The Daily Prophet splashed the news across its front page, and that issue sold like hotcakes, nearly flying off the shelves.
The paper included a detailed rundown on Black: Sirius Black, a fanatical follower of You-Know-Who, once killed thirteen people with a single curse and blew up an entire street. Evil, deranged, bloodthirsty, and cruel—a notorious murderer with a fearsome reputation.
But none of this mattered to Dudley and his friends, who were still living peacefully in Godric's Hollow.
The castle was a safe haven.
Unfortunately, a certain Minister for Magic didn't see it that way.
In his mind, Black's escape was all about one thing: taking out Harry Potter. Black was You-Know-Who's loyal servant, the man who'd betrayed his best friends, the Potters—Harry's parents.
So, naturally, he'd come for Harry.
If Harry Potter were killed by the escaped Black, Fudge's political career would be over. He'd be booted out of the Minister's office faster than you could say "Expelliarmus."
So, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister who'd sat in power for over a decade with little to show for it, suddenly took a keen interest in the wizarding world's savior, Harry Potter.
He assumed Harry would be at his aunt and uncle's house. But when they arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive, Petunia Dursley informed them that Harry had long since left with his cousin, destination unknown.
That's when Fudge started to panic.
"Why did you let them out of your sight?" Fudge bellowed at Petunia, his face red with frustration.
Before he could finish, a powerful force shoved him back. A large, hairy hand pushed him away as Vernon stormed out of the room, shielding Petunia behind him. He glared at Fudge, his expression fierce. "Oi, fatso, back off my wife!"
"They're not kids anymore, and they're wizards. What, are we supposed to keep them chained to us all the time?" Vernon snapped. "When I was their age, I was already off with the Scouts."
"I don't want to see you here again. Now get out of my house!"
Since little Lily came into their lives, Vernon had been like a man reborn, hitting the gym hard. Though he hadn't entirely shed his bulky frame, he was now solidly built—far sturdier than Fudge.
"Muggle!" Fudge sputtered, tumbling backward onto his rear. Scrambling to his feet, he yanked out his wand, ready to teach Vernon a lesson.
"Minister Fudge, I wouldn't recommend that," a deep voice interrupted.
Before Fudge could cast a spell, someone spoke up. "Let me remind you, these two are Mr. Potter's closest relatives, as well as Mr. Dursley's parents. If you act, you'll upset both of them, and I doubt that's what you want. Wizards aren't allowed to use magic on Muggles at will—not even someone in your position."
The speaker had sandy-brown hair, thick eyebrows, and sharp yellow eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses. His square-jawed face carried an air of authority, stern and unyielding. With his curly hair, he looked like an old lion.
This was Rufus Scrimgeour, the current Head of the Auror Office.
He was in charge of the mission to recapture Sirius Black.
As a seasoned veteran, Rufus addressed Fudge not as "Minister" but as "Sir."
On a side note, Rufus was on good terms with the Carrow family, and Dudley had met him a few times.
"Dursley." The name made Fudge pause.
Fudge didn't care much about Harry, despite rumors that he might be a powerful wizard.
He didn't buy into that hype. To him, Harry was just an ordinary young wizard—albeit one with a big name.
But Dudley was different.
The story of how Dudley had effortlessly ousted Lucius Malfoy from the Hogwarts Board of Governors was legendary. Lucius had been the butt of jokes for weeks, and Dudley left a lasting impression on Fudge. Anyone who could command the loyalty of all of Slytherin was no ordinary wizard.
Fudge might be incompetent, but he wasn't that foolish—not yet.
"Any leads from the Ministry's trace?" Fudge asked, desperate for answers.
After leaving Privet Drive, Fudge had pulled every string to track down Harry, but Dudley's anti-tracking measures were airtight. The Ministry hadn't found a single clue.
Three whole days with no news.
"What if he's already been harmed? No, we have to find Harry!" Fudge's panic grew, his plump frame trembling as he wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. Every passing minute made him more anxious.
Of course, he wasn't worried about Harry's safety—he was worried about his own job.
"Dumbledore would know where they are. He knows everything," someone suggested.
Normally, Fudge would've snapped at whoever dared mention Dumbledore. But these weren't normal times.
"Yes, yes, Dumbledore!" Fudge's eyes lit up at the name. "Quick, to Hogwarts!" he shouted, ordering his team to head there immediately.
When in doubt, go to Dumbledore. That had always been Fudge's fallback.
"Cornelius, calm down. The kids are fine, I assure you," said Dumbledore, dressed in a starry robe, looking exasperated at the late-night intrusion. It was nearly midnight, and he'd been about to go to bed.
"Albus, you're sure?" Fudge pressed stubbornly.
"I'm sure," Dumbledore replied, his exasperation growing.
Funny how you never cared this much about Harry before, he thought.
Dumbledore recalled how different Fudge had been when he first became Minister. Back then, he'd been humble, aware of his limitations. But years of power had changed him. He'd grown obsessed with status and cozying up to so-called pure-blood wizards.
Did Dumbledore know where Dudley and the others were? As a matter of fact, he did—Dudley had told him.
"Tell me, Albus, where is he? Please," Fudge pleaded.
Dumbledore sighed. "I'll tell you, Cornelius, but you should wait until morning to go to them."
Once Fudge gave his word, Dumbledore revealed their location.
"It's a safe place," he said with a peculiar expression. "Possibly even safer than Hogwarts."
He'd almost said it was the second-safest place after Hogwarts, but then he remembered the recent chaos at the school—trolls, Voldemort's lingering spirit, Horcruxes (two of them, no less), and a basilisk.
Safe? Hogwarts was anything but.