Full of Anger

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The moment Fudge saw the scene inside the office, his mind went blank.

"It's over..." What he had feared most had happened—Scrimgeour had actually dared to torture Dyroth! Worse still, he had been caught in the act. There would be no explaining this away. These people were Hogwarts professors; they couldn't tolerate even the slightest injustice against their students.

Scrimgeour, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion, stood frozen for a moment.

"Scrimgeour, what have you done? What is going on here?" Fudge's voice trembled with barely contained anger as he gritted his teeth.

"Expelliarmus!" Snape, noticing something wrong with the potion in Scrimgeour's hand, acted swiftly. Before Scrimgeour could react, the disarming spell knocked the bottle from his grasp, and Snape caught it expertly.

Snape uncorked the bottle and took a quick sniff. His face darkened.

"What is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, his expression impassive.

"Veritaserum," Snape replied grimly.

Those three words made Fudge's heart sink completely. The tension in the room escalated. The Hogwarts professors looked outraged, and even Lucius and the other pure-blood families began to eye Scrimgeour with suspicion.

"Minister Fudge, it seems the Ministry of Magic has been stockpiling this all along," said the head of the Parkinson family, his voice filled with anger.

"Mr. Parkinson, please let me explain—" Fudge began, but Professor McGonagall cut him off coldly.

"Perhaps the Minister would prefer to explain why such a potion is being used on our students," she said icily.

Fudge opened his mouth but faltered. He had no idea that Scrimgeour had planned to use Veritaserum on Dyroth, and now, any explanation he might offer seemed woefully inadequate. The blame falling on him felt unbearable. He was already at odds with Scrimgeour, and this was the final straw.

"Let Mr. Grindelwald go immediately!" he barked at the surrounding Aurors, unable to contain his frustration.

The Aurors, equally terrified, quickly stepped back, not wanting to be implicated further. Mrs. Molly rushed forward, cradling Dyroth in her arms.

"It's all right, my boy, it's all right now," she whispered soothingly.

Dyroth allowed himself to be comforted, but there was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. A moment later, his eyes welled up with tears, and he hugged Mrs. Molly tightly, as though deeply wronged. "Children who cry will get rewarded", he thought. If he didn't make the most of this situation, it would be a wasted opportunity.

His actions were calculated, designed to imply he had suffered greatly. Sure enough, the crowd's attitude shifted immediately.

Professor McGonagall turned to Dumbledore, who in turn fixed his gaze on Fudge.

"Fudge," Dumbledore began, his voice low and steady, "I need an explanation."

As Hogwarts' headmaster, Dumbledore had his limits. No matter what, he was committed to ensuring the safety of his students, and what the Ministry had done today crossed the line.

Fudge exhaled shakily, his eyes darting to Scrimgeour. "Scrimgeour, who gave you permission to use such a potion on an eleven-year-old student?" he demanded.

Before Scrimgeour could respond, Mrs. Molly interjected, her voice sharp, "Perhaps Tonks should explain what happened. What do you think, Minister?"

The mockery in her voice was unmistakable. 

Tonks, now free from the Aurors' grasp, rubbed her wrists and quickly recounted the events. The more she spoke, the angrier the onlookers became. Some of the more hot-headed wizards even drew their wands.

"Starving a child, using threats and intimidation—this is how the British Ministry of Magic operates? I've never been more appalled!" one wizard shouted.

Even Professor Sprout, the kindest of the four heads of house, was trembling with rage. She gripped her wand so tightly it seemed she might use it at any moment.

Professor McGonagall, maintaining her composure, gently pulled on Professor Sprout's sleeve, trying to calm her.

Fudge, forced to smile weakly, turned to Professor Sprout. "I deeply apologize, Professor. The British Ministry of Magic will make this right, I assure you."

"But first," he continued, "we should send Mr. Grindelwald to St Mungo's Hospital for a full checkup. It's important we make sure he wasn't harmed."

"Agreed," Mrs. Molly said, releasing Dyroth to check him over for injuries. After ensuring he was unharmed, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Just as they were about to leave for the hospital, a sweet, familiar voice interrupted.

"Mr. Minister!" Umbridge called, her saccharine tone grating on everyone's nerves.

Fudge groaned inwardly. "Not now..."

"I don't believe it's wise for Mr. Grindelwald to leave just yet," she said, smiling as if her suggestion were perfectly reasonable.

"Move aside!" Mrs. Molly snapped. "Can you afford to delay Dyroth's treatment?"

But Umbridge persisted. "Minister, there are still many wizards waiting in the hall. If they see Mr. Grindelwald in this state, it might provoke another riot."

Fudge hesitated. She was right. With so many wizards gathered outside, if they saw Dyroth being treated like a victim, it could spell disaster for the Ministry's reputation—and for his position.

"You mean to say, for the sake of your Ministry's reputation, you would rather let Dyroth suffer?" Mrs. Molly retorted, holding Dyroth protectively. "I'll take him to the hospital myself! Let's see who dares to stop me."

Arthur stood beside her, silently supporting her stance, his presence a clear message: anyone who wished to stop them would have to go through him.

At that moment, Dyroth spoke up, his voice calm and composed. "Mrs. Molly, perhaps it would be better if I went to the Ministry hall first to speak with the wizards. They've waited long enough, and I wouldn't want to waste anyone's time or the Ministry's resources."

Mrs. Molly looked at him with a mixture of pride and worry. "You're still so young, always thinking of others... But it's because of that kindness that people take advantage of you."

Dyroth smiled softly. "It'll be fine, especially if Minister Fudge accompanies me."

"Fudge? No, I think—"

"Minister Fudge represents the Ministry of Magic," Dyroth interjected. "If we go together, it will reassure everyone. The crowd will be more likely to disperse peacefully, and the Ministry's reputation will remain intact. What do you say, Minister?"

Fudge, eager to avoid any further complications, quickly nodded. "Yes, yes, of course!"

In the corner, unnoticed by the others, Dyroth's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

The first plan was complete. Now, it was time for the second.

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