When Charles and Kingsley returned to the school, the day's competition had already ended.
In the end, the victory of the first match was still awarded to Harry. However, Cedric voluntarily forfeited the following rounds—because he had absolutely no idea how he'd won, and Harry's face was still injured.
Dumbledore was chatting cheerfully with the representatives from the other schools, accompanied by Crouch and Fudge.
Ordinarily, Fudge was a very busy man, but since the Pokémon Tournament had been organized by Charles, he naturally came to show his support.
Not long after, Dumbledore parted ways with the visiting teachers, while Fudge and Crouch followed him to the Headmaster's office.
"Well then, we'll be off, Dumbledore." Fudge adjusted his hat. "Do tell Charles I said hello—it's a shame I didn't get to see him today."
At that, Crouch rolled his eyes. In his view, Fudge was like a yapping Chihuahua—wagging his tail at every opportunity to curry favor with Charles Gold. If it were anyone else, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, but Fudge was the Minister for Magic, while Charles Gold was a "criminal" who had once attacked Aurors from the Ministry!
Just as Fudge grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and was about to step into the fireplace, a surge of terrifying green fire suddenly roared to life.
The ghastly flames startled him.
Then, two figures stepped through one after the other.
"Mr. Gold?" Fudge exclaimed in surprise.
But Charles ignored him. His eyes went straight to Kingsley.
Kingsley, however, had come precisely to find Fudge.
"Minister, I'm afraid we have a problem," he said gravely.
"A problem? What problem?" Fudge replied with a broad smile. His pudgy eyes darted between Charles and Dumbledore, as if all worries had melted away. "Now, now, Kingsley—steady yourself! Even Scrimgeour said you're fit to inherit Alastor's position. Is it the International Confederation of Wizards again? Don't worry—we have Dumbledore here! What's there to fear?"
He was no longer particularly concerned about the International Statute of Secrecy. After all, Charles Gold had assured him he could handle it.
With that worry off his shoulders, Fudge felt light as air. What could possibly trouble him?Unless the Dark Lord himself had returned—everything else was trivial!
"The Dark Lord has returned!"
"Oh, the Dark Lord has returned? Don't worry, that's nothing—wait, what?" Fudge's voice cracked. "What did you say?"
"He said the Dark Lord has returned," Crouch cut in, shooting Fudge a look of disgust. "How fitting for the Minister for Magic—not even the Dark Lord's resurrection can stir him. I suppose you already have a plan to handle it?"
"I—what—you're joking! Right, Kingsley? You're making a joke! First time I've seen such a sense of humor from you!" Fudge laughed awkwardly, reaching out to pat Kingsley on the shoulder like one might commend a particularly witty Auror.
"I don't think this is a time for jokes, sir," Kingsley said, disappointment clear in his voice. Then his gaze shifted toward Dumbledore.
He immediately noticed Dumbledore's stern eyes fixed on Charles—not to question the truth, but to ask whether the situation had slipped beyond Charles's control.
"I'm afraid it's true, Fudge," Charles said, feigning fatigue. "Everything Kingsley said is real. Voldemort has indeed returned. He's no imposter—no one else could possess that level of power. Even I lost to him. Karkaroff revived him… and was killed for it."
"Interesting. You two rehearsed this, didn't you?" Fudge's face went pale. The truth was, he half-believed Charles already—but fear made him deny it instinctively.
The Dark Lord couldn't have returned.And worse—his strongest ally had lost to him!
Kingsley could only sigh. His minister was beyond help. His only hope now lay in Dumbledore—and thankfully, Dumbledore was still Dumbledore.
"All right, here's what we'll do," Dumbledore said decisively. "Kingsley, Crouch—return to the Ministry and report what you've learned. Cornelius, you stay. Charles and I have something to discuss with you."
In this moment, his words carried more weight than the Minister's own authority.
"Understood!" Crouch and Kingsley disappeared into the Floo fire.
"Dum—ble—dore…" Fudge finally broke down. He hadn't yet been corrupted by the pure-blood faction—he was still relatively new to power, without the bloated ambition he would one day develop. Once his subordinates were gone, his true nature showed. He burst into tears.
"What—what should I do—I don't have the power to fight the Dark Lord…"
"Calm yourself, Cornelius. Let's get the facts straight first," Dumbledore said evenly. His eyes turned toward Charles—just as Fudge noticed Charles's relaxed, almost amused expression.
"—What's going on?"
"Apologies, Cornelius. I seem to have frightened you. But don't worry—this is all part of my plan. That Voldemort who's about to cause chaos outside… isn't the real one." Charles reached into his cloak and drew out a faint, flickering flame.
Fudge leaned closer, his jowls quivering. "What's that?"
"This," Charles said lightly, "is the real Voldemort."
"What?!"
Fudge yelped, stumbling backward and landing squarely on his rear. "The—Dark—Lord?!"
The flame, under Charles's control, began to form Voldemort's face. Charles even allowed a sliver of consciousness to surface, letting the Dark Lord speak.
"Dumbledore—!"
"Charles Gold!"
Voldemort roared, his voice full of rage. Fudge, terrified, scrambled behind Dumbledore like a child hiding from a monster.
"Good afternoon, Tom," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "You're looking far better than before—quite rosy, in fact. Last time you looked as if you hadn't bathed in fifteen years."
"Well, fire does tend to bring out the color," Charles quipped before compressing the flame into a small, spherical bird and placing it beside Fawkes, who was nearing his own rebirth. "A gift for you—give Fawkes some company. Oh, and if you want him to react, just play some music. Or better yet, bring him out for the school song each year."
"You really are…" Dumbledore shook his head, half amused, half exasperated.
Fudge, though still confused, saw that the "Dark Lord" now looked rather harmless—almost cute—and gained a bit of courage.
"So… what's really happening? The Dark Lord didn't return?"
"The Dark Lord did return, Cornelius," Charles said calmly.
"Then this is…"
"This is Voldemort. He revived, and I defeated him. Any questions?" Charles looked him in the eye. "As for what Kingsley saw—that was just a puppet. Understand? I control Voldemort's body. That puppet does possess magic, but it can't harm anyone. So you have nothing to fear."And more than that—this is your opportunity."
"My… opportunity?"
"Of course. You know he can't hurt you—but no one else does. Imagine, Cornelius—if you were to 'bravely' stand against him, what would happen?"
"I would…" Fudge's eyes gleamed, fear replaced by excitement and greed. "I would gain more support!"
"Precisely."
"But…" Fudge hesitated, his small eyes flicking toward Dumbledore. He feared the older wizard might not approve of such deceit.
Yet Dumbledore stood by his desk, entirely occupied—playing with the little firebird.
That was all the permission Fudge needed.
"What should I do?" he asked eagerly, as though staring at a mountain of gold—atop which lay ultimate power.
"All you need to do is continue as Minister," Charles said smoothly. "Seek modest benefits for yourself, but harm no one. When the American Ministry or the International Confederation tries to question me, demand their cooperation against Voldemort. Otherwise, tell them to keep their noses out of Britain's affairs. Simple enough?"
"Simple!" Fudge said with conviction.
Dumbledore had never seen this side of him before. He had always thought Fudge weak and timid—but when the lure of power shone bright enough, even weakness could burn like greed. Dumbledore didn't blame him for it; he knew they were not so different. The only thing that changed was the price of temptation.
"To tell the truth, Mr. Gold, I've long wanted to stand up to those pompous fools in the International Confederation!" Fudge said enthusiastically. "Useless lot—oh, pardon me, Dumbledore, I don't mean you…"
"I don't mind," Dumbledore replied softly.
Then Charles patiently explained the rest of his plan. Fudge nodded eagerly the whole time.
"Leave it to me!" he said, pounding his chest. "I'll gather my people right away to fight the Dark Lord!"
"No—you'll call him Voldemort," Charles corrected.
"Vol—well—but—" Fudge still hesitated. Years of fear were chains around his tongue.
"Nothing to be afraid of," Charles reassured him. "Look, the poor thing's right here—barely bigger than a hamster. What can he do to you? Call him Voldemort. It'll make you seem braver—and win you more public support."
That did it."Vol—Voldemort! Voldemort! Voldemort!"
He shouted the name three times, each louder than the last. Nothing terrible happened. Only the little flame on Dumbledore's desk flickered, swelling slightly before settling down again.
"Ha—Voldemort!" Fudge burst into laughter, giddy with triumph. He looked between Charles and Dumbledore, repeating the name again and again, as if "Voldemort" were the funniest word in the world.
"Well then, I'll be going—" He stepped into the fireplace. "Voldemort—ha! Not bad!"
He tossed the Floo Powder. "Minister for Magic's Office!"
The green fire swallowed him, leaving only Charles and Dumbledore behind.
"Karkaroff is dead?" Dumbledore asked without looking up.
"Dead. I had 'Voldemort' kill him," Charles replied. "He chose to revive the Dark Lord—his death was deserved. Don't you agree?"
Dumbledore said nothing, only nodded quietly.
A moment later, he spoke again. "Do you think it's right to let Fudge grow his power this way? He already seems half mad."
"He craves power and influence—and I can give him both. That makes him easy to control. If he ever turns against me, his career will end overnight," Charles said plainly.
"Sometimes, you really do sound like a Dark Lord yourself," Dumbledore sighed. "Thankfully, you neither love power nor bloodshed."
"Magic itself is the greatest form of power. Why should I chase illusions?" Charles said with a shrug. "If it weren't for the American Congress trying to move against me, I'd rather stay quietly in the Reserve."
Dumbledore chuckled, nodding. "Good thing I won't have to worry about any of this much longer. Staying here, playing with birds—it's not a bad way to spend the day. Oh, by the way—"
"Yes?"
"Charles, how would you like to be the next Headmaster?"
"…What?"
"Professor Kettleburn has been talking about retirement lately. I thought—perhaps I could too." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips.
Dumbledore: You're the Headmaster now!
Charles: Kindly refuse.
"I think if you truly wish to retire," Charles said dryly, "perhaps you should let Minerva take the post first."
Dumbledore laughed.
——
Ministry of Magic
Kingsley and Crouch had already delivered the news of Voldemort's resurrection.
Now, nearly every high-ranking official was crammed into Fudge's office.
"How could this happen?" Arthur muttered, pulling at his thinning hair.
"Kingsley, what did the Minister and Dumbledore say?" Scrimgeour asked in a low voice.
"The outlook isn't good," Kingsley replied. "You know how Fudge is… I'm afraid—" He shook his head, disappointment written all over his face.
Their voices weren't loud, but not soft either—enough for everyone to hear. The office fell silent.
Cornelius Fudge—his very appointment as Minister had been a miracle. And now, with the Dark Lord's return, it was clear he was no longer the man for the job.
(End of Chapter)