that night. The Dark Lord's attempted resurrection. What was actually happening in the maze. What Harry and Cedric experienced after they disappeared."
"And then what?" he said, dismissively.
"And then—" she said, as though it were perfectly obvious, "he would have to do something. Correct the mistakes he made that night—"
"Which mistakes? Refusing to stop the match?" Draco countered. "The Goblet of Fire question is settled now. Is there any point revisiting whether the match should have been halted?"
"That being said, the two champions in the maze were put through something they didn't deserve."
"You want Fudge to revoke Harry and Cedric's titles and make them compete again?" Draco said slowly. "The Goblet of Fire has been extinguished — it won't be lit again for five years. How would any champion compete legitimately without its sanction?"
"But the truth should be public. The wizarding world deserves to know." She held her ground. "I want Harry to win — but I want it to be fair. If the Death Eaters hadn't interfered, the outcome would have been entirely different."
"Fudge will never admit that Death Eaters exist. He never has, he doesn't now, and he never will. He dismissed all of it long before we were involved," he said quietly, in time with the slow, measured rhythm of his footsteps on the stairs. "How do you expect someone in his position to stand up and announce to the wizarding world that he was wrong?"
"Why shouldn't he?" She stopped on the landing, cheeks puffed up in a way that struck him as rather like a very indignant hamster, studying her worldly-wise boyfriend with reproachful eyes.
Draco stopped beside her.
He couldn't resist. He reached out and pressed gently at those puffed cheeks.
He cradled her bright, flushed face in his hands, gazing at her tenderly while delivering something heavy: "Do you take him for a humble student at Hogwarts?"
Hermione looked back at him in silent resentment, hazel eyes flashing.
"Leaders in that position don't admit mistakes easily." Draco, finding no one in the corridor, kissed her swiftly on her rosy lips, watching surprise and colour flood her expression. "He would rather confine everyone who knows the truth to Azkaban than say the words 'I was wrong.' Because the moment he admits it, it's equivalent to offering his resignation."
"I don't think he'd go that far." Hermione searched those calm grey eyes, cheeks still warm. "He did put McNeil away — and McNeil deserved it."
"Not long ago, you believed Cornelius Fudge was a decent Minister for Magic — not as foolish or power-hungry as I'd suggested," Draco said steadily. "Do you still think so?"
"Of course—" Hermione's conviction stumbled.
She realised, with a small shock, that she could no longer say it without hesitation.
"Shall we revisit the logic?" Draco asked, watching her expression. "Fudge has done quite a lot since we last discussed him. If we account for his subsequent behaviour, we might understand what he's actually after."
"Go on, then." She met his gaze fearlessly, with the look she always wore when she refused to concede. "Try to shake my worldview. But I should warn you — I don't give up my positions lightly."
"I know. I respect that," he said with complete sincerity. "Now — set aside everything you know for a moment. Think from Fudge's perspective. From the instant he arrived at Hogwarts on the twenty-fourth of June — what did the evening look like to him?"
"He came as the official representative and temporary adjudicator for the Tournament. He gave a speech—" Hermione looked at him steadily.
"And fully indulged his vanity," Draco said. "Every eye in the stadium on him. Every flashbulb. Under his illustrious leadership, the British Ministry of Magic was hosting the Triwizard Tournament — an international competition that had gone some way toward erasing the disaster of the World Cup Final night."
"His political prospects were looking rather bright," she said. "On that point, we agree."
He raised an eyebrow. "And then?"
Hermione thought. "He was on the judges' panel, chatting with the Heads of the visiting schools — until Professor McGonagall rushed over in a panic to tell the judges there were Death Eaters in the maze."
"The last time Death Eaters had surfaced was at the Quidditch World Cup — where they had staged a march, conjured the Dark Mark, and brought his carefully planned international event to a humiliating end," Draco reminded her.
"Yes. His hard-won achievement went up in smoke. His political standing took a blow." Hermione nodded slowly.
"The adjudicators argued about whether to suspend the match for quite some time, and deadlocked," Draco continued. "Was the delay his doing? I believe you now know whether my guess was correct?"
"Your guess was correct," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "Ginny overheard part of the adjudicators' conversation — Fudge did insist on continuing, just as you predicted. The vote ended two to two."
"Good. So — may we agree that his obsession with achievement and position has made him short-sighted?"
"Yes." She shook her head. "He didn't see the situation clearly. He pressed on even when the maze was empty and no one could say what was happening inside."
"Theodore told me that Fudge moved very quickly to find a Ministry official to replace Bagman on the panel — even with Karkaroff gone, he maintained a two-to-two vote," Draco said with detached precision. "An extreme manoeuvre. His advisors have brains — they simply never apply them usefully."
"He cheated!" Hermione said, indignant. "Dumbledore's position was perfectly clear — and Fudge counted his absent vote as an abstention!"
"From a procedural standpoint, there's nothing technically wrong with that interpretation," Draco said calmly. "This is standard practice for politicians."
Hermione glared at him.
In a sudden moment of clarity, she had the uncomfortable realisation that she had been, perhaps, rather naive to assume good faith from the outset.
Even the Minister for Magic was openly manipulating the rules. She had been prepared for it, and it still felt like something crumbling.
"Is your worldview still intact?" Draco asked, reading her expression.
"I'm not sure," she said, face tight. "I feel angry, and I can't quite decide at whom. I hate this feeling."
Draco pulled her forward, and they continued up the stairs.
"That's normal. If you want to understand how politicians work, you have to make peace with it. They're always ready to throw a curveball at you when you least expect it." His tone was conversational, almost bored with it. "Any chair in the political world needs to be examined very carefully before you sit down in it."
"No wonder politicians go bald so early — regardless of whether they've actually accomplished anything for the people." Hermione thought of Fudge's forehead under that towering top hat and felt no mercy. "They probably expend all their mental energy on these trivial little manoeuvrings."
"You won't have that particular problem." Draco glanced at her extraordinarily voluminous hair with a faint smile and continued: "Do you remember who was seated on the adjudicators' bench when the champions returned?"
"Fudge, Professor McGonagall — and—" Hermione paused.
"Neither Madame Maxime nor Karkaroff were there," Draco said. "I imagine they didn't quite agree with the result that had been pushed through."
Hermione nodded.
"They'd feel their champions had been cheated — the maze deliberately compromised, the competition invalidated. And Harry and Cedric appearing out of nowhere, without the Goblet, is strange enough to make anyone suspicious."
"I wouldn't be surprised if it planted conspiracy theories," he said steadily. "Fudge's handling doesn't bear scrutiny."
"Before anything was even understood, Fudge declared Harry and Cedric the winners, awarded the prizes, and announced the Triwizard Tournament a complete success," she said with a complicated expression.
"A very close escape. Fudge was remarkably fortunate — and he knew it." Draco's tone was measured. "What did his face look like when he presented the awards? You had an excellent vantage point, as I recall…"
Hermione glanced at him — and detected a small, hopeful expression.
She understood immediately. "Yes — I'm very lucky to have such a strong boyfriend. He always lifts me up high enough to see everything."
In the bright light streaming through the corridor window, she watched the boy become smugly, radiantly pleased — every strand of platinum hair catching the light as though acknowledging a triumph.
Draco was so easily satisfied, it was almost charming.
He had clearly taken the word slight quite badly, and Hermione hid a smile. He always lit up when she praised his strength in particular.
At moments like this, the nagging-old-man quality completely evaporated, replaced by something much closer to an enthusiastic child.
Looking at his face, following his instructions, she dug through her memory for Fudge's expression that evening: "Let me think — he looked a little uncomfortable. A little confused. But mostly relieved."
"Apply that Muggle psychology you find so fascinating," Draco said, still quietly pleased. "What do those expressions suggest?"
"Enormous relief — probably that Harry and the others came back safely, and that nothing worse happened?" She looked at him with bright eyes.
She was quietly pleased to notice that he had endorsed her use of Muggle psychology without any hesitation. Progress.
"Not only that. He was also relieved that he'd held his nerve and refused to suspend the match — and that his stubbornness had been rewarded with a smooth conclusion." Draco's expression was complicated. "He breathed easily because the match ended without another Dark Mark being conjured, and without anyone dying."
He thought of his previous life — of the look on Fudge's face when Cedric Diggory's death was confirmed. The expression of a man who had lost something irreplaceable.
"Hmm." Hermione continued to think. "And the discomfort — the confusion? Was that because McNeil had impersonated Bagman and nearly ruined everything?"
"I'd say so. McNeil came very close to succeeding. I'd imagine Fudge interrogated him thoroughly whenever he could, even in the state Sirius had left him in," Draco added with some humour. "Sirius's methods of psychological counselling are quite remarkable, really."
"I've seen a side of him I never anticipated," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I suspect his years in Azkaban have changed him in ways we can't fully understand."
"Oh, so that's how you frame it. I had thought he was simply always that likeable!" Draco clicked his tongue with genuine regret.
"Draco Malfoy — remember what we agreed about kindness? We do not endorse violence as a method!" Hermione turned on him. "I understand the necessity of what Sirius did — in that moment, in those circumstances — but you are absolutely not to file it away under 'likeable'!"
"Fine," Draco said, adopting a suitably chastened expression, and steered the conversation back before she could warm to the subject further.
"There's another reason for Fudge's discomfort — I believe he has begun to resent Dumbledore. Did you notice that Dumbledore never returned to the adjudicators' bench?"
"Professor Dumbledore was at the graveyard, dealing with Voldemort!" Hermione said, as though this were self-evidently sufficient explanation.
"But Fudge wasn't at the graveyard. He didn't see Voldemort. To him, everything beyond the stadium that evening is hearsay." Draco kept his voice even.
Hermione looked at him impatiently.
"You don't expect a Minister for Magic to simply take someone's word for something, do you?" Draco said casually. "Politicians need to see things for themselves before they act — though what they see isn't always the whole truth."
"He's certainly not gullible. We already saw that with his stubbornness over the suspension." Hermione sighed. "Although I suppose that same stubbornness could be called caution."
"There's something to that," he said, taking both sides carefully. "He does need to understand a situation before committing to it — which isn't entirely wrong for someone in his position. Dumbledore barely had time to explain anything. The moment Sirius's Patronus appeared, he was gone."
"And before disappearing, he and Fudge had a very sharp disagreement about whether or not to halt the match." Hermione turned this over, then alighted on a possibility. "Do you think Fudge might have interpreted all of it as Dumbledore using the Death Eater threat as a personal embarrassment — a manufactured crisis to undermine him?"
"Possibly," Draco said softly. "You're already sensing it — that the same event can look entirely different depending on where you're standing. That's where disputes begin."
"I understand they have different perspectives. But I'd expect them to find enough common ground to work together," Hermione said, with determined optimism.
"No," Draco said very quietly. "From this point on, they will drift apart."
"It can't be that serious—" Hermione's voice was strained. "Whenever the subject comes to Fudge, you always land on something catastrophic. It makes it very difficult to agree with you entirely."
Draco gave a faint smile.
He wasn't making things up.
In his previous life, signs of open discord between Fudge and Dumbledore had emerged around this very time. The conflicts in this life were less sharp — no one had died in the tournament's three-way political struggle — and things remained within a somewhat manageable range.
Compared to his previous life, the Ministry and Hogwarts had kept a more civil relationship. Based on this, Draco calculated that the real break might come slightly later than before.
But the outcome would not change.
"Fudge and Dumbledore will part ways. Their positions and what they value are incompatible," he said with certainty. "Fudge cannot understand Dumbledore's determination to resist the Dark Lord at any cost. And Dumbledore cannot accept Fudge's self-satisfied, complacent way of doing politics."
"Have you considered that Fudge might genuinely not understand Professor Dumbledore because he hasn't had the full picture?" Hermione said, frowning at his certainty.
"McNeil's testimony may not be enough on its own." She pressed on. "Why not share everything with Fudge? The Order of the Phoenix's work. What Dumbledore and Sirius saw at the graveyard. Give him the chance to understand the full scale of it."
"And you think doing this would change his stance?" Draco's expression shifted to something that might have been pity.
"Why not?" She raised her voice. "He is the Minister for Magic! He should have the perspective to understand what this all means!"
Draco looked at her.
Her lips set with resolve. Her hazel eyes met his without wavering, burning with something clear and completely undiminished.
Merlin. That unwavering, brave idealism. That untouched naivety.
It was both beautiful and very nearly heartbreaking.
He reached out and stroked her hair softly.
He lowered his head slightly — like something that had learned to appear harmless — and moved closer to the girl who was still, trustingly, full of hope.
"What's truly important is at stake," she said, tilting her head back to look up at him, eyes alive with that particular defiant authority he was so helplessly fond of. "The entire wizarding world is at risk. What does any of that compare to — political achievement, power, enemies?"
"I rather love that fearless spirit of yours," Draco said, with a soft laugh.
"However—" He let a breath pass, and then delivered his question: "Hermione — have you ever thought about who Cornelius Fudge considers his greatest political enemy?"
"Draco, that's not a fair question! I'm a Hogwarts student — how would I know the inner workings of Ministry rivalries?" she said, annoyed.
"Perhaps try looking beyond the Ministry walls." His tone was calm but weighted. "Not every powerful wizard has to climb through examinations, applications, and years of seniority, working his way from junior clerk to senior official by slow degrees."
"Some exceptionally capable individuals," he said meaningfully, "can step into positions of extraordinary influence without any of that."
"Who are you talking about?" Hermione frowned. "Who could be parachuted in to rival Fudge?"
Draco smoothed the crease between her brows with one long finger.
"The question isn't who wants to compete — it's who has the ability to. A wizard whose reputation and capability far outstrip Fudge's, whom nearly everyone respects, would inevitably be feared by someone in Fudge's position," he said.
Hermione's eyes shifted.
"Think about how much effort it took for Professor McGonagall to persuade Fudge. Was that because he doubted her character — or because of what she represented?" Draco said.
"What does Professor McGonagall represent—" Hermione murmured, and her expression changed.
He would have preferred not to dim the light in her eyes. He liked it best when it was steady and unshaken.
But some things needed to be said.
"Professor McGonagall is Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts — and behind her stands Dumbledore. Hermione — has it occurred to you that Fudge might interpret the Order of the Phoenix not as a resistance movement against the Dark Lord, but as Dumbledore building political power — positioning himself to replace Fudge as Minister for Magic?"
Hermione's breath seemed to catch on something.
She stood very still, staring at him, struck speechless by the idea.
After a long silence, she said, barely able to believe the words: "Fudge wouldn't — surely he wouldn't be that foolish. Professor Dumbledore has no such intention! He's not someone who fights for power — he never has been. Fudge would never have become Minister in the first place if Dumbledore wanted the position!"
"Set aside whether Dumbledore is genuinely ambitious — and set aside the psychological weight that Dumbledore's presence alone exerts on Fudge," Draco said, very calm. "Consider instead the position Dumbledore is defending. He wants to destroy the Dark Lord. He's on our side in that."
Hermione nodded.
"If Fudge were to believe what Dumbledore is saying — to genuinely think from Dumbledore's perspective — he would have to accept that Voldemort is not truly gone. That he is somewhere, regrouping, and will return."
"Fudge will have to accept it sooner or later. If Voldemort returns to full power, the Ministry won't be untouched," she said urgently.
"Hermione — Voldemort's return is still an abstraction to Fudge. Something distant and theoretical. What is not theoretical is the Minister for Magic election, which has a fixed date." Draco watched her expression turn weary. "For him, when Voldemort resurfaces is unknown. But when he faces the voters — that is set in stone."
"What does Fudge gain, at this particular moment, by acknowledging what Dumbledore is saying?" he asked.
She closed her eyes briefly. "It means the stability and prosperity that defined his tenure could unravel overnight. It's terrible for an election, and worse for re-election."
"Exactly. You saw yourself how he handles unwelcome developments — he dug his heels in rather than suspend a compromised match. How could he possibly allow a story like 'Voldemort is still alive' to spread across the wizarding world while he is still in office?" Draco's tone carried no surprise at all.
"So he simply closes his eyes and covers his ears?" Hermione stared at him, frustrated and disbelieving. "He genuinely thinks that as long as he refuses to acknowledge it, nothing terrible will happen?"
He touched her cheek — gently, almost tenderly — attempting to tint the brightness of her soul with a little of the darkness he had accumulated.
He even framed it in language she would understand, keeping his voice easy: "What's the term for that stage in Muggle psychology? 'Denial' — isn't it? He's a long way from 'acceptance.'"
"Does that answer your question?" Draco asked. "Why the papers said nothing about McNeil's crimes, or the Dark Lord?"
"To keep the public calm and consolidate support," she said, deflated.
"Yes. Once it became common knowledge that Voldemort still exists in the world, vast numbers of people would turn to Dumbledore — whether Dumbledore wanted the Ministry or not — and demand he take the reins. People would want whoever Voldemort feared. Tell me, why is that?"
"Because Voldemort fears Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly. "Not Fudge."
"There you are. Hermione — you have lived in the wizarding world for four years, and you already understand this perfectly well. Imagine how well-known it is among those who have lived here their whole lives."
He said it low and without drama: "Even if Fudge is blinded by ambition and can't see clearly, he understands this much. Given all of that — how could you expect him to embrace Dumbledore's warnings? How could he not fear Dumbledore as his greatest political adversary?"
"But all of this is conjecture, isn't it?" Hermione said, stubbornly. "We can't reduce a person's entire character and intent to a single article in the Daily Prophet."
"Believe me," Draco said, with an odd expression. "My father had quite a bit of dealing with him. He is conservative, traditional, greedy for power, and inflexible to a fault."
"Draco, you are being extraordinarily pessimistic!" She fixed him with a look of determined resistance. "His behaviour has been erratic — but it hasn't reached the extreme you're describing. He and Professor Dumbledore haven't broken openly, have they?"
Hermione's expression took on a trace of careful stubbornness.
"I can't draw conclusions immediately, and I won't predict his choices. He may still be genuinely trying to establish the truth of what happened, taking time to think clearly and act with integrity. Perhaps he will take responsibility in the end — tell the wizarding world what truly occurred, and become the kind of Minister who actually protects people."
Draco looked at her steadily, and could not bring himself to say more.
She was fifteen years old.
There was no need to extinguish every bright conviction she had.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Anything is possible." He took her hand and led her forward.
He did not take her toward the library this time. He turned in the direction of the Hospital Wing.
"Draco — why are we going to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione asked anxiously. "Are you hurt?"
"I need to ask Madam Pomfrey for a Sober-Up Potion to keep in your bag," Draco said, with precisely calibrated sarcasm. "A precaution. So that a particular little drunkard doesn't end up in the same state again."
Hermione flushed.
"That was an accident — I've never had that much to drink before! I was deep in thought yesterday, and it was terribly hot, and I kept feeling thirsty…"
"Which is exactly why the rules we've agreed upon exist, and why you'll never be in that situation again. As for the potion — I probably need it for myself; it has nothing whatsoever to do with you," he said lazily, continuing toward the Hospital Wing. "I would appreciate Miss Granger's company, however."
But fate, in one of her more capricious moods, looked down at the girl's pouting lips and made a different decision: this bickering couple would not be getting a Sober-Up Potion today.
What she offered them instead was a scene of the most wretched sort, playing out directly in front of the Hospital Wing entrance.
"It's a pity, but there's nothing to be done about it, Minerva—" Cornelius Fudge's voice was loud and carrying.
"You should never have brought them inside!" Professor McGonagall's face was flushed crimson, her hands balled into fists.
"Dementors do not belong in this castle!" she said.
"What's happened?" Hermione whispered as Draco pulled her back around the corner.
Before he could answer, the answer came out on a stretcher.
A plain white sheet lay over it; two Aurors carried it out of the Hospital Wing.
As they passed, a charred and withered hand slipped from beneath the sheet — the flesh on it dry as bark, burnt to the bone.
"That's Bagman," Draco said, voice flat. "He's dead."
"My dear lady!" Fudge said, in an unusually rude and furious tone, "As Minister for Magic, I have the authority to bring whatever security I deem appropriate! I came here to see someone extremely dangerous—"
"Ludo Bagman was not dangerous. He was weak — in fact, he was already close to death." Professor Dumbledore emerged from the Hospital Wing entrance, his voice cutting through Fudge's bluster, his expression both cold and furious.
The changeable winds of June brought a layer of dark cloud across the sky, shrouding the light. A gust swept through the corridor window — silent, quick. Whether it was the mournful weather or something else entirely, a chill moved slowly into Hermione's chest.
She gripped Draco's hand tightly.
She didn't need to hear the whole story. She already understood.
The Dementors Fudge had brought had administered the Dementor's Kiss. Bagman was, in every meaningful sense, gone.
"By all accounts, he deserved it," Fudge said, with the comfortable confidence of someone referring to a stranger — not the man he had laughed with in the stands only days ago.
"He had not yet been tried… he had not yet been sentenced… a Dementor has no right to take a man's soul before he has even stood before the Wizengamot…" Hermione said, barely above a whisper.
"He was living a life worse than death long before this," Draco murmured close to her ear, his voice slow and very quiet. "A Dementor would have felt his despair from a great distance. That kind of hopelessness — that's their favourite feast. And do you really think this was an accident?"
Hermione looked at him in horror.
The coldness in his expression was almost seeping outward. It made something in her chest go very still.
"Oh, Draco, don't say that…" she said, her voice unsteady, her eyes shifting to Fudge's careful, composed face — and she shivered.
What a bitter irony. Minutes ago she had been quietly hoping that the Minister for Magic might find his way back to something like integrity — might one day lead the wizarding world against Voldemort.
And here, now, that seemingly genial and power-hungry man had already begun eliminating inconvenient evidence to protect his regime.
"He can't come forward to testify now, Cornelius. He can no longer tell anyone what happened," Dumbledore said.
Draco watched Dumbledore's expression sharpen as he said it. It seemed as though, at last, Dumbledore had clearly seen what Fudge truly was.
"What would he have told them? He was completely unhinged — debts driving him mad, some absurd bet with the Goblins, wrecking the Tournament to recoup his losses. He was deluded — claiming he was following the orders of the Dark Lord!" Fudge said, with the heat of a man who has made up his mind.
Denial.
Hermione confirmed it: Fudge was still firmly embedded in the Denial stage of the Kübler-Ross model, just as Draco had said. Acceptance was a world away.
"Cornelius, Voldemort did indeed give him orders," Dumbledore said steadily. "The disruption to the Triwizard Tournament — even the riot at the Quidditch World Cup — and Bertha Jorkins's death were all consequences of Voldemort's plan to return."
He looked at Fudge directly and continued: "I should tell you — a fragment of Voldemort's soul still inhabits this world. Even if his attempt failed this time, he will try again."
Fudge's expression was extraordinary — as though something had hit him full in the face.
He blinked. He swallowed. He spoke in a strained, halting voice.
"The Dark Lord… still alive? Thirteen years… everything's been peaceful… he's been gone… no sign of a comeback…" Fudge's smile was thin and white. "Listen to me, Dumbledore — you don't genuinely believe this, do you? Please don't joke about this… how can you put stock in the ravings of a madman? Bagman had debts… McNeil was probably taken in by him…"
"Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory were Portkeyed directly to Voldemort's location when they touched the false Goblet of Fire. They survived only through their own quick thinking and considerable courage. They came within a breath of being killed on Voldemort's orders," Dumbledore said. "You are welcome to speak with them. Hear it from them directly."
"I've already heard them once," Fudge said, in a strange voice. "It was dark. They were frightened. They may have been mistaken. They didn't entirely see who—"
"That night, I spoke with Voldemort myself. He told me his plan: to lure Bagman to his service, and use the ritual to restore himself a body and return to the world," Dumbledore said without any drama.
"Dumbledore, please—" Fudge attempted a light tone.
"I was not alone. There were others in concealment, who disabled Bagman. I spoke with the creature he carried — the vessel in which Voldemort's soul was housed." Dumbledore looked at him steadily. "Ask Sirius Black. He was present the entire time."
"Sirius Black?" Fudge said, with a puzzled frown that shifted quickly into impatience. "He spent over a decade in Azkaban. I couldn't say with confidence that his mind is still sharp."
Draco was instantly, quietly offended by this.
"Is Sirius Black not bright enough?" he said to Hermione, low and sharp. "He's sharper than Cornelius Fudge."
Hermione said nothing. She squeezed his hand.
Dumbledore stepped forward, radiating an authority that needed no voice: "Sirius is as clear-headed as either of us. His mind is perfectly sound. As is mine. I know exactly what has occurred. We must now mobilise every possible resource and cooperate against Voldemort's inevitable return. I have suggestions—"
"The Hogwarts champions won the Goblet of Fire! The Tournament ended successfully! Dumbledore, who on earth would believe any of this?" Fudge's voice cracked with sudden loudness. "It is complete nonsense!"
Then, as though catching himself, he softened into something almost pleading: "Wouldn't it be better to leave it here? These arguments are all too strained… There's no hard evidence that Voldemort still exists or shows any sign of returning. This is the work of troubled individuals causing disruption."
He pressed on, catching his breath: "As for that so-called infant — yes, McNeil mentioned it — it's dead now, shrivelled like old bark. We've taken it for examination, and there was nothing to suggest the Dark Lord's presence. Let us leave it at that."
Dumbledore was silent.
After a moment, he said quietly, "Cornelius — you have destroyed the person who could have provided direct testimony. You have hastily dispatched the person who could have provided indirect testimony to Azkaban. And now you are asking me to let the matter rest."
"Yes! Enough!" Fudge's tone hardened entirely. "I have always given you complete freedom, Dumbledore, and I have always shown you respect! Hiring giants, employing werewolves, setting your own curriculum without a word to the Ministry — I have let all of it pass without comment."
He gasped: "Others complained. I suppressed every one of them. You cannot benefit from all of that special treatment and then demand more. Not when you're asking me to cast the wizarding world into pointless panic on the basis of nothing concrete. I am asking you — demanding — to let this end here."
Hermione peeked around the corner. She could see the Minister's face clearly.
It was flushed and rigid. He was watching Dumbledore's every expression very carefully, as though deciding from it whether to continue speaking or simply leave.
"I will never raise this with you again—" Dumbledore said.
"Good. I don't want to hear another word about the Dark Lord's return," Fudge said with venom.
"But you cannot bury all of it. You cannot silence everyone. Voldemort will not stop, and the Ministry of Magic should remain vigilant." Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment, as though reaching a decision. "The only thing I oppose is Voldemort — and that, Minister Fudge, you know very well."
"He's not returning, Dumbledore. I don't know what you and your people have been doing behind the Ministry's back. I can let it go — as long as you are willing to leave this here." Fudge's gaze lingered on Dumbledore. "I hope we can still be on good terms."
"Whether we are or not depends on you," Dumbledore said quietly.
Fudge's face went a deeper shade of red.
"I'll be in touch, Dumbledore. There are matters to discuss regarding the running of this school. For now, I must return to the Ministry."
"Come on," Draco murmured to Hermione. "Fudge certainly won't want an audience for the end of this."
Before the curtain fell entirely, before the actors could recover themselves, they slipped away from the Hospital Wing and back down the stairs.
They came to a halt in an empty corridor.
The once-lush creeping vines outside were being pelted by fast-falling rain. Withered leaves tore loose and fell. A crack of lightning split the sky, followed immediately by thunder.
Hermione turned and buried herself in Draco's arms, her voice unsteady: "He ordered Bagman's death, didn't he?"
She had been shaken to the core by what she'd witnessed.
"His hands are clean — technically. The Dementor did it." Draco's lips curved into something cold and contemptuous.
"Draco — I think you've been right about all of it," Hermione said, her voice hollow. "Every fact is plain, every piece of evidence is overwhelming. Dumbledore, Sirius, the Order of the Phoenix — all of it available to him. And he refused. He let his own power blind him completely."
"He has more politician in him than wizard," Draco said, sighing. He smoothed her hair. "If this matter is allowed to stand, his seat is safe. So he is willing to suppress all of it, and present a picture of peace and prosperity instead. Everything worthwhile gets sacrificed for that."
"I don't think Professor Dumbledore would push for Fudge to resign—"
"Even without Dumbledore, there are factional struggles within the wizarding world's political arena," Draco said. "Fudge made the mistake of casting Dumbledore as his primary adversary, when in reality there were other factions who saw Fudge himself as the obstacle to their own ambitions. They would tear into each other like a nest of runespoors — and leave the rest of the world to deal with the consequences."
"It sounds rather like Muggle politics, in that case," Hermione said quietly, her thoughts drifting. Her father had complained about partisan backstabbing at many a dinner table. "Selfish decisions taken to preserve power. Petty in-fighting. Real problems left unaddressed."
She sounded genuinely despondent.
So the wizarding world was no different. They scrabbled for position, fought over trivialities, ignored things that actually mattered.
Human selfishness and foolishness seemed to be universal.
"A position of power combined with selfishness and short-sightedness can only produce endless conflict. And in all that conflict, Draco — doesn't Voldemort gain room to breathe and recover?" Hermione let everything she'd heard settle over her, and felt herself beginning to lose her footing.
She clutched his shirt and held on, steadying herself.
Draco rubbed her back. "That's human nature. When I call Fudge foolish, I don't mean he lacks intelligence. You don't become Minister for Magic without some cleverness."
"What I mean is that Fudge is choosing to be foolish — because the foolish choice brings him greater immediate benefit." His voice was cold and precise, like rain.
Hermione exhaled.
"You once said something to me about results-oriented thinking, and about original intentions," Draco said quietly. "When Fudge first climbed toward power, he may well have had an intention — some principled ambition, some genuine conviction about what he wanted to build."
He held her close, his chin resting against her hair. The gesture felt as much like steadying himself as comforting her.
"But to reach that power, he had to survive. The first priority was always securing and maintaining his position — nothing else could come before that. And somewhere along the way, he lost sight of whatever he'd originally wanted. Now his position is everything. Nothing else is more important."
"So he will always suppress bad news and cultivate the appearance of peace," Hermione said, heavily. "I have to say — your analysis is flawless. I agree with every piece of it."
Most of it, Draco thought, had been acquired during the darkest years of his previous life — the years that had broken and reshaped him in equal measure. Years of suffering, but also of learning faster than he'd ever thought possible.
Hermione murmured on.
"It's so wasted. He could have spent all that energy on something actually worth doing."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, as though his solidity was something she could anchor herself to.
"Yes. They know better choices exist. More correct paths. But for the sake of individual ambition, a person can slow the development of the entire wizarding world — give an enemy time and room to manoeuvre — and still sleep soundly at night. What's most frightening is that even with precedent after precedent, people never learn," Draco said heavily, patting her back with a steadiness he wasn't entirely feeling.
"It's rather disappointing, isn't it," Hermione said at last, quietly. "So different from the wizarding world I once imagined. Thriving, and extraordinary, and good. I was never entirely naive about it — but you can always feel a little more disappointed as you come to know it better."
"I think we've finally reached an agreement on that," Draco said.
Like Hermione, he was completely disillusioned with the Ministry as it stood.
It commanded enormous magical resources. It drew the finest minds in the wizarding world — alongside some rather redundant ones, but the talented and sharp were certainly present.
It should have been a force in the fight against the Dark Lord. Instead, it was an obstruction.
In his previous life, the Ministry had been a paper sieve.
It had protected no one. It had held to no principle. While Fudge papered over the cracks, the Dark Lord had assembled his forces unchecked, and the Ministry had let him.
Both sides had tacitly ignored each other.
The absurdity of it — Fudge believing the peace was real; the Dark Lord's ambitions requiring far more than peace. Once Voldemort was at full strength, his first target was the Ministry itself. After that, the incompetent seized power. The ruthless eliminated dissent. The selfish took what they could. The greedy moved into the vacuum.
Some people had used the chaos deliberately, stirring it for their own ends. Others had gasped for air in the gaps, clinging to the smallest shreds of survival.
In that situation, the Malfoys had been meat that couldn't protect itself. What else could they have done but follow the Dark Lord completely?
A cold, self-mocking smile crossed Draco's lips.
Hermione had her face pressed to his neck and was sniffing him quietly, in the focused, methodical way of a cat.
His scent was stronger than the damp smell of rain. It settled her. It gave her something solid.
When her panic had eased slightly — when the weight of disillusionment had become something she could carry rather than something she was drowning under — she tilted her head back and looked at him.
Something had been quietly puzzling her.
How did he know all of this? How did he see it all so clearly?
Why, when he discussed these things, did he carry that particular air — detached, almost weary, as though he had survived a great deal and was the only one who still saw the world as it actually was?
Hermione gazed at him in the dim light.
He was, technically, a few months younger than she was. And yet he was taller, broader through the shoulders, and in some ways seemed to have developed years ahead of boys his own age — always ready to pick her up, to wrap her fully in his arms.
His thinking ran deeper and further than hers — fed, it seemed, by some extraordinary reservoir of insight and hard-won experience.
Yet that face, as he gazed at something only he could see, showed no sign of aging. Without a long conversation, without the weight of his mind opening to yours, he might only seem arrogant. Not mature.
What kind of family produced a person like this?
She truly couldn't believe the rumours about his parents. People capable of raising someone this complex, this layered — they couldn't possibly be as terrible as the world insisted.
"Are you alright? Has your worldview been thoroughly shattered and rebuilt?" Draco was pulled back by her gaze, and looked at her with concern and something warmer.
"A little stunned," Hermione said, setting aside her private speculations about Draco himself, and returning to what they had just witnessed. "You're right. We can't rely on the Ministry to resist Voldemort. What comes next? Have Fudge and Dumbledore really broken — did we just see the beginning of it?"
"Things will get worse between them. For now there's still a surface courtesy, however thin. But the resentment is there," Draco said. "I don't think next year at Hogwarts will be straightforward."
"I heard what Fudge said — that he wanted to discuss how the school is run," Hermione said. "That's not a good sign."
Draco nodded.
"Just watch. Fudge will be delighted to give Dumbledore as much trouble as he possibly can. A Dumbledore who is busy managing interference from the Ministry has far less time to spread dangerous ideas, hasn't he?" He said it with the certainty of someone stating a fact, entirely confident she understood what that meant.
Hermione looked at her worldly-wise boyfriend with a troubled expression.
And, reluctantly, she agreed.