Former Minister

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Night had fallen, and the air on the outskirts of London carried an unsettling, clammy chill.

A black Rolls-Royce, heavily wrapped in Anti-Detection Charms, pulled up soundlessly outside the iron gates of an ancient manor. Weathered stone lions on the gateposts were half-hidden beneath ivy, while the gold lettering on the plaque—"Bagnold Manor"—had been worn blurry by time.

The car door opened, and Cornelius Fudge was the first to step out.

He had grown much thinner over the past six months. The shoulders of his suit jacket hung empty, and his once-iconic lime-green bowler hat was clutched tightly in his hand like his last lifeline. Under the moonlight, his face looked waxy and yellow, deep shadows hung beneath his eyes, and his lips trembled faintly from cold and nervousness.

Ever since he had been forced to resign under public pressure, he had not slept through a single night.

At the Ministry of Magic, both his former allies and his old political enemies had turned against him. The only difference was that some openly voiced their dissatisfaction, condemning his incompetence during his tenure, while others more insidiously tripped him up from the shadows.

Of course, he knew what that meant.

Reckoning. The word stabbed into his mind again and again like an icy needle.

Unfortunately, the new Minister for Magic, Amelia Bones, was a forceful leader who adhered strictly to procedure and could not be swayed. Fudge could find no opening in her whatsoever. If this continued, he feared that one day he would be thrown into Azkaban.

"This place... can't be traced, can it?" he asked in a