Fudge let out a weary sigh, knowing his fretting wouldn't change a thing. These past weeks had been a nightmare. The pressure was crushing—endless calls for his resignation echoing through the halls of power. The Ministry was in chaos since You-Know-Who's return, and Fudge felt the walls closing in. In mere days, he looked a decade older, lines etched deep into his face. Without Erwin's backing, he wasn't sure he could hold on.
That's why he was so desperate to meet. And Erwin knew it. He wanted Fudge squirming under the weight of public scrutiny. Only then would the Minister bend to his will.
An hour dragged by. Fudge nursed three or four cups of tea and made two trips to the loo—perils of age, he supposed. At last, a swirl of Apparition lit the shop's corner.
Tom hurried over first, bowing as Erwin stepped through. Fudge scrambled to his feet.
"Master," Tom said, "Minister Fudge has been waiting quite a while."
Erwin nodded, his black cat tucked under one arm, and turned to Fudge with an easy smile—the kind that seemed second nature. "Terribly sorry, Minister. Hogwarts matters held me up. I hate to keep you waiting."
Fudge eyed the young man, memories of Erwin's ruthless moves sending a shiver down his spine. He forced a smile. "No apologies needed, Mr. Cavendish. I'm the one intruding."
Gone was the bluster from their first encounter. Fudge now grasped Erwin's danger and the Selwyn family's clout. Above all, he needed their support. So he played the supplicant.
Tom slid a chair behind Erwin, who sank into it with a casual wave. "Have a seat, Minister. No need to stand on ceremony."
Fudge complied, perching on the edge of his chair like a schoolboy before the Headmaster. Erwin's youth belied the authority radiating from him—the subtle weight of command. Fudge felt it keenly.
Erwin's smile widened. In a world ruled by power, hierarchies sorted themselves out neatly.
"So, what brings you here today?" Erwin asked. "If there's anything I can do, just say the word. I haven't forgotten how you stood up for me at Hogwarts, pushing to shield the Selwyns from trouble. That's a debt I'll always honor."
Fudge shifted uncomfortably, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. He dabbed it away. "About that... I regret not doing more. But please believe me—I meant every word. No hidden agendas where the Selwyns are concerned."
"Of course," Erwin replied smoothly. "I trust you. Now, what's on your mind?"
Fudge hesitated, probing for traps in Erwin's tone. But time was short; he had no room for games. "It's the Selwyns I need. You must've seen the Prophet—You-Know-Who's back."
Erwin nodded gravely. "I did. Blimey, that's dire. I wasn't around for the first war, but the histories paint a grim picture. Wizards cowering in the shadows... a proper nightmare. Still, the Ministry's got this, right? Speaking of which, Minister, I might need a favor myself. The Selwyns are new to all this. If things heat up, we'd appreciate the Ministry's protection."
Fudge managed a dry chuckle. "Naturally. Protecting wizards is our job—duty-bound."
"Good to hear." Erwin leaned back. "So, is this visit about You-Know-Who? Some big plot brewing? A heads-up from you would mean a lot."
Fudge stifled a sigh at the feigned innocence. No choice but to lay it bare. "Not exactly a plot, no. But remember what I said publicly? If he returns, I'll step down."
Erwin's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Really? That's rough. Though with your track record, Minister, no one's rushing you out over one offhand remark."
Fudge met Erwin's steady gaze, frustration bubbling. Time to beg. He rose, hands clasped. "Mr. Cavendish, I need your help."
Erwin waved him down. "Come now, Minister. What could I possibly do? This is Ministry business. The Selwyns are barely in the door—no real pull yet."
"You're wrong," Fudge pressed. "The Selwyns wield real influence now. With your backing, I could weather this storm and stay on as Minister."
Erwin's smile turned thoughtful. "That's a tall order. I'm not sure I can swing it. Anything else on your mind? I need to mull this over."
Fudge leaned in urgently. "Yes—one more thing. The Head of the Muggle Liaison Office is open. No one in our world understands Muggles like the Selwyns. I'm asking you to nominate someone. Put a foot in the Ministry door as Director."
Erwin paused, stroking his cat. It was Fudge's olive branch—a seat at the table. A director's position, traded for loyalty. The Minister watched, hope flickering in his eyes, as the gears turned behind Erwin's calm facade.
...
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