Former Minister

Night fell, and the air outside London carried an unsettling damp chill.

A black Rolls-Royce, heavily protected by anti-detection spells, silently pulled up outside the iron gate of an old manor. On the gateposts, weathered stone lions were half-hidden in ivy, and the gold lettering "Bagnold Manor" on the plaque had been worn away by time.

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

He was much thinner than he had been six months ago; his suit jacket hung loosely on the shoulders, and he clutched his once-signature lime-colored bowler hat tightly in his hand, as if grasping at a last straw. His face looked sallow in the moonlight, his eye bags were heavy, and his lips trembled slightly from the cold and tension.

Since he resigned under pressure from public opinion, he hasn't had a full night's sleep in a long time.

Within the Ministry of Magic, both former allies and former political enemies stood against him. The only difference was that some openly expressed their dissatisfaction with him and criticized his incompetence during his tenure, while others insidiously sabotaged him from the shadows.

He certainly understood what that meant.

The word "liquidation" pierced his mind again and again like a cold needle.

Unfortunately, the new Minister for Magic, Amelia Bones, was a strict and unyielding leader, Fudge couldn't find any way to get through to her. He feared that one day he would be thrown into Azkaban.

"We shouldn't be tracked down here, right?" he asked in a low voice, his voice betraying his panic.

Dolores Umbridge, following behind him, scanned her surroundings warily with a short, thick wand, her pink wool shawl billowing slightly in the night breeze.

Her toad-like face was taut, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Minister—no, Fudge, I've already cast three Confundus Charm and one Anti-Apparition Jinx. At least for the time being, no one can find this place."

Fudge gave a wry smile and did not object to the correction of his form of address.

He turned to look at the last two people in the car—his nephew, Rufus Fudge, who was also the former Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and John Dawlish, his trusted aristocrat in the Auror.

Both of them were his most trusted confidants, but now they were like frightened birds, their eyes darting around.

Fudge looked up at the ancient manor before him. Even in the darkness, the grandeur and majesty of the place were still evident—this was the former Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnorell, a place that symbolized power and tradition of the old era.

"Let's go," Fudge took a deep breath, forcing himself to straighten up. "Millicent Bagno is my predecessor; we had a good relationship when she was in office. She's been living a secluded life since she retired, and I think, at least... at least she can give me some advice!"

Umbridge let out a sound somewhere between a sneer and a snort, "Hopefully she won't hand us over directly to the new bunch."

Fudge's face was ashen. He knew exactly what Umbridge had said, but he was truly desperate and had no choice but to come here to seek Bagno's help.

The four pushed open the iron gate and walked along the gravel path toward the main gate of the manor. The manor itself was a typical Victorian building, with three-story gray stone walls, pointed towers, and dim yellow light shining from the windows, which seemed warm but exuded an indescribable eerie silence.

The surroundings were eerily quiet; not even the chirping of insects could be heard, as if the entire land was deliberately holding its breath.

Fudge suddenly realized something—it was too quiet here.

"Strange..." he murmured, "Millicent has never liked making the manor so deathly quiet."

Fudge raised his hand, about to knock, when the heavy oak door creaked open slowly by itself.

A tall, thin old man stood inside the door, his gray hair neatly combed, wearing a clean but slightly worn butler's robe. He bowed slightly, his voice flat as if reciting lines. "Mr. Fudge, Mrs. Bagno has been waiting for you. Please come in."

Fudge paused for a moment. He hadn't notified anyone beforehand. An unease crept up his spine like a cold snake, but he had no way out and could only grit his teeth and step inside.

The fireplace in the hall was burning brightly, but the flames were an unnatural blue-green. Millicent Bagno sat in a high-backed armchair, wearing a deep purple robe, her hair neatly tied up, and a trace of authority still lingered on her aged face.

Her figure brought Fudge a sense of relief.

"Millicent!" He took a few steps forward almost urgently. "Thank God you're still willing to see me."

Bagno slowly raised her head, a gentle yet distant smile on her face, but her eyes seemed somewhat... empty.

Fudge's apple bobbed, and he forced an awkward laugh. "Millicent... I... I'm in some trouble. You know the state of the Ministry of Magic right now; the new minister is purging officials from the previous government. I'm worried... I'm worried I'll be arrested, or even sent to Azkaban."

He paused, his voice lowering, "I remember you handled the power transition exceptionally well, leaving almost no room for doubt. So I thought... I wanted to ask you for advice, to see if there's any way I can get through this."

Bagno slowly rose to her feet, her movements stiff as a puppet pulled by invisible strings. She approached Fudge step by step, the hem of her deep purple robe trailing softly on the marble floor. The blue-green flames in the fireplace reflected on her face, casting an eerie, cold light on her usual kind smile.

She stopped in front of Fudge, close enough for him to smell the stale lavender scent on her—the scent she used to frequent in the Minister's Office, now mixed with a hint of rotten, bloody stench. Fudge instinctively held his breath, looked up to meet her gaze, and finally noticed something was wrong: a very faint, almost transparent mist shrouded the depths of Millicent Bagno's pupils, as if her soul were forever isolated by a thin veil.

"Millicent, you..." He opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat.

"Get through this?" Bagno repeated his words softly, his tone still gentle, yet carrying a condescending pity and amusement. "Cornelius, you're still too naive."

She tilted her head slightly, as if admiring prey that had fallen into a trap.

"The Ministry of Magic, in the midst of a crisis, changed its leadership, and its greatest desire was to quickly stabilize its power. They couldn't possibly let you go—a former minister who denied the Dark Lord's resurrection, plunging the wizarding world into chaos and panic. The moment you lost power, you were no longer seen as a 'former colleague,' but simply a problem that had to be dealt with."

A strange smile slowly curved her lips; it didn't belong to her, but to a colder, more powerful will.

Fudge's heart sank, a chill running from his feet to his head. He opened his mouth, but before he could utter any explanation, the hidden doors on both sides of the hall clicked open simultaneously.

A dozen or so figures wearing silver masks emerged silently like ghosts, surrounding Fudge, Umbridge, Rufus Fudge, and John Dawlish. The air froze instantly, the flames in the fireplace seemed to freeze, and only the crackling sound was particularly jarring in the deathly silence.

Fudge's face turned deathly pale. His lime-colored top hat fell to the ground with a thud, rolling to a stop by the fireplace. He uttered two words in a daze. "Death Eaters..."

The three companions raised their wands almost simultaneously. John Dawlish, Auror, reacted the fastest, shielding Fudge behind him in a flash. He pointed his wand at the nearest masked man and roared, "Millicent Bagnore! You, a former Minister for Magic, dare to collude with criminals and harbor Death Eaters!"

Umbridge's wand trembled slightly, yet her voice remained sharp and piercing. "You're courting death! The current Minister will not let this go—"

Before he could finish speaking, the Death Eaters burst into a wild and ear-piercing laugh, like a pack of owls cawing in the dead of night.

"Fool!" A shrill, crazed female voice rang out from within the circle. Bellatrix Lestrange ripped off her mask, her black curly hair cascading down in a disheveled mess, her pale face contorted with morbid excitement. "Haven't you realized yet? Months ago, this old woman was already completely under our control!"

She laughed twice, then turned to look at Bagno, who remained motionless, still wearing that empty smile, as if he were just a delicate wax figure.

Another Death Eaters slowly removed his mask, revealing August Rookwood's pale face. His grey-blue eyes held a malicious pleasure, and his voice was deep and elegant. "Fudge, unexpected, isn't it? All thanks to Master's brilliant planning. Long before, we took action against those retired, forgotten old fogies in the Ministry of Magic."

He stepped aside, and behind him, a short, white-haired old wizard was pushed into the light. The man was Cuthbert Mocrech—an old bureaucrat who had just retired from his position as head of the Goblin Liaison Office last year. At this moment, his expression was indifferent, his eyes also veiled by that characteristic mist, his pupils empty like two dry wells, clearly already deeply trapped under the control of the Imperius Curse, unable to extricate himself.

Rookwood patted Mokrich on the shoulder lightly, as if displaying a triumphant trophy. "Mr. Mokrich deserves much credit for our smooth control of Bagno, our occupation of the Bagnold Manor, and our transformation into our new headquarters."

"Fudge, the gate's open! Let's fight our way out!" Dawlish protected Fudge as they slowly retreated, while the Death Eaters simply watched, doing nothing.

Just then, the green flames in the fireplace suddenly shot up, and a tall figure stepped out of the flames. Black robes, pale skin, scarlet eyes— Voldemort himself.

Fudge's knees buckled, and he almost collapsed to his knees. The nightmare of his life, the one he feared most, was standing right in front of him.

"Cornelius Fudge," Voldemort's voice was deep and strangely familiar, "We've finally met."