Fudge's Transformation

Voldemort slowly walked up to Bellatrix.

His pale, nearly translucent skin reflected a sickly sheen in the firelight. His scarlet pupils, like two burning embers, slowly swept over everyone present. The hem of his robes drifted soundlessly, as though the night itself were flowing.

Fudge's breath caught instantly.

He stared fixedly at the man before him—the man he had countless times publicly declared "dead" or "nothing more than a rumor." His legs went weak, his knees nearly knocking together. Cold sweat slid down from his temples, soaking his collar. His lips trembled, but he clenched his teeth tightly, refusing to let out a single disgraceful sound.

Voldemort did not speak at once. He merely tilted his head slightly, as though enjoying an entertaining play. His gaze first settled on Millicent Bagnold's vacant smile, then passed over Bellatrix's fanatical eyes, before finally coming to rest on Fudge.

Fudge's Adam's apple bobbed violently. He tried to straighten his back, but his voice inevitably trembled. "Vol... you... what exactly do you want?"

He nearly forced out that final name through clenched teeth.

Voldemort gave a soft laugh, and every Death Eater present instinctively lowered their heads.

"What do I want?" He slowly approached, each step seeming to land upon Fudge's heart. "I merely wish to thank you, Fudge. During your tenure, you firmly believed in my 'nonexistence,' ignored Dumbledore's warnings, and spared no effort in discrediting Harry Potter... You gave me a full year of precious time to recover. I have always remembered that contribution."

Fudge's face alternated between green and white. He forced himself to speak, his voice shaking badly, yet he still tried to seize his last shred of initiative. "Y-you don't think I'm afraid of you! Dumbledore is still around! And Skylar Malfoy—his relationship with the current Minister for Magic,