The ancient Wizengamot chamber fell into complete silence.
The debate had run its course. Every accusation had been put forth, every defense had been heard, and every member of the assembly understood that there was nothing more to say. The future of Britain's magical government no longer rested upon speeches or political promises. It rested upon the judgment of the witches and wizards seated within the chamber.
The Chief Warlock slowly rose from his chair.
His ancient staff struck the polished stone floor with a sharp crack that echoed through the circular courtroom.
"In accordance with the laws governing the Wizengamot," he announced, "we shall now proceed to the vote."
His gaze swept calmly across the rows of purple-robed members.
"Those who believe Cornelius Oswald Fudge should remain Minister for Magic will cast their votes first."
Cornelius Fudge drew a slow breath.
For the first time that day, he allowed himself to hope.
Politics had always been unpredictable. Publicly, many people condemned a government while privately remaining loyal to it. Others avoided taking sides until the decisive moment. Perhaps there were still enough members willing to support him. Perhaps all was not yet lost.
The Chief Warlock raised his staff.
"Members wishing to retain the current Minister..."
"...raise your wands."
For several long seconds, no one moved.
Then, slowly, a single wand rose into the air.
Another followed.
Then a third.
Blue and silver lights shimmered softly above the chamber as more members reluctantly cast their votes. Fudge watched every wand with desperate intensity, silently counting as though the numbers alone could change the outcome.
Five.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
The count continued to rise, but far too slowly.
His eyes searched the chamber, lingering upon faces that had once been among his most dependable supporters.
Lord Selwyn remained seated without expression.
Lord Nott folded his hands calmly before him.
Several influential families that had once defended every Ministry policy now refused even to acknowledge his presence.
The message was unmistakable. They had already decided his political career was over.
The Chief Warlock allowed several more moments to pass before lowering his staff.
"You may lower your wands."
The scattered lights disappeared.
Even before the second vote had begun, many members already knew the result.
The Chief Warlock waited only a heartbeat before speaking again.
"Those supporting the motion of no confidence..."
"...raise your wands."
The response was immediate.
Across the ancient chamber, hundreds of wands rose almost as one.
The hall brightened beneath the glow of magical light as row after row of witches and wizards declared their decision without hesitation. The overwhelming display required no official count for anyone present to understand what had happened.
Cornelius Fudge stared at the sea of raised wands.
He had prepared himself for defeat.
He had even imagined a narrow loss.
But this...
This was something else entirely.
The people who had once entrusted him with Britain's highest office were now openly declaring that they no longer believed he was capable of leading the nation.
His shoulders slowly slumped.
The fight was over.
The Chief Warlock surveyed the chamber one final time before lowering his staff.
"The count is complete."
Every eye turned toward him.
"The motion carries."
The words echoed throughout the chamber with quiet finality.
"Cornelius Oswald Fudge is hereby removed from the office of Minister for Magic, effective immediately."
Fudge slowly closed his eyes.
His fingers loosened around the bowler hat he had carried throughout the proceedings. It slipped quietly from his grasp and landed upon the polished floor.
The soft sound echoed strangely loudly in the silent chamber.
No one moved to retrieve it.
Around him, members of the Wizengamot watched with mixed emotions. Some looked quietly satisfied. Others pitied the fallen Minister. A few lowered their eyes altogether.
For all his failures...
Cornelius Fudge had never truly believed himself to be the villain.
The Chief Warlock allowed the silence to linger before continuing.
"In accordance with emergency succession procedure, this chamber shall now hear nominations for the office of Minister for Magic."
The announcement brought the members back to attention.
Almost immediately, one elderly wizard rose.
"I nominate Amelia Bones."
Before anyone could respond, Amelia herself stood.
"I thank the honorable member for his confidence," she said politely, "but I must decline."
She looked around the chamber.
"My duties remain with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
The nomination was withdrawn.
Another member stood.
"I nominate Lord Greengrass."
Lord Greengrass rose almost immediately.
"I am honored," he replied, "but I also decline."
"My responsibilities are here, within this chamber. But I nominate Rufus Scrimgeour"
Greengrass continued calmly.
"Britain stands upon the edge of another war."
"We require a Minister who understands the realities of war."
"We require someone trusted by our Aurors."
"Someone respected by ordinary witches and wizards."
He turned toward the Head of the Auror Office.
"I believe Rufus Scrimgeour is that man."
Lady Longbottom rose almost immediately.
"I second the nomination."
One after another, more voices joined.
"I support it."
"As do I."
"The Auror Office has earned my confidence."
Within moments, the mood of the chamber shifted.
The Chief Warlock turned toward Rufus.
"Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour..."
"Do you accept this nomination?"
Every eye followed him.
Rufus remained seated for several moments.
He looked toward the Minister's chair standing at the center of the chamber.
It did not resemble a prize.
It resembled a burden.
Finally, he stood.
"I accept."
No applause followed.
Everyone understood what accepting truly meant.
Whoever became Minister today would not inherit peace.
He would inherit war.
The vote that followed was swift.
Nearly every wand rose.
Only a handful remained lowered.
The Chief Warlock did not require long to announce the result.
"By the authority vested in this body..."
"...Rufus Scrimgeour is hereby elected Minister for Magic."
Rufus inclined his head respectfully before walking toward the central chair. Each step echoed softly through the chamber. When he reached the Minister's seat, however, he did not sit. Instead, he turned to face the assembled Wizengamot.
"My first act as Minister," he said quietly, "will be simple."
The chamber fell completely silent.
"No more denial."
His steady gaze swept across the gathered families and officials.
"Voldemort has returned."
"He commands followers."
"He commands resources."
He allowed the words to settle before continuing.
"Whether we wished for this war no longer matters."
"Our country is already fighting it."
His voice remained calm, yet every sentence carried unmistakable authority.
"The Auror Office will receive every resource necessary to hunt Death Eaters."
"Security throughout magical Britain will be strengthened."
"Investigations delayed for political reasons will resume without interference."
Several members nodded in approval.
Others listened with grim expressions.
Rufus continued.
"I care nothing for blood."
"I care nothing for ancient family names."
"If you support Lord Voldemort..."
"If you shelter his followers..."
"If you provide them with gold, supplies, or information..."
"...you will be treated as an enemy of magical Britain."
Several pure-blood lords stiffened.
None challenged him.
Only after finishing did Rufus finally turn and sit in the Minister's chair.
The Chief Warlock struck the floor once more.
"The Ministry has a Minister."
"This session is concluded."
The chamber slowly came alive.
Members rose from their seats, speaking quietly among themselves as they made their way toward the exits. Several approached Rufus to offer congratulations, though there was little celebration to be found. The mood remained solemn.
Everyone understood that today's victory was merely the beginning of a far greater struggle.
Cornelius Fudge remained seated.
For several minutes, no one approached him.
Eventually, he bent down and retrieved his fallen bowler hat. Carefully brushing away the dust with slow, absent movements, he placed it back upon his head.
Without looking toward the Minister's chair...
Without speaking to anyone...
He quietly walked from the chamber.
Few noticed him leave.
One era had ended.
Another had begun.
The morning after the Wizengamot vote, Britain awoke to a very different political landscape.
Owls crisscrossed the skies in numbers rarely seen outside wartime, each carrying the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. By breakfast, every wizarding home, Ministry office, and magical business had received the newspaper.
The front page was impossible to miss.
RUFUS SCRIMGEOUR SWORN IN AS MINISTER OF MAGIC
Beneath the headline was a moving photograph of Rufus Scrimgeour taking the oath of office before the Wizengamot. Unlike Cornelius Fudge's cheerful smiles in old photographs, Scrimgeour's expression remained stern.
The article detailed the dramatic vote of no confidence that had removed Cornelius Fudge from office before introducing the new Minister's first official directives.
His very first order surprised many.
An independent investigation into corruption during the previous administration. The article named no one specifically, but everyone understood what it meant.
For years, rumors had circulated throughout magical Britain that wealthy and influential pure-blood families had enjoyed special treatment from the Ministry. Contracts had mysteriously gone to the same businesses. Criminal investigations had quietly disappeared. Certain families always seemed to receive advance warning before Ministry inspections.
Now those rumors would finally be investigated.
Even more surprising was Scrimgeour's second order.
Auror patrols across every major wizarding settlement in Britain were to be increased immediately.
Hogsmeade.
Diagon Alley.
Ottery St. Catchpole.
Tinworth.
Every sizeable magical community would now have a visible Auror presence.
Scrimgeour's statement to the press was short.
"The Ministry exists to protect the people. During times of war, that responsibility becomes greater, not smaller."
The article also made it clear that the new Minister intended to preserve the Statute of Secrecy at all costs.
Voldemort's return did not simply threaten magical Britain. If widespread attacks exposed magic to the Muggle world, centuries of secrecy could collapse overnight. Therefore, the Ministry's priority would be to defeat Voldemort while ensuring that magical society survived intact.
The atmosphere inside the Leaky Cauldron was unusually optimistic.
The tavern buzzed with conversation as witches and wizards discussed the change in leadership over breakfast.
Tom the barman polished glasses while listening to yet another heated debate.
"I told you Fudge couldn't survive this."
"Scrimgeour's the right man."
An elderly wizard nodded firmly.
"I served during the First Wizarding War."
Several younger customers immediately turned toward him.
"You knew Scrimgeour?"
"Knew of him."
The old wizard smiled faintly.
"He was an Auror Captain."
"A terrifying one."
Another witch leaned forward.
"I heard he wasn't afraid to fight Death Eaters."
The old man laughed.
"Afraid?"
"He was the one who convinced the Ministry to stop treating Death Eaters like ordinary criminals."
"When they came to kill..."
"...he believed Aurors had every right to answer with deadly force."
Several people exchanged glances.
One young wizard looked uncomfortable.
"Isn't that... extreme?"
The old Auror shook his head.
"Not when they're throwing Killing Curses."
"You don't arrest someone who's already trying to murder you."
"You end them."
Tom placed another butterbeer on the counter.
"So he's bringing that policy back?"
The old wizard nodded.
"Looks like it."
The newspaper lay open on the counter.
There, in bold print, was another announcement.
Aurors Authorized to Use Deadly Force Against Confirmed Death Eaters During Active Engagements.
Then someone quietly said,
"Maybe..."
"...just maybe..."
"...that's exactly what we need."
.
By the time breakfast began, nearly every student carried a copy of the Daily Prophet beneath one arm.
The Great Hall was louder than it had been in weeks.
At the Gryffindor table, Rose Potter unfolded the newspaper while Hermione leaned over her shoulder.
Hermione adjusted her reading position.
"They're moving quickly."
Rose nodded.
"They have to."
Ron grabbed a piece of toast.
"Good riddance to Fudge."
Neville smiled as he looked at the moving photograph of Scrimgeour.
"I'm glad he won."
Rose looked up.
"You know him?"
"A little."
Neville folded his newspaper carefully.
"He used to visit Longbottom Manor."
Ron blinked.
"He did?"
Neville nodded.
"Mum and Dad worked with him several times before they were attacked."
Hermione listened with interest.
"What was he like?"
Neville thought for a moment.
"Quiet."
"Very observant."
"He didn't waste words."
"And Grandma once told me..."
Neville smiled slightly.
"...if Scrimgeour was leading an operation, everyone came home alive whenever it was possible."
Ron whistled.
"Sounds better than Fudge already."
Rose laughed softly.
"I don't think that's difficult."
Around them, Gryffindors seemed noticeably more relaxed.
At the Slytherin table, Helios Black quietly folded his newspaper.
Draco noticed.
"You seem pleased."
"I am."
Draco looked surprised.
"I thought you hated Ministry politicians."
Helios smiled faintly.
"I dislike incompetent politicians."
"There's a difference."
Draco frowned thoughtfully.
"So you trust Scrimgeour?"
Helios didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the enchanted ceiling, lost in thought.
His memories belonged to another life.
When he had been Harry Potter...
His relationship with Rufus Scrimgeour had been difficult. At the time, he had considered the Minister manipulative. Every conversation had seemed to end with one request.
"Become the face of the Ministry."
"Stand beside us."
Harry had refused every time.
Back then, he had been angry.
Exhausted.
Frustrated.
He believed Scrimgeour only wanted to use him.
Only now...
After understanding politics from a broader perspective...
Did he finally appreciate the impossible position the Minister had occupied.
Britain had needed hope.
People had needed someone to believe in.
Scrimgeour hadn't merely wanted Harry's fame.
He had wanted Britain's morale.
And despite every disagreement between them...
Despite Harry refusing to cooperate...
When Voldemort captured Scrimgeour...
The Minister never betrayed him.
Helios remembered the stories vividly.
Days of torture.
Repeated Cruciatus Curses.
Question after question.
Scrimgeour had never answered.
He had died protecting that secret.
A slow smile crossed Helios's face.
"What?" Draco asked.
Helios folded the newspaper and stood.
"I made a mistake once."
Draco looked confused.
"What mistake?"
"I judged someone before understanding why they made the choices they did."
Draco frowned.
"You're speaking in riddles again."
Helios chuckled.
"I know."
He glanced once more at the moving photograph of Rufus Scrimgeour on the front page.
"This time..."
"...I'd like to have a better relationship with the Minister."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"You think you'll meet him?"
Helios's smile widened slightly.
"Oh..."
"I think our paths will cross sooner than you imagine."