Chapter 315 — Mrs. Bones, Minister of Magic?
Silence—deep and absolute—settled over the Headmaster's office.
Even the portraits lining the walls had fallen quiet, their painted gazes flicking between Dumbledore and the empty space where the ghostly crown had been.
Dumbledore stared at the air thoughtfully, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Riddle, seated next to him, swirled his glass of gin with the air of someone waiting for a punchline he already knew.
At last, Dumbledore sighed.
A long, weary sound.
And as if responding to that breath, the floating crown shimmered—and vanished.
"Oh? Back to Ms. Grey already?"
Dumbledore didn't sound surprised.
Most wizards would have mistaken it for a timed magical effect. But Riddle's eyes narrowed; he clearly understood the truth.
"It's returned to its owner," he murmured. "Impressive. If I had the Sorting Hat with me now, I imagine—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The office doors burst open.
Remus Lupin stepped inside, looking flustered in a way deeply uncharacteristic for him. His breathing was uneven, and he didn't even knock—an unmistakable sign that something urgent had happened.
"What is it, Lupin?" Dumbledore's tone sharpened instantly.
He knew Lupin's temperament: polite, measured, respectful. If he barged in like this, the matter had to be serious.
Lupin hesitated when he noticed Riddle.
"I didn't expect to find—"
"You can speak freely," Dumbledore interrupted gently. "You may trust Tom as much as you trust me."
Lupin swallowed, then finally reported:
"Ms. Bones has become the new Minister of Magic."
"And—none of our contacts in the Ministry know why Fudge stepped down. There's no information at all about what happened."
His voice was tense. As someone marginalized for most of his life, Lupin held an unusually deep respect for the Ministry's structure—even if the Ministry didn't respect him. The uncertainty terrified him.
Meanwhile, Riddle only smiled. And Dumbledore… Dumbledore was surprised for only a heartbeat.
"So it has begun," he said softly. "Ever since Rita Skeeter published that article… I knew the day would come. Fudge saw you"—he nodded toward Riddle—"as my weakness."
Riddle snorted.
"That's you, Tom."
"Hypocritical as it may sound," Dumbledore continued, "Fudge and Umbridge are still alive."
"You even remember the name of that little woman," Riddle muttered darkly.
"She's the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and a member of the Wizengamot," Dumbledore reminded him.
Riddle laughed—sharp, derisive.
To Lupin, it probably sounded like mockery of Dumbledore himself.
"And we're supposed to take those positions seriously?" Riddle leaned back. "Imagine judging eligibility for the Wizengamot Court because someone can or cannot cast a corporeal Patronus. Ridiculous."
Dumbledore's brow twitched slightly, and Riddle took the hint, reigning in the rest of his complaints.
"Well," he said with a shrug, "all I did was send a letter."
"A letter?" Lupin echoed.
"A letter," Riddle confirmed casually.
"And some evidence. The sort of evidence that would make a certain… powerful woman suitable to become Minister."
His lips curled in disdain.
"They're still alive, though," he added almost lazily.
Relief washed visibly across Dumbledore's face.
"Fudge and that… small woman."
Riddle waved a hand dismissively.
"They were sloppy—taking bribes, abusing authority, misusing funds from other departments. All petty little schemes they thought they could hide forever."
Dumbledore sighed.
"I truly cannot understand why such people end up in positions of leadership…"
"I only tipped the first domino," Riddle said bluntly. "Nothing more."
"And honestly, I suspect they've done far worse things than anything I uncovered."
He sounded irritated—insulted, even—by the idea that two insignificant bureaucrats could be the catalysts for major changes in the wizarding world.
"I simply think I should stay away from power," Dumbledore murmured. "Fudge… he was a good man once. Power does that to people."
"It wouldn't corrupt you."
Riddle's voice sharpened.
"Do you really think a pathetic title like 'Minister of Magic' would twist you into a villain?"
He stood abruptly, anger flickering behind his eyes.
"If that's all it takes, then defeating you would be simple. Kill every wizard qualified for the position. Leave you no choice but to step up. And once you become Minister and crumble under corruption—then I would simply kill you."
His voice was low. Furious.
Not at Dumbledore's faith in goodness—but at his lack of faith in himself.
Dumbledore only smiled.
"Then congratulations, Tom. You've found a strategy that might actually work."
Both Riddle and Lupin stared at him.
Lupin especially looked ready to rebuke Riddle on instinct—for speaking of killing anyone, let alone killing Dumbledore—only to hold himself back at the last second.
Dumbledore continued pleasantly:
"This is good news. Why do you both look so troubled? If anyone is unlikely to be corrupted, it is Amelia Bones."
"Crouch is too cold. Scrimgeour cares too much about reputation."
"And old Crouch," he added, tapping his head, "is already in Azkaban with his son."
He drew out his wand and tapped his temple lightly. Silvery strands of thought drifted outward, swirling gracefully into the Pensieve beside him.
Lupin leaned forward in wonder.
"That's… thought?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said warmly. "When my mind becomes cluttered, I extract memories or ideas into the Pensieve. It makes their patterns clearer—helps me reflect."
Riddle rolled his eyes dramatically.
"That's why you're impossible to corrupt. A wizard who regularly examines his own thoughts and motives won't be swayed by power."
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