— — — — — —
Cornelius Fudge could've won an award for his talent at changing faces.
In the entire British wizarding world, there were only two people he truly feared.
One was Dumbledore. The man's reputation was so high that if he ever said he wanted to be Minister of Magic, no one else would even dare to run.
Thankfully, over the years Dumbledore had been content to stay in his own little corner of Hogwarts, showing Fudge enough respect to let him sleep at night.
The other was Bartemius Crouch, Sr.
Old Barty had once been the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before Amelia Bones, and he'd been a top contender for Minister himself. Strong, capable, incorruptible — the man had half the Ministry behind him.
But then his son turned out to be a Death Eater — one who tortured the Longbottoms into madness. From that day, Crouch's reputation fell off a cliff.
When Fudge became Minister, the first thing he did was shuffle Crouch off to the Department of International Magical Co-operation — a quiet little backwater compared to the power he once wielded.
Even so, Fudge had never dared to truly relax. He still remembered that steely-eyed, iron-fisted Crouch who'd run his department like he was already the Minister.
Dumbledore's casual reminder earlier suddenly made everything click for him.
Eleven years ago, Fudge had been just a minor department head — the guy who cleaned up after other people's messes in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Nobody ever blamed him for anything.
It was Crouch, back then, who pushed for the hardline stance against Death Eaters — "no mercy" sentencing that sent dozens straight to Azkaban without so much as a proper trial.
And now, Fudge realized, that was the perfect weapon to use against him.
He turned his attention back to the present — Harry was still pummeling Pettigrew so hard that blood was splattering. Fudge quickly waved two Aurors over. "Stop him! Don't let him break the witness!"
Once Pettigrew was pulled away, Fudge plastered on a warm smile and grabbed Dumbledore's hand.
"Albus, I've thought it through," he declared with righteous conviction. "No matter how hard it is, the people deserve fairness and the truth."
"You have my word — I'll reopen the investigation immediately, and everyone involved back then will be held accountable!"
The speech sounded noble enough to bring a tear to the eye. Even Harry found himself warming up to the Minister, thinking he wasn't such a bad guy after all.
But Dumbledore and Snape both heard the subtext loud and clear.
This wasn't about clearing Sirius Black's name; this was about taking down a political rival.
Snape sneered silently, saying nothing.
Dumbledore simply gave his usual mild nod. "Cornelius, you're the Minister. Do what you think is right."
His calm approval made Fudge feel even better, and he grew downright chummy in his tone.
As they chatted, Fudge learned that it was Tom who'd discovered Pettigrew, and his eyebrows shot up. "Well, well! Mr. Riddle does have quite the talent. Seems he's been a great help to the Ministry!"
Then, a thought struck him and he beamed. "Even better! I've been needing to revoke one medal and award another. This keeps the Order of Merlin prestigious!"
"Oh?" Dumbledore asked, intrigued. "You've already decided?"
Fudge nodded proudly. "As of last night, more than seventy percent of the council agreed. Preparations for the ceremony can begin soon."
"That's excellent news," Dumbledore said, smiling — though there was a touch of wistfulness in his eyes. "A twelve-year-old recipient of the First Class Order of Merlin… unprecedented."
"Isn't it?" Fudge sighed. "I had to work half my life to earn mine, and that boy's getting it before he's even grown a full beard."
Harry, who still barely understood wizarding honors, didn't think much of it, but Ron's jaw nearly hit the floor.
Tom was really getting a First Class Order of Merlin?
Was this still the wizarding world he knew about?
...
Finally, before leaving, Fudge made sure to put on one last show — patting Harry kindly on the shoulder and promising that his godfather would be cleared and healthy soon.
Then, under Snape's reluctant gaze, he departed with Pettigrew in tow.
Meanwhile, Tom received word from Lady Greengrass: his First Class Order of Merlin had been officially approved.
Given the Ministry's love of paperwork, though, the ceremony would probably take another month to organize.
Even so, he finally let out a long breath.
The fifth trial — his longest one yet — was finally complete. If it had dragged into summer, it would've been a full year.
And even after all his efforts and achievements... Did it cost money?
Of course it did. Lady Greengrass hadn't said how much, only that it was "a small, insignificant sum."
"Bloody hell," Tom muttered under his breath during Defense Against the Dark Arts. "One day I'm gonna plow through that whole corrupt system myself."
A genius like him held back by "seniority" and "tradition"? The world was rotting, and if it was going to rot anyway, he might as well be the one enjoying it.
Minister? Yeah, he'd take that job someday.
...
Because the DADA class was still in session, Pettigrew's arrest didn't cause much of a stir. Fudge wasn't ready to go public yet — he wanted more dirt on Crouch first.
Dumbledore knew perfectly well that he'd just thrown Crouch under the bus. The man's days in the Ministry would be rough from here on out, but that was all.
Bartemius Crouch still had some allies, and given that harsh sentences against Death Eaters had been popular opinion at the time, no one would send him to Azkaban over it.
Sirius's freedom, on the other hand, meant Dumbledore would gain both a trustworthy ally and a steadier influence in Harry's life.
Every move — every decision — came down to balancing interests.
— — —
Two weeks later, the term was nearly over. Final exams loomed, and the castle was full of frantic students clutching heavy books as they rushed from one corridor to the next.
The last Dueling Class had been held the week before; there wouldn't be another this term. Most Hogwarts students were relieved — after all, except for a few exceptional ones, the rest simply couldn't compete with the visiting Ilvermorny and Castelobruxo students.
But a school isn't judged by its top few prodigies. There are always bright, talented, hardworking students who'll shine anywhere — even without good teachers. What really defines a school's quality is the average level of its students.
And right now, Hogwarts was clearly lagging behind Ilvermorny and Castelobruxo.
Professor McGonagall was worried sick. Her reputation in the education world was on the line. In response, homework had doubled, maybe tripled.
---
May 31st, in the library
Tom was helping Hermione revise Transfiguration for the coming exams when a sudden commotion broke out behind the bookshelves.
A crowd gathered, and a few moments later, a body was carried out.
"Is that… Vole?" Hermione asked, peering through the gap between students.
Tom nodded. "Yeah. Looks like her. She's wearing the Ilvermorny uniform."
He wasn't that surprised. Cassandra Vole collapsing in the library? Well... They hadn't really interacted much, but everyone knew she'd been living like a machine lately—study, train, study again, barely sleeping at all.
Even at last week's open dueling class, she'd only fought a few Hogwarts and Castelobruxo students, beat them handily, and left without a word.
Guess she'd finally pushed herself too far.
...
By dinner, the news had spread across the castle.
Most students agreed on one theory—Cassandra had been shaken by losing to Tom and Ginny, and she'd been overworking herself to get stronger ever since.
Some even swore they'd seen her secretly training in the courtyard during nightly rounds.
---
Later In The Hospital Wing.
Tom sat beside a bed, eating with great enthusiasm. On the bed lay none other than Cassandra herself, pale and weak, all her usual arrogance melted into the soft fragility of a sickly beauty.
Said sickly beauty currently looked like she might roll her eyes right out of her head. She'd never heard of anyone visiting a patient while devouring a full meal right in front of them.
Taking a bite out of a chicken wing, Tom mumbled, "So, rumor has it you've been training yourself half to death because of me?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Cassandra shot back flatly. "It has nothing to do with you. I just wanted to learn more about other schools' magic while I had the chance."
"Oh," Tom said, nodding seriously. "So it was Ginny who got under your skin, then."
That shut her up.
Because… well, yeah. Ginny was the main reason.
Cassandra had already accepted that the basilisk incident really was Tom's doing—some people were just born monsters. But Ginny Weasley? A first-year who'd beaten her through sheer grit and ferocity? That one still stung.
So yes, she'd buried herself in study to numb that sense of failure.
"Actually, I didn't come here just to visit," Tom said after finishing the last of his meat pie. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, all polite composure. "Miss Vole, I have something I'd like to ask you."
"You? Asking me?" Cassandra frowned in disbelief. "Are you joking, Riddle?"
He smiled slightly and flicked his wand—table, dishes, everything vanished in a blink. "Miss Vole."
His tone softened, the sound of his voice carrying a strange rhythm that drew her gaze. Against her will, Cassandra looked up and met his eyes—deep and bright like a sky full of stars.
"The vampire causing chaos in Britain lately… does it have anything to do with Ilvermorny?"
She blurted out before thinking, "Of course not—wait… what did you do to me!?"
"Oh, you noticed?" Tom didn't look the least bit embarrassed at being caught. In fact, he seemed intrigued. He hadn't expected her to break out of his Legilimency that quickly. Most adult wizards couldn't have managed that.
Then he saw why.
Around Cassandra's neck hung a platinum chain. The pendant—well, he couldn't see it clearly because there was nothing worth looking at there.
"Where are you looking?!" she yelped, face flushing red as she scooted to the edge of the bed.
"Please," Tom said dryly. "You're as flat as the Black Lake on a windless night. Nothing to see."
"You—!" Cassandra's chest finally did heave, if only out of rage.
"I'm just stating facts," Tom said smoothly, not backing down in the slightest.
Cassandra glared daggers at him. "You used Legilimency on me! Do you realize that's illegal? The vampire case has nothing to do with Ilvermorny. Stop making baseless accusations!"
'Not baseless,' Tom thought to himself.
So far, more than forty wizards had been infected—turned into vampires. Even Snape and the St. Mungo's healers were confused.
The Ministry had cornered the creature once, about a week ago, but five Aurors hadn't been enough. Two were infected, and the thing escaped before reinforcements arrived.
Now it was a full-blown crisis.
Forty infected wizards meant forty wizarding families in danger. The spread was almost as bad as the werewolf curse.
Normally, Tom wouldn't have cared—it was Dumbledore and the Ministry's problem, not his—but then Laos got some intel from Solen after a very heated night.
Apparently, Solen knew the vampire.
And that had caught Tom's attention.
Still, from what he'd seen in Cassandra's mind, she really didn't know anything.
Watching her fume, he sighed and shrugged. "Alright, alright. You caught me. Using Legilimency was my bad. How about I make it up to you—with a proper duel?"
Cassandra blinked. "That's… your way of apologizing?"
Strangely enough, the more she thought about it, the more tempting it sounded.
.
.
.