Second Act

---

Dyroth and Fudge walked side by side toward the Ministry of Magic's hall. As they distanced themselves from the others, Fudge began hesitating, stealing glances at the boy walking next to him. His voice wavered when he finally spoke.

"Mr. Grindelwald, I must ask... could we keep quiet about the Veritaserum incident?"

Dyroth turned his gaze to Fudge, his expression unreadable but with a faint hint of amusement.

"If British wizards find out that Scrimgeour secretly used Veritaserum on a student, it would be disastrous for the Ministry's reputation," Fudge hurriedly added, clearly nervous. "Rest assured, we will give you a satisfactory explanation."

Dyroth's smile deepened, though it held no warmth. "Minister Fudge, do you truly wish to suppress this matter?"

"What do you mean?" Fudge furrowed his brow, growing more uncomfortable.

"Let me put it another way—are you still content with being a puppet?"

The words struck Fudge like a blow. He stiffened, staring at Dyroth in disbelief. The boy, despite his age, had cut right to the heart of the matter.

Before coming to the UK, Dyroth had done his homework. The British Ministry of Magic was riddled with power struggles. Fudge, before his tenure as Minister, had led the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. His ascension to the highest office was due more to fortune than ability. Had Bartemius Crouch's son not been exposed as a Death Eater, Fudge would never have risen to the position of Minister of Magic.

The harsh reality was that Fudge commanded very little influence over the Ministry. Senior officials like Bartemius Crouch, Amelia Bones, and Rufus Scrimgeour wielded more power than he did.

Each was poised to challenge him, especially Crouch, who was always waiting in the wings to take his seat. Fudge's dependency on support from pure-blood families was well known, and Dyroth's words had torn away his last defense.

Fudge bristled, his voice rising with anger. "Do you realize what you're saying, Mr. Grindelwald? I could—"

Dyroth raised a hand, his tone calm but commanding. "Minister, there's no need for empty threats. You know the consequences if today's events were to reach the public. What would people think of Scrimgeour?"

"They'll also think poorly of the Ministry," Fudge protested.

Dyroth chuckled softly. "The Ministry will face some backlash, but nothing permanent. A few curses and accusations, perhaps. But Scrimgeour? His career would be finished."

Fudge hesitated, clearly tempted by the idea.

"If this becomes public, Scrimgeour's reputation will be irreparably damaged. He may even face trial. The Auror Command would be left without a leader."

"But Amelia Bones could step in to take over!" Fudge countered. "She has enough influence."

Dyroth shook his head. "You're underestimating the situation. While the Auror Command is technically under Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it operates almost independently. Removing Scrimgeour would create chaos, and Amelia wouldn't be able to intervene. Public opinion would be against her too."

Fudge fell silent, his expression conflicted. The boy had a point, and he knew it. Ordinary wizards wouldn't care about the intricate workings of the Ministry. They would only see that Department of Magical Law Enforcement, under Amelia Bones, had allowed such an incident to happen. She would lose face, and her ability to control the Aurors would slip away.

As Fudge pondered this, he glanced at Dyroth. The boy was no ordinary eleven-year-old. His strategic insight and manipulative prowess were far beyond his years. Fudge had never expected such cunning from someone so young.

Finally, Fudge spoke, his voice cautious. "What exactly is your goal, Mr. Grindelwald?"

Dyroth had anticipated this question. "My father."

"Your father?" Fudge blinked, momentarily thrown off before he remembered Dyroth's lineage. The son of Grindelwald.

"Yes. You know about the strained history between my father and Dumbledore. Dumbledore's influence extends far and wide, including over you, Minister."

Fudge's eyes narrowed. "You want me to help you deal with Dumbledore?"

Dyroth smirked. "Dumbledore stands in the way of too many people, Minister. His power and reputation have gone unchecked for too long."

"But it's Dumbledore," Fudge whispered, still unsure. "He has defeated Dark Lords. His strength is undeniable."

Dyroth met Fudge's gaze with piercing intensity. "Are you truly content to remain Dumbledore's puppet? To play the role of a weak minister, only mentioned in passing or as a joke?"

Fudge clenched his fists, his face turning red with suppressed rage. Dyroth's words had hit a nerve, stirring up feelings of frustration that Fudge had long buried.

"Watch your tone, boy!" Fudge snapped, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.

"Tone?" Dyroth scoffed. "Why bother with tone when speaking to someone who might soon be out of a job? A puppet minister, Dumbledore's lapdog?"

Fudge's face flushed even deeper with anger. He was at a breaking point.

"You don't have to look at me like that, Minister. You know I'm right," Dyroth continued, his voice like a serpent's whisper. "You can choose to remain in Dumbledore's shadow, or you can step out and truly lead. Make your own decisions."

Fudge's breathing grew heavy, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. For years, he had been second in command, forced to bow to the whims of others, living in fear of his ministers and the powerful pure-blood families. He had endured enough humiliation, enough disrespect.

"No! No more!" Fudge growled under his breath. "I won't be anyone's puppet anymore. Not Dumbledore's, not anyone's!"

Dyroth smiled softly and stepped closer, gently placing a hand on Fudge's trembling shoulder. "Wise choice, Minister. Very wise."

.

.

.