Cornelius Fudge
Damage control. That’s what he needed to do today—damage control.
Cornelius smiled warmly at the press as he walked by. “Andrea,” he hissed, “what are they back here for? The press section is in the audience!”
“I’ll find out,” Andrea said, beckoning one of the Ministry Security Team. She was a good aide. Cornelius beamed fondly as she trotted off to clear the press out of what should be his private backstage space. It was how he’d always liked it. Public appearances were stressful and loud and he expected to be able to enjoy some peace with his aides and advisors before and after them. In private.
“They don’t respect you anymore,” complained Lawrence Handen, Cornelius’ other aide. This one was a friend of Lucius Malfoy’s but Cornelius vastly preferred Lucius to Lawrence. Lawrence fought with Andrea and argued with Fudge and above all he made his toadying obvious. Lucius was subtle when he toadied, which was the mark of someone who knew how to cultivate political favors. All Lawrence knew how to do was flatter and disagree.
“Why would they not respect him?” Andrea said, returning. “He’s the Minister of Magic.”
“Because things have been a mess lately?” Lawrence stared at Andrea and then at Fudge. “Have you not noticed that people aren’t so happy with us right now? That we just announced we’ve been lying for a year, the Dark Lord has returned, and—”
“We haven’t been lying, we’ve been wrong,” Andrea said. “I have plants at all the major gatherings pointing out that at least we can admit when we’ve made a mistake and move swiftly to rectify it, which is better than previous administrations—”
Lawrence threw his hands up. “Yeah, like people will believe that, they just think we’re trying to cover our asses. Which we are.”
Cornelius decided he was tired of hearing the same worn-out argument. “Ding! That’s a count against you, Lawrence, you’re disagreeing unnecessarily again.”
“Sir, I’m just trying to make sure you handle this crowd as well as possible,” Lawrence tried, switching to toady mode. “I—”
“What have we here?”
“Dolores!” Cornelius beamed and patted her on the shoulder enthusiastically. “I’d hug you but I don’t prefer to rumple my robes. D’you like them?”
“Lovely color choice,” Dolores said, mouth stretching into a smile as she surveyed his attire. Cornelius brushed nonexistent dust off the folded-down lapel collar. The purple and blue pinstripes looked rather dashing, and high collars might be all the rage but the lapel look was a classic that never went out of style, his personal wardrobe manager assured him.
“Dolores, you’ve been over your speakers’ notes for today?” Andrea said briskly.
“Yes, of course.” Dolores frowned at Andrea, possibly because Cornelius’ favorite aide was wearing a Muggle-inspired dress rather than robes and the entire office knew how Dolores felt about Muggle styles affecting those of the wizarding world. “There’s one teensy little section I’d like to tweak, dear, if you wouldn’t mind stepping aside so I might correct you? Just to ensure we don’t see these kinds of errors in the future, of course.”
“Of course,” Andrea said, tossing Lawrence one last look of loathing before she trotted off with Dolores.
Cornelius waved Lawrence off. “Go find me something to drink.”
“Tea?” Lawrence said.
“Really,” Cornelius said. “Must we really do this every time I make a public appearance? Must I really repeat myself?”
“Sir, Mr. Malfoy has mentioned that it’s best not to become too reliant on such methods,” Lawrence said carefully. “You’ve often said how valuable you find his advice, so I repeat it when I can.”
“Fine, I’ll repeat myself. Something stronger, Lawrence, there’s a good man. Whiskey, or a good Scotch.”
“I’ll see what we have,” Lawrence said.
Cornelius sighed once he was finally alone. Not really alone, of course, it was a large tent with plenty of compartments and people were constantly bustling about preparing everything for his speech, which was important because there were rumors the Wizengamot was considering a vote of no confidence in him and that could not happen, he so loved his job—but there was no one yammering in his ear now. Andrea and Lawrence and Dolores had gone away to take care of any details that needed addressing. Activity swirled comfortably around him and he basked in being the centerpiece of it all.
“Minister! Minister, five minutes to stage,” someone called. He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the voice and assumed that was all they needed of him since it stayed silent after that.
It was a useful warning, though; more time had passed than he’d realized while he was standing there thinking about the day. Cornelius strode down the halls in the magically expanded tent until he was in the area just behind the stage, waiting to go on and speak. He could hear the crowd outside. Murmuring, rustling, present, waiting.
“Ah!” he said, spotting a familiar head of hair. “Dolores, perfect timing, I’ve just been informed we’re about to go on stage.”
“I do strive to be punctual,” she said, smiling. Cornelius found himself vaguely distressed by the sticky width of it. Her smile was wide and a bit discomfiting at the best of times, for which he forgave her because the shape of her mouth was hardly Dolores’ fault, but today it seemed… particularly off.
“And it’s ever such a pleasure, I can’t abide waiting on people,” Cornelius said, never mind how absolutely delightful it was to make others wait on him. He’d done his time as the one who waited, years of it while he clawed his way up the bureaucratic ladder of the Ministry, and he certainly enjoyed being on top of the pile. He’d earned it.
Dolores’ smile widened.
Cornelius coughed. “Yes, well. Shall we?”
He offered an arm and Dolores took it, still smiling. Cornelius was relieved walking next to her involved looking ahead and not at her as they made for the curtain that would lift and place them in front of the crowd. Probably she was just unnerved by the whole day. This was, he could admit it, the most precarious political position his administration had ever occupied. It would make anyone nervous.
Well. Except for him. Cornelius was certain they’d come through. He always had before and, well, it wasn’t like there was a way for this to go wrong. Lawrence could yammer all he liked about public opinion but Cornelius’ people controlled the Prophet and there was no comparable alternative news source; even Dumbledore’s pathetic Order of the Phoenix that he thought was so secret and clever couldn’t compete with their little propaganda pamphlets. And the Death Eaters, the idiots, weren’t pushing back with propaganda at all yet. So really there was no contest. Cornelius could make his speech and reassure the populace that everything possible was being done and there would be no repeat of the last time, that they were better prepared and You-Know-Who had already been defeated once, Lucius would corral the Wizengamot away from that imbecilic ‘vote of no confidence’ threat they’d been bandying about, and it would all settle.
“Curtain up in ten seconds,” someone called. On the other side of the enchanted curtain, Cornelius could only dimly hear Amelia Bones wrapping up her introductory speech about the Aurors’ new security measures.
He thought about all the people out there, waiting to listen to him, and let a warm smile spread over his face.
The curtain rose.
Dolores
She felt distinctly—odd.
Dolores stood at Cornelius’ side, like usual, and beamed at the crowd while he rambled on. The speech really was atrocious, not that she’d expected anything else from his blitheringly incompetent halfblood aide, but the people’s eyes were appropriately glazed over.
Two more minutes and I’ll give them a show.
Her carefully crafted smile twitched and Dolores took a second to hitch it back into place. Where had that thought come from?
For just a second, absolute terror seized her body, muscles tightening and mind awash in horror, and this wasn’t a “flashback” to the—the forest, the Mind Healer had helped her with those and this felt different, worse. A whole other kind of violation.
The next second Dolores’ whole body flinched.
A few of the other Ministry staffers glanced at her, and she tried to smile reassuringly. They turned back forward. Cornelius continued blithely with his speech.
What had she been thinking about?
Nothing came to mind.
The speech had been going for almost five minutes, she realized, and shifted her weight with anticipation. That was her cue. Five to ten minutes of Cornelius talking, and then she would—what?
Dolores resolved to go see her Mind Healer again. He was a pathetic twitchy little man, like a dull drab sparrow, fluttering about his office and nervously offering her tea and squeaking on and on and on in that grating voice of his, but Ministry rules said if she didn’t go to her mandated appointments she could lose her job. Which could not happen. She needed to be here, in government, in power, where she’d fought and bled and cried to be, where Father had told her she could do what he couldn’t and drive the Squibs and Mudbloods out of their world, protect it.
But she’d get fired if she started acting oddly. And she very much felt… odd. So she would go back to the Mind Healer even though she loathed him. Maybe it would help and even if it didn’t at least then she could say she’d—
Five minutes. Five minutes. Five minutes.
It took only a few twitches of her wand to set up wards, the illegal Dark kind Father taught her so she wouldn’t be crippled by Light-biased professors, the kind the Aurors wouldn’t be able to break to get at her. It was as strong a spell as she could cast without involving a ritual sacrifice and that was too overt for this venue.
Dolores hadn’t realized she’d stopped smiling until just now when she started to smile again. Widely, and then wider, until her cheeks ached and her eyes burned from straining open like this. Good, she thought, good, I look deranged, I look like I’ve lost my mind, and with one jerky motion she turned to Cornelius.
He hadn’t noticed anything. Fool, Dolores thought savagely, all her usual control over her thoughts gone, as he rambled about “bring peace to our world again! We will stand strong against the Death Eater menace!”
The crowd cheered.
Dolores snapped.
She lunged forward and shoved Cornelius with both hands, hard, and the top-heavy self-satisfied idiot tipped right over and fell to the stage with a thud. The sonorus on his throat meant the whole crowd heard his indignant, undignified squawk, and they fell silent.
“You,” Dolores snarled, and then thought better of it, cast a sonorus on herself. The Aurors had lunged forward and begun shouting to each other, casting at her shield, but it was a perfect dome and it held and held and held, and Dolores laughed at the sight of them failing. Her cackle was high-pitched and echoed through the whole venue now. Five thousand people here to hear Cornelius talk but now they’d get to hear her.
Dolores cut her laughter off abruptly and stepped forward. Cornelius scrambled backwards on his bum, flailing, screeching, desperate. And oh, it felt so good to finally be the one with power here.
How she hated him.
“You absolute blundering blithering fool,” she said, relishing this chance to say what she normally didn’t even let herself think. “Talking about peace, about the Death Eater menace, and here we are in a dying world because for sixteen years you couldn’t do anything despite holding the highest magical office! Death Eater menace! As if the Death Eaters are even what the Light propaganda thinks! Killing and enslaving Muggles and Mudbloods, bah, You-Know-Who doesn’t want that, people just think he does! Meanwhile filth pollutes our society, Mudbloods, Squibs, half-breed abominations, they’re overrunning us and you! Have done! Nothing!”
She paused for a steadying breath. Almost done, she thought, satisfied, fingers turning over her wand. The Aurors wouldn’t be able to break through her shield for another minute or so and Cornelius was just sitting there spluttering at her. Even now he wouldn’t believe he was actually in danger.
“Dolores,” he said, helplessly.
“Death Eaters. Hah. As if Death Eaters were anything but another of your propaganda stunts.” Dolores spat on him. Cornelius yelped and squirmed, trying to get up, but she landed a Bludgeoning Hex on his shoulder and knocked him over again with the sound of crunching bone. The disgusting little man screamed. The Aurors’ activity got more frantic.
Had it been thirty seconds? It had. Dolores slowly lifted her wand. Aimed it at Cornelius.
(I should not be doing this I don’t want to do this I don’t–)
I have to do this.
“Dolores!” Cornelius reached, too slow, too late, for his wand. “Dolores, what—”
The first curse took him in the stomach.
The second in the kneecap.
The third in his face and his eyes bulged out of his skull like dinner plates, and Cornelius was screaming, and Dolores was laughing, and the Aurors tore down her words and disarmed her and she didn’t even care that her wand (her self, her magic, her rights as a witch) was gone.
Then—oh.
Then she did.
Dolores shuddered and sagged and stopped fighting the Aurors’ rough grip on her shoulders as they dragged her away behind the curtain.
Wand, gone.
Cornelius, cursed.
She couldn’t—oh, Merlin. She couldn’t remember. What she’d said, what she’d done, not completely, but she knew, knew it was bad, and Dolores was abruptly sick all over herself, not because she’d said things one could not say in front of a crowd but because she couldn’t remember.
There were holes in her memory that she hadn’t noticed, until now. Holes. Hogwarts. Blurry faces and cruel smiles and terror and she screamed, suddenly, just to silence half-remembered whispers.
Something had been done to her. Something. Something bad. And now she’d done something bad and now everything she’d worked for was lost and—
“Noooooo!” Dolores howled. When she ran out of breath she sucked more air in and started screaming again. Just to silence her own brain.
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