Fudge's Transformation

Voldemort slowly walked up to Bellatrix.

His pale, almost translucent skin reflected a sickly sheen in the firelight, and his scarlet pupils, like two burning embers, slowly swept over everyone present. The hem of his robe billowed silently, like the night itself flowing.

Fudge's breath caught in his throat.

He stared intently at the man before him, whom he had repeatedly declared in public to be "dead" or "just a rumor," his legs trembling, his knees almost hitting each other. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, soaking his collar. His lips trembled, but he forced himself to clench his teeth, refusing to utter any shameful sound.

Voldemort didn't speak immediately, but merely tilted his head slightly, as if watching an interesting drama unfold. His gaze first fell on Millicent Bagno's empty smile, then swept over Bellatrix's fanatical eyes, and finally settled on Fudge.

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

He practically forced out the last name through gritted teeth.

Voldemort chuckled softly, a laugh that caused all the Death Eaters present to instinctively lower their heads.

"What do you want?" He approached slowly, each step feeling like a blow to Fudge's heart. "I just want to thank you, Fudge. You were unwavering in your belief in my 'non-existence,' ignored Dumbledore's warnings, and relentlessly pursued the accusations against Harry Potter... You gave me a precious year to recover. I've always remembered that."

Fudge's face turned pale, then flushed. He forced himself to speak, his voice trembling violently, yet he still tried to seize the last shred of initiative. "You—you don't think I'm afraid of you! Dumbledore still here! And Skylar Malfoy, whose relationship with the current Minister for Magic Amelia Bones, is probably not simple. They've completely taken control of the Ministry of Magic! They won't let the Death Eaters go! If you let me leave now, I can still pass on your message and persuade them—"

Voldemort stopped, his scarlet eyes narrowing slightly, with a hint of a cat playing with a mouse.

"Persuade them?" he repeated, his voice as soft as a sigh. "My dear Fudge, do you think Skylar Malfoy will listen to you? That sixteen-year-old boy has already dragged you down from your ministerial seat and is settling every mess you left behind. Do you think he'll let you off the hook because of some 'old affection'? No... he'll send you to the deepest level of Azkaban, where Dementor will keep you company day and night as you reminisce about your past glories."

Fudge's lips turned purple. Influenced by Voldemort's words, images of Azkaban's cold iron bars, the stench of Dementor, and endless despair involuntarily flooded his mind. These images surged into his mind like a tide, causing his already weak legs to give way, and he collapsed to his knees.

"But you have another path, Fudge. A path that will allow you to retain power." Voldemort took another step forward, his voice suddenly softening and becoming seductive. "Join me. When I regain control of the Ministry of Magic, you will be at the heart of the new regime—in a higher position, with greater power than before. Without Dumbledore, without Skylar Malfoy, no one will be able to threaten you. You will stand on the side of the victors, watching those who once overthrew you kneel at your feet."

He stretched out a long, pale hand and pointed vaguely at Fudge's chest. "Think about it, Minister. You've always been best at siding with the victor, haven't you?"

Rookwood added, his voice laced with malice, "Just like Mrs. Millicent. She's living a very... comfortable life now."

Fudge's breathing quickened. His gaze lingered on Voldemort's noseless face, on the silver masks of the Death Eaters around him, on Millicent's hollow smile. Power... to continue holding power... no need to face reckoning...

Umbridge, who had been unable to contain herself any longer, stepped forward, her pink face flushed slightly with excitement. Her voice was sharp and urgent. "I pledge my allegiance! Dark Lord, I have always believed in the greatness of Pure-blood! Those Mudblood and Half-blood have tainted the wizarding world, and I proved my loyalty at Hogwarts! I—"

Voldemort tilted his head slightly, looked at her, and a satisfied smile curved his lips, "Dolores, I appreciate your enthusiasm. You will be rewarded accordingly."

Umbridge immediately knelt down and kissed the hem of Voldemort's black robes. Fudge looked at her, his heart churning with disgust, fear, and a hint of... envy.

John Dawlish suddenly stepped forward, shielding Fudge behind him, his wand pointed directly at Voldemort, his voice trembling slightly with anger, yet carrying the last vestige of Auror's dignity.

"You two traitors!" he roared, his gaze sweeping over Fudge and Umbridge, his eyes filled with disappointment and contempt. "Fudge, you were once Minister for Magic! Umbridge, you were once a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Magic! And now you're kneeling before this monster? Have you forgotten what we swore to protect?"

He turned to Voldemort, his voice even louder. "You'll never control us! We'll fight to the bitter end—"

Just as Dawlish raised his wand, a green light shot out even faster from Voldemort's staff tip, a strange cursed light striking Dawlish's chest. He froze on the spot, his wand clattering to the ground, and his eyes quickly filled with that familiar mist.

"No..." he let out a final low growl, but could no longer move.

Voldemort slowly lowered his staff, his voice as calm as a statement of the weather. "Rebellion? No, John Dawlish, you will become my most loyal servant."

He turned to Fudge, his crimson eyes gleaming with the final temptation. "Now, it's your turn, former minister. Do you want to remain the loser who gets purged, or... become one of the creators of a new world?"

Fudge's lips trembled. He looked at the controlled Dawlish, at the fanatical Umbridge kneeling on the ground, and at the disdainful looks from the Death Eaters around him.

As for Rufus Fudge, who had been largely unnoticed, his eyes had completely broken down. He looked at Fudge, his voice trembling with tears, "Uncle... we... what should we do... I don't want to die..."

Fudge sighed softly, countless images flashing through his mind: how he had rejected Dumbledore's warnings, how he had publicly declared Harry a madman in the newspapers, how he had ordered Dumbledore's arrest... He had once thought he was on the right side, that everything he did was for the stability of the wizarding world, but now...

His heart was filled with endless regret and shame.

He slowly knelt down facing Voldemort, his knees slamming onto the cold marble floor with a dull thud.

"I... I'll join too." His voice was hoarse and didn't sound like his own. "Please... please forgive my past foolishness. I'm willing to serve you."

Rufus had always followed Fudge's lead, and now that Fudge had yielded, he abandoned all dignity almost without hesitation, forcing out a smile he had practiced countless times in the Minister's Office —the kind of fawning and submissive smile that existed solely to please superiors.

Then, without hesitation, he knelt down with astonishing speed. His expression showed no shame, but rather an eager and ingratiating fervor, as if he were afraid of being forgotten if he hesitated even for a moment.

"My Lord Dark Lord..." His voice was deliberately lowered, almost obsequious, "Please allow me to call myself your servant."

He bowed slightly, his forehead almost touching the cold ground, his tone laced with a nauseating servility. "My loyalty needs no reason, nor any reward. Just say the word, and I'm willing to do anything for you, only asking to kneel at your feet, serve you, and become your most loyal and obedient servant."

Voldemort smiled with satisfaction, a smile as sharp as a viper's hiss.

"A wise choice."

He raised his wand, black magic gathering at its tip. Fudge closed his eyes, awaiting the excruciating pain.

(I used to be the Minister for Magic... but now I'm going to become Death Eaters... but at least... at least I'm still alive...)

As the excruciating pain struck, he bit his lip until it bled, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He heard Umbridge whimpering beside him, Rufus Fudge gasping in terror, and his own heart pounding wildly.

The pain lasted a long time, yet it seemed to last only a moment. When it was all over, Fudge trembled as he raised his left arm—there, a jet-black skull mark was writhing and branding itself into the skin, a snake's tongue flicking out from the skull's mouth.

"Welcome, Cornelius." Voldemort's voice came from above, tinged with the final, cat-and-mouse thrill. "From this day forward, you will serve me. And I... will give you everything you desire."

Fudge looked up, tears and blood mingling on his face. He stared at Voldemort's pale, noseless face and suddenly felt a strange sense of relief.

(I survived... I finally... survived...)

Millicent Bagno clapped softly beside her, her voice hollow as if coming from a great distance. The green flames in the fireplace flickered, illuminating the entire hall like a burning tomb.

Outside, the snow fell silently, covering the tracks left by the carriage, as if nothing had happened.

Deep within the manor, the new Death Eaters were whispering about their next move. Fudge sat in a corner, his finger unconsciously tracing the mark on his left arm, his eyes vacant.

He had dreamed of the pinnacle of power, but never imagined he would continue to hold onto it in this way—even if it was just scraps.

(At least... I'm still alive.)

He repeated the phrase to himself over and over again, like a drowning person clinging to the last piece of driftwood.

The green flames flickered in the fireplace, illuminating the entire hall like a newly reborn temple.