Fudge's face flickered with uncertainty. He was wary of the power behind Dudley—the Carrow family, his staunch supporters.
The Carrows might seem unassuming, but they were a tougher nut to crack than even the Malfoys. If not for a few dimwits in their ranks, a hit during You-Know-Who's downfall, and a useless former head who'd squandered much of their wealth, they'd still rival the Malfoys in influence.
Even so, they remained a formidable pure-blood family.
In truth, Dudley didn't have anyone backing him—just himself.
"Minister, Potter—" Fudge began, gritting his teeth. Offending the Carrows be damned; Harry was the priority now. "Dursley, I'll say it again: Potter comes with us today, even if we have to use force."
The Aurors caught Fudge's meaning this time. They exchanged glances, slowly raising their wands toward Dudley and his group—though, curiously, they avoided pointing them at Draco.
"You've got five seconds to consider the consequences," Dudley said coolly, still seated, not moving an inch.
Five seconds later, a spell came out of nowhere, striking the Aurors' wrists with pinpoint accuracy. Before they could react, their wands flew from their hands.
"Minister, watch out! We're under attack!"
"It might be Sirius Black!"
A Ministry worker shrieked, sending Fudge diving under a table in a panic, the worker scrambling after him.
The other Aurors grew visibly tense, fumbling to retrieve their wands from the floor. In their haste, some grabbed the wrong ones, creating a chaotic mess.
Useless. Worse than the ironthorn bushes I planted around the garden, Dudley thought, eyeing the Ministry clowns with disdain.
The Aurors aren't what they used to be.
Elite wizards? Maybe once.
It had only been thirteen years since the First Wizarding War, since You-Know-Who's fall. The truly exceptional Aurors had either died fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters or ended up like the Longbottoms, confined to St. Mungo's. Moody was one of the few survivors from that era, and even he was battered, barely a part of him unscathed.
What was left of the Ministry's Aurors? Hardly worth mentioning.
And their apprentices? Even less impressive.
"No enemies here," Dudley said calmly, tapping his fingers lightly on the dining table. "I don't take kindly to wands pointed at me. That was just a small lesson. There won't be a next time."
As he spoke, two figures appeared behind him, like villains straight out of a fairy tale: an old witch with a hooked nose and a stern, bald wizard.
It was Pippi and Luxi.
The powerful aura they exuded made the Aurors hesitate to act.
One spell had disarmed multiple Aurors. If they tried anything else…
The younger Aurors swallowed hard, exchanging nervous glances.
Fudge, realizing it wasn't Sirius Black and that things were under control, shakily crawled out from under the table. He shot a glare at the Ministry worker who'd caused the panic, then fixed his gaze on the two old wizards. "Who are they?"
"The housekeepers," Dudley replied casually, his tone still indifferent.
"They just attacked Aurors!" Fudge's voice trembled, his nerves clearly frayed. His earlier bravado was gone.
He regretted not bringing Rufus Scrimgeour along. Scrimgeour was one of the few Ministry wizards who could actually hold his own.
Then Fudge met Dudley's sapphire-blue eyes. They seemed to pierce right through him, glinting with mockery.
Dudley spoke, his tone as if recounting something trivial. "Shocking news: a high-ranking Ministry official ordered Aurors to point wands at underage wizards, including the wizarding world's hero, Harry Potter. Is this a twisted sense of humanity or a complete moral failure? I bet the Daily Prophet would love this story."
Dudley pulled out a crystal ball, turning it over in his hands with a flourish.
As he spoke, and especially as Fudge saw the crystal ball, his eyelids twitched. His wrinkled face was etched with worry.
That kind of crystal ball could record images, much like a Muggle video camera.
If this story got out, the complaints would flood the Ministry, and his approval ratings would plummet.
He'd be finished.
"Mr. Dursley, you can't do this," Fudge stammered.
Though he wasn't the most competent, Fudge was a master at reading the room. His attitude softened instantly.
"I agree, this wouldn't look good for you, Mr. Fudge," Dudley said smoothly. "So let's talk and clear up this misunderstanding."
"Yes, yes, a misunderstanding! All a misunderstanding, Mr. Dursley. You're absolutely right," Fudge said, wiping sweat from his brow, nodding like a bobblehead, his earlier Minister-of-Magic swagger completely gone.
Dealing with a mediocrity like Fudge was simple: grab him by the throat and control the narrative.
After a private chat with Dudley, Fudge emerged looking like he'd been dunked in water, drenched in sweat.
"Mr. Dursley, it's getting late. I should go and let you rest," Fudge said, his attitude doing a complete 180. He didn't mention taking Harry or the Auror incident again.
Even when he'd first become Minister and sought Dumbledore's advice, he hadn't been this deferential.
The Aurors exchanged confused looks, unsure what to say—or if they dared say anything.
"Safe travels. I won't see you out," Dudley said.
"Rest well, rest well," Fudge replied.
As Fudge was about to leave, Dudley added casually, "Oh, one thing. This morning, besides the magpies, I heard crows cawing."
"What a lovely place you've got here, Mr. Dursley," Fudge said, oblivious to the underlying meaning, offering a clueless compliment.
Once they were gone, Dudley turned to Draco. "Draco, the Wilkes' eldest son, Victor Wilkes—he wants to follow in his father's footsteps and work in the Department of Mysteries, right? Tell him it's arranged."
"And Domam Gaggerson from the Gaggerson family—the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would love to have him."
"Oh, and let Eric Strange know the Department of Magical Games and Sports is a great fit."
These were Slytherins from the past couple of years who hadn't yet found suitable jobs.
Of course, Dudley hadn't done this for free. But compared to what he'd gained, he'd only spent a tiny bit of gold.
As the great sage Sun Tzu once said, "The carrot and the stick never go out of style."
Having a mediocre Minister for Magic, in some ways, was actually quite convenient.