Morning, Minister of Magic's Office.
Minister Cornelius Fudge stared at the potted Biting Cabbage on his desk. The vicious little plant snapped and gnashed its leaves, mirroring his current predicament perfectly—
one wrong move, and it would bite him right back.
Fudge tugged irritably at his tie.
This morning alone he'd received Umbridge's paper aeroplane, met with three department heads to discuss goblin bank interest-rate adjustments, Quidditch World Cup security plans, and the perennial headache of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts proposals.
He was sick to death of all the nodding, bowing, and petty paperwork. It made him feel less like Minister for Magic and more like a replaceable mouthpiece.
What truly gave him a headache, though, was the letter delivered half an hour ago by a sleek black Malfoy eagle-owl through the private Floo.
Lucius Malfoy's personal correspondence.
Having sat in this chair for just over a year, Fudge knew Lucius's letters were never simple.
He unfolded the parchment.
Most Honorable Minister,
In these turbulent times, it is most reassuring to see you so decisively upholding order and law in the wizarding world.
As a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, I feel it my duty to bring certain disturbing matters to your attention—matters I have already formally reported through appropriate channels.
A Norwegian Ridgeback. First-year students—including that famous boy—directly involved.
It appears the school authorities intend to treat this as an internal mishap and handle it quietly. One can understand the sentiment behind such discretion, yet should this leak to the public, it may be misinterpreted as a casual disregard for the Ministry's supervisory authority, thereby casting unnecessary doubt on the rule-of-law principles you so admirably champion.
I am confident that, with your wisdom and decisiveness, this matter can be resolved in a manner that both upholds the dignity of law and protects innocent students.
Should you require any further assistance, the Malfoy family stands ready to serve—as we always have.
Your loyal servant,
Lucius Malfoy
Fudge's throat felt dry after reading.
He folded the letter and slid it into the drawer.
The drawer was already stuffed with similar missives—all "kind reminders" from the old families.
He leaned back, staring at the Ministry seal on the ceiling.
Fudge knew perfectly well: the position left by Millicent Bagnold sounded glorious, but sitting in it felt like sitting on a hot griddle.
The papers praised the "new atmosphere" under the new Minister every day, yet behind closed doors the old bureaucrats, the Aurors, even the Dumbledore faction all treated him like a puppet.
He needed a win.
A win that could go into briefings.
A win that could make the Daily Prophet headlines.
And a Norwegian Ridgeback at Hogwarts—
involving Harry Potter—
was a gift dropped straight into his lap.
Handled properly, he could announce to the world:
"The Ministry intervened promptly, protected the Boy Who Lived, and corrected a grave oversight at Hogwarts."
Even Dumbledore would have to bow before the law.
But mishandled… if the dragon hurt someone, or word leaked…
The headlines would read: "Minister Allows Dragon at Hogwarts—Boy Who Lived Nearly Killed."
He'd be finished.
He looked at the two documents now lying on his desk—like the two poles of power, waiting for him to connect them with one decisive stroke.
On the left: Lucius's private letter.
It represented流动 Galleons in Gringotts, unspoken nods from ancient families on the Wizengamot.
Follow the current, and infinite convenience flowed toward him.
Fight it, and every step became quicksand.
Lucius was offering him a chance to cement his power.
On the right: Dolores Umbridge's report.
Dolores was the perfect administrative tool:
She craved power—and had no qualms about morality.
Handled this way,
if the operation succeeded, it was the Ministry's triumphant correction of Dumbledore's negligence. He, Cornelius Fudge, would be the decisive leader. The Malfoys would be pleased. The public would cheer.
If it failed—if the dragon harmed someone, or sparked outrage…
then it was Director Umbridge—well-intentioned, perhaps, but overzealous and lacking compassion in execution.
Regrettable, of course. He would personally sign her suspension inquiry to appease Dumbledore's anger.
That was politics' first principle: it didn't matter what you did—only that, if things went wrong, someone else could be blamed.
Fudge picked up his quill and wrote a short note.
"Most insightful. Two o'clock. —C.F."
…
Two o'clock. The heavy oak door opened quietly.
Dolores Umbridge entered. Today she wore a fluffy pink cardigan—the color painfully bright against the somber ministerial office.
She forced a syrupy smile, but the sagging jowls and heavy bags under her eyes made it look stiff and unnatural.
The enormous black velvet bow on her head trembled with every step.
"Minister, sir," her voice dripped honey, "you look rather anxious. Are those stubborn old fossils in the Wizengamot grumbling about Floo powder tax rates again?"
"Worse than that, Dolores." Fudge pushed Lucius's letter across the desk. "Lucius informs me that the greatest white wizard of our age is playing with fire in his ivory tower. Literally."
Umbridge took the letter. Her fingers moved quickly across the lines.
At first, when "Norwegian Ridgeback" appeared, her mouth curled in disdain.
Filthy, dangerous, uncivilized beasts—those were the province of the roughnecks in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Nothing to do with her.
But when her eyes reached "the famous boy" and "bypassing the Ministry," her movements slowed.
This was no simple case of illegal creature-keeping.
Nor was it merely a prank involving the Boy Who Lived.
This was an opening.
A perfect breach through which the Ministry could thrust its hand into Hogwarts' autonomy.
Opportunity had arrived—and Fudge desperately needed a knife that could stab deep without dirtying his own hands.
She looked up.
"A dragon, Minister sir." She read aloud. "Norwegian Ridgeback. On school grounds. And… a neatly contained fire. Oh dear. How very… regrettable."
"Regrettable?" Fudge snorted. "This is a disaster! If this reaches the Prophet, the front page will scream 'New Minister Loses Control of Hogwarts Safety.' The public will think I can't even handle a dragon-keeping gamekeeper—let alone Dumbledore!"
"Indeed, Minister sir." Umbridge closed the letter. "According to Yes, Director—pardon me, I mean according to the unwritten rules of our Law Enforcement Department—such incidents typically proceed in three stages."
She raised a finger.
"Stage one: due to insufficient evidence, we declare nothing happened. That is precisely what Dumbledore is doing now—he wishes to reduce this to an ordinary fire."
Second finger.
"Stage two: if evidence surfaces, we declare yes it happened—but its impact has been exaggerated, and everything remains under control. That is what Mr. Malfoy now wishes you to do: send one or two Aurors to knock on the door, confiscate the dragon, and write Dumbledore a limp warning letter."
Fudge nodded. "That sounds safe enough…"
"But it is most unprofessional, Minister sir." Umbridge's smile deepened. "Because there is a stage three: when the matter can no longer be concealed, we declare this an inevitable tragedy caused by long-term negligence on the part of previous management."
"And we—you—are the savior who builds new order from the ruins."
Fudge leaned forward. "You mean—?"
"Why send Aurors at all?" Umbridge leaned in as well. "Aurors belong to Scrimgeour. They belong to the old guard. If you send Aurors, the credit goes to Law Enforcement, the blame falls on you. But if you send the Improper Use of Magic Office…"
She patted the file in her arms.
"…to conduct a routine survey on underage wizard psychological health and magical safety. No one can accuse you of interfering in school affairs—we are merely concerned for the children. And if, during this survey, we happen to discover a dragon—and a smuggling plot enabled by administrative negligence on the part of the Headmaster—"
"—then this is no longer a contraband case."
Fudge nodded approvingly. "This becomes a complete systemic failure of administration."
"Precisely, Minister sir." Umbridge's smile turned sweeter still. "Dumbledore is no longer the untouchable saint. He becomes merely an elderly educator who can no longer distinguish school rules from law. And you—through timely administrative intervention—protect the entire student body from fire and dragon threat."
Fudge leaned back, toying with his bowler hat.
"But Dumbledore will say it was an accident. He has Wizengamot support."
"So we need evidence, Minister sir. Ironclad proof of illegal conduct."
Umbridge lowered her voice.
"If I personally lead a team and catch them red-handed in the act…"
"What do you need?" Fudge asked.
"An authorization order, Minister sir."
Umbridge drew a fresh sheet of parchment from her file, dipped her quill.
"Authorizing the Director of the Improper Use of Magic Office to lead a full investigation into potential campus risks. No Aurors required. No divisional heads. Direct reporting to you alone."
Fudge picked up his quill—then hesitated.
"But Dolores… if… if Dumbledore uses his influence to have the Wizengamot block our investigation? He always has ways."
This was his greatest fear:
a direct confrontation with that legendary wizard.
Umbridge's smile never wavered.
"Of course he can, Minister sir. But the harder he fights, the more he proves to everyone:
he is guilty.
he is using privilege to cover his own negligence.
At that point, we are no longer attacking a dragon.
We are attacking Dumbledore's abuse of power.
You don't need victory.
You only need him to look like a man desperately using every lever to hide his mistakes.
Public trust will collapse—and shift naturally to you, the Minister who upholds the rule of law."
Fudge was silent for a long moment.
At last he leaned back.
He looked at the authorization order.
And signed.
Umbridge took the parchment, blew gently on the ink to dry it.
"Minister sir," she performed a dainty little curtsy, "I shall ensure this 'accident' becomes—by Saturday night—a formal inquiry into the Headmaster's stewardship."
The door closed softly behind her.
Fudge turned back to the Biting Cabbage.
He realized Dolores Umbridge was becoming far more adept than his cabbage at knowing exactly how to bite off a political rival's fingers.
But right now he didn't care—so long as she didn't bite him.
…
When Umbridge left the Minister's office, the syrupy smile still hadn't completely faded.
She walked briskly back through the Ministry corridors toward the Improper Use of Magic Office.
The pink cardigan stood out painfully among the passing gray robes. Some staff lowered their eyes to avoid her gaze; others pretended to be absorbed in parchment. She didn't mind. She liked the effect.
She pushed open her office door. Her assistant Percival Pragg stood waiting, arms full of fresh files.
"Director," Pragg said with practiced deference,
"the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has just forwarded a joint-action memo. Lucius Malfoy submitted a formal complaint this morning—already cc'd to us—regarding the presence of an illegally introduced Class IV dangerous creature (Norwegian Ridgeback) on Hogwarts grounds, involving multiple underage wizards (including Harry Potter) in direct contact…"
Umbridge's bow trembled slightly as she raised her head.
She took the file. The parchment bore the standard routing stamps:
Joint Action – For Review & Comment – cc'd
Classic Ministry circulation template: primary recipient Department for Regulation and Control; cc'd to Law Enforcement, Improper Use of Magic, Hogwarts Liaison, Minister's Office (for filing).
She skimmed the body.
…Reliable intelligence indicates the presence of an illegally introduced Norwegian Ridgeback within Hogwarts castle, creating a fire hazard and involving direct contact by multiple underage wizards (including Harry Potter)… Reporter requests immediate Ministry intervention, investigation, and confiscation… Given potential implications for underage psychological welfare and improper magic use, this matter is cc'd for joint opinion…
At the bottom, the new Deputy Head of Regulation and Control had added:
Propose Improper Use of Magic Office review and provide joint-action recommendation. Creature containment and disposal to be led by this Department; however, should underage administrative penalties or school management liability arise, request your office take lead coordination.
Umbridge's eyes narrowed.
Excellent. Lucius was an old hand—he had filed the complaint simultaneously with two departments, yet angled both toward underage involvement and magical misuse—landing squarely in her lap.
This was a carefully engineered joint memo.
In the Ministry, whoever led the action held the reins—and could claim the credit while deflecting the blame.
She laid the file on her desk and smiled sweetly at Pragg.
"Dear boy, please arrange an immediate meeting with Director Chilton. As soon as possible. Tell him it concerns an urgent matter with the Minister's personal authorization, requiring joint action between Improper Use of Magic and Regulation and Control."
Pragg nodded and hurried out to book a Floo appointment.
Umbridge settled into her pink cushioned chair and reopened the joint memo.
Ministry cross-departmental procedure was clear.
First: receipt and registration. Secretariat logs, assigns number, marks urgency.
Then: draft opinion. Junior staff in lead department write initial recommendation; it climbs to department head.
Next: joint signatures. If other departments involved—cc'd, given deadline (three to five working days) to provide opinion.
Finally: approval. All opinions collected, lead department head synthesizes and submits to Minister or Deputy for final order or authorization.
This memo was currently stuck at the joint-signature stage.
Regulation and Control wanted lead—dragons were their domain—but they also feared responsibility.
If the dragon-recovery operation injured students, or if Dumbledore turned hostile, public opinion would drown them in blame.
So they cleverly kicked the underage welfare and magical misuse balls straight to her.
Umbridge smiled wider.
She could catch those balls—and turn this joint memo into her weapon.
She wrote her preliminary opinion:
Improper Use of Magic Office concurs with joint action.
Given direct involvement of multiple first-year students and potential systemic risk arising from long-term administrative negligence, this office proposes to lead a comprehensive campus survey on magical safety and underage wizard well-being.
Survey team to include: two investigators from Improper Use of Magic, one containment specialist from Regulation and Control, one observer from Law Enforcement (additional personnel as required).
Action authorization requested from Minister's Office. Detailed plan to be submitted by this office tomorrow.
—D.J.U.
Director, Improper Use of Magic Office
Satisfied, she folded the document and slipped it into an envelope.
When she met Chilton—the head of Regulation and Control—she would use her sweetest voice:
"Dear Director, this joint memo is most timely. Why don't we work together and handle this beautifully? You handle the dragon; I handle the children and the school. The Minister has already approved."
Of course she would not mention that the Minister's authorization explicitly stated:
"Full authority vested in Director Umbridge. Direct reporting to Minister."
She would get him to sign off on joint action—while quietly ensuring the final paperwork named her as lead.
Success: she was the hero who saved Hogwarts from dragon disaster.
Failure: charred dragon scales and an enraged Dumbledore would land first on Regulation and Control.
Umbridge loved weaving procedures into airtight nets.
She stood at the center of the web—holding the drawstring.
She walked to the door. The bow trembled again with each step.
This time—from excitement.