The Reopened Dueling Club (3)

"Disagree?" Fudge's voice rose. "Everyone in the Wizengamot is on your side! The way they look at you is like—like they're looking at a god! Do you know how awful that feels? I'm the Minister for Magic! I'm the one who gives the orders!"

Dumbledore said nothing. He merely looked at him quietly, as though he were looking at an overgrown child throwing a tantrum.

Fudge seemed scorched by that gaze, and his voice dropped. "You're always like this. You don't have to do anything, you don't have to say anything. You just sit there, and everyone follows you. Do you know? When I stand there, all they see is the title of Minister. It doesn't matter who the Minister actually is. But you're different. When you sit there, they see a savior, a guardian! You want to be the power behind the throne, don't you? Answer me, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore sighed helplessly, then bent down slightly to look at Fudge. "Cornelius, you're overthinking it. I was only defending Hagrid. He is innocent."

"Whether he's innocent or not, I don't know." Fudge straightened his tie, trying to make himself look more imposing. "But I know you're playing tricks again. You always use that face of yours, use your past, to make people listen to you. That isn't power. It's—the power of reputation."

"Perhaps." Dumbledore did not deny it.

He turned and walked toward the end of the corridor. Fudge stood where he was, fists clenched, his jaw locked tight until that silver-white figure disappeared into the green flames of the fireplace.

He turned and kicked the wall. The staff passing nearby all lowered their heads, terrified of becoming Fudge's next target.

By the time Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts, night had fully fallen. He did not go back to his own office.