The echo of heels on polished stone carried through the corridors of the British Ministry of Magic. Clerks bustled past with files stacked high, memos darted through the air like restless birds, and the grand atrium bustled with its usual mixture of gossip and impatience. Yet Emma walked through it all with measured calm, her composure unshaken with gaze fixed ahead.
She was here not as herself, but as the voice and hand of House White. Every step carried weight. Every glance reminded those who noticed her that she represented one of the most formidable families in Europe.
The lift deposited her at the Minister's floor. A secretary looked up in surprise as she approached, then scrambled to his feet.
"Miss Bloom! The Minister is expecting you. Please, right this way."
Emma inclined her head slightly and allowed herself to be ushered toward the heavy oak door. It swung open at once, revealing Cornelius Fudge rising from behind his ornate desk.
"Miss Bloom!" Fudge's voice was warm, too warm, his tone almost syrupy with false cheer. "Always a pleasure, always. Do come in."
Emma stepped inside. The Minister's office was lavish without elegance, a space crowded with overstuffed furniture and gilded trinkets meant to impress. Fudge himself looked round and genial, his bowler hat set aside on the desk. His smile, however, trembled faintly at the edges.
"Minister Fudge," Emma said evenly, dipping her head in greeting. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
"For House White, my door is always open," Fudge replied, gesturing grandly for her to sit. "Please, please, take a seat. May I offer you tea? Biscuit?"
"No, thank you." Emma lowered herself into the chair opposite him with a grace that made refusal sound like courtesy rather than dismissal.
Fudge settled back into his chair, fingers drumming nervously against the armrest. "And how is our dear lady Eira? Still thriving at Beauxbâtons, I hope?"
"She is well," Emma replied.
"Excellent, excellent," Fudge said, nodding. His eyes darted briefly away before returning. "And ah… when, if I may ask, will she be returning to England? You see, many of the old families have begun asking after her. Some even grow… suspicious. It's only natural, of course, with her absence stretching so long. Questions are being raised."
Emma's brows arched ever so slightly. "Questions, Minister?"
Fudge cleared his throat. "Ah, not from me, naturally, no! Heaven forbid. I merely mean others have wondered—well—when the matriarch of House White will once again grace British soil. That is all. I thought, as a friend to your House, it might be wise to raise the matter."
The silence that followed was deliberate but heavy. Emma leaned back, her gaze steady as frost.
"Minister Fudge," she said at last, her tone like a cool silk, "are you doubting the authority of Lady Eira White? The matriarch of a House that has supported you since the day you took your chair? The House whose endorsement smoothed your rise when others hesitated?"
Fudge went pale. Sweat prickled his brow, and he waved his hands frantically. "No, no, no, nothing of the sort! I wouldn't dare, Miss Bloom, I assure you. You misunderstand. I only wished to pass along the rumors, that is all. Merely as a courtesy, you see—one friend to another. I have the utmost respect for Lady White. None could doubt her rightful place."
Emma allowed the silence to stretch a moment longer, just until Fudge's discomfort was visible in every twitch of his hand. Then she inclined her head slightly.
"Then I thank you for your… friendship, Minister. I am sure my lady will not forget such loyalty."
Fudge smiled weakly, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Of course, of course. Always loyal, that's me."
Emma placed her hands neatly atop one another. "Then let us move to the true matter of my visit."
Fudge blinked. "Ah, yes, yes. What matter might that be?"
"The Hippogriff," Emma said. Her tone was calm, but the weight of finality hung in her words. "Lady White desires its purchase. Buckbeak will pass into her ownership."
Fudge's genial expression faltered. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yes, yes, I have heard whispers of that matter. Very tragic, really. But surely you understand, Miss Bloom—the boy was hurt. Draco Malfoy was gravely injured—"
Emma's lips curved in the faintest smile. "A scratch, Minister. I have spoken with those present. The truth is clear: the boy provoked the creature. Buckbeak reacted as any beast would when insulted. Your injury here is not to Malfoy's son but to Malfoy pride."
Fudge winced. "Be that as it may, Lucius Malfoy is… influential. Very influential. He insists the creature be destroyed. It would be simpler, safer, to let the matter lie. Why should Lady White trouble herself over a mere beast?"
Emma's eyes sharpened. "Because Lady White gave her word. She promised her friend that Buckbeak would not die. And when a White gives their word, Minister, it is fulfilled. Always."
Fudge licked his lips nervously. "But… but Lucius will demand answers. What shall I tell him?"
Emma leaned forward, her gaze unyielding. "Tell him the truth. Buckbeak belongs to Lady Eira White. If he wishes to challenge her right, let him come to us. I will speak to him personally. And should he persist, we have… other ways of convincing him."
Fudge gave a nervous laugh, though no mirth touched his eyes. "Ah, yes. Other ways. Quite right. No need to trouble yourself, Miss Bloom. If Lady White insists, then of course, of course, it shall be arranged. Consider it done."
Emma inclined her head. "Good."
The silence lingered, broken only when Fudge shuffled a few papers and cleared his throat. His eyes darted toward her, half wary, half eager to please.
"There is… one other matter, while I have you here," he said. "Strictly confidential, you understand. Between us."
Emma gestured for him to continue.
Fudge leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Dumbledore will soon be traveling to France. He is to meet with Madame Maxime of Beauxbâtons regarding the Triwizard Tournament. Preparations are underway already. Durmstrang's Headmaster Karkaroff has given his agreement. I thought Lady White would want to be informed."
Emma inclined her head slightly. "You were right. She as the governor of Hogwarts will wish to know. Thank you, Minister."
Fudge's relief was visible, as though the acknowledgment alone was a gift. "Of course, of course. Anything for House White."
Emma rose gracefully to her feet. "Then I shall not take more of your time. Good day, Minister."
Fudge scrambled to his feet as well, bowing slightly. "Yes, yes, good day, Miss Bloom. My regards to Lady White, of course. Always her loyal friend."
Emma inclined her head one final time before sweeping from the office, her composure unbroken, her steps as measured as when she had entered. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Cornelius Fudge to sink back into his chair, wiping sweat from his brow.
Emma, meanwhile, allowed the faintest curve of satisfaction to touch her lips. The matter of the Hippogriff was settled. And she carried back to her lady not only victory, but new knowledge: the Triwizard Tournament would soon stir the waters once more.