After Umbridge finished speaking, even she could scarcely believe her own words. But she had studied Erwin for a long time, and the truth was undeniable.
Fudge wasn't truly foolish. He simply lost his grip when faced with raw ambition. Now, with Umbridge laying it all out, he suddenly saw the pieces he'd overlooked. He'd long been wary of Erwin and even glimpsed some of his schemes. But the boy's youth had been the perfect deception.
No longer. With Umbridge's compiled dossier in hand, Fudge couldn't dismiss Erwin as a mere child. It was chilling.
Fudge leaned forward. "Then why do you believe he's pulling the strings here too?"
Umbridge pressed on. "The Cavendish family may have Muggle roots, but they've revealed their hand since the Yaxley affair. Lately, they've been snapping up wandering wizards left and right. By my rough count, their ranks number at least a hundred now! Minister, imagine the firepower of a hundred wizards. Even the Ministry's registered Aurors total only forty. Factor in Erwin Cavendish's ties to other families, and only the Cavendishes had the resources to orchestrate this."
Fudge fell silent, the figure hitting him like a Bludger. Over a hundred wizards—all adults, battle-hardened wanderers. Far from weak, these rogues often danced on the edge of oblivion, taking risks no ordinary wizard would stomach. They fended off Dark wizards daily, and survival meant blood on their hands.
Umbridge continued, "This has to be their doing. As for motives, I can't say yet. But to break the impasse, Minister, seek out Erwin Cavendish. Whatever his game, he'd welcome an alliance with you. Secure his backing, and families like the Malfoys and Selwyns will fall in line. With your current leverage, you could crush the opposition."
Fudge's eyes gleamed. Her logic rang true.
"Very well. You're onto something. Deliver my message—I need to meet Erwin Cavendish."
Umbridge dipped her head. "It would be my honor, Minister."
Fudge nodded. "You're sharp. When this blows over, pick any post you fancy. That's my word."
Joy lit her face. "Thank you, Minister. I'll give it my all."
With that, she bustled out, her cheeks flushed with triumph.
Fudge watched her go, then snorted. He saw her clearly now: a power-hungry climber, just like him. That made her easy to manipulate—no one grasped the frailties of ambition better than he did.
Meanwhile, Umbridge stepped from the office, her smile evaporating like mist. Staring at the closed door, her lips twisted into a icy grin. Yes, she hungered for power. Why not claim the Minister's seat herself?
She'd held back one detail: from dissecting Erwin's moves, she'd pegged his nature—ruthless, unyielding. Partnering with him was like courting a dragon. She couldn't fathom his endgame, but Fudge was spent. His resignation speech had doomed him.
She, however, had spotted the escape route. Erwin would see it too, and she'd reap the rewards.
Umbridge headed straight to Diagon Alley and slipped into Cavendish's Magical Supplies.
...
By evening, Old Tom's report reached Erwin. As he listened, a smile tugged at his lips.
"This Umbridge has layers. I pegged her for a dim bulb, but she's playing smart. Fine—let her think she's winning."
Old Tom paused. "How should I respond? Agree to a meeting with Fudge?"
Erwin nodded. "Absolutely, but not yet. Classes fill my week. Stall until the weekend. Let Fudge stew; desperation weakens his hand. It'll make negotiations a breeze."
"Understood, Master."
Erwin hung up and drifted to the window, drumming his fingers on the sill. Intriguing, indeed. Who knew the pink toad had such cunning? The original plan had flaws, but this was the spark he needed—like a timely Firebolt in a dive.
Just then, a ripple of magic brushed Hogwarts' wards. Erwin smirked. Right on cue—Dumbledore, back to settle the score.
With a flicker, Erwin Apparated to the Headmaster's office door. There stood Dumbledore, gazing expectantly.
"Professor, ages! Still the picture of wizardly charm."
Dumbledore chuckled dryly. "I figured you'd show."
Erwin grinned. "Here to claim what's mine."
No more chatter. Dumbledore drew a blood-red, translucent stone from his robes—radiant with inner magic, a deep crimson glow.
Erwin took it, inspecting closely.
Dumbledore arched a brow. "Doubting me?"
"Just verifying. Caution keeps things tidy—you taught me that."
Erwin had glimpsed the true Philosopher's Stone in the Mirror of Erised. This one thrummed with authentic power, no forgery. A rare twinge of honor from the old wizard.
Dumbledore murmured the password. Silence. The door stayed shut.
His expression soured, darkening like a storm cloud.
Erwin raised his hands. "Not my doing—the Godfather's. I granted him Headmaster access."
Dumbledore sighed, weariness etching his face. He felt the castle slipping further from his grasp, one lock at a time.
...
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