Chapter 33: Unwanted Offers
Are you a Dumbledore man through and through?
The question was a trap, designed to box him in.
Elian almost laughed. A Dumbledore man? If not for the system, he might have sought the old wizard's protection. But now, with the path of the Supreme Mage unfolding before him? He was nobody's 'man.'
"No," Elian said, his voice calm and certain. "I am not."
The simplicity and confidence of the answer gave Cornelius Fudge pause. The boy wasn't defiant, just… detached. It was unsettling.
"That prophecy," Fudge pressed, watching him closely. "It was about you, wasn't it?"
"I don't know."
The flat denial left Fudge momentarily speechless. He regrouped, switching tactics. A smile, meant to be avuncular, stretched his face. "The Ministry has a program for promising young wizards. A talent initiative. You're sixteen, officially of age in the Muggle world. We could fast-track you. Provide resources, special tutoring. You could be the youngest Auror in a century." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "The entire wizarding world operates under the Ministry's guidance. With our backing, there would be no limits for you."
He had tried this with Harry Potter and failed spectacularly. But this boy wasn't Harry. He wasn't, apparently, Dumbledore's. The prophecy suggested he could alter the 'chosen boy's' path. If that power could be harnessed for the Ministry…
Fudge waited, certain the offer was irresistible. Ministry sponsorship was a golden ticket few could refuse.
Elian looked out at the gloomy lake, then back at the Minister. His expression was polite but utterly unmoved. "Thank you for the offer, Minister Fudge. But I don't think I'd be a good fit for the Ministry."
The refusal was so quiet, so final, it took Fudge a second to process it. He was being rejected. To his face. By a child.
A cold anger tightened Fudge's features before he smoothed it into a mask of politician's disappointment. "I see," he said, his voice clipped. "A pity. The door remains open, should you… reconsider."
The walk back to the castle was steeped in frosty silence. When Fudge and his Auror escort left the headmaster's office shortly after, his face was thunderous. Dumbledore, watching them go, said nothing, though a knowing look passed between him and the portraits on the wall.
Elian wasn't kept long. Dumbledore, preoccupied with graver matters—hints of Horcruxes and dark rituals—dismissed him with a preoccupied nod.
The ripples from Trelawney's prophecy were spreading far beyond school gossip. It had drawn the eye of the Ministry. And, as with all things that threatened the balance of power, it had drawn another, darker gaze.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
The mansion was a monument to old wealth and pure-blood arrogance, all cold marble, towering ceilings, and priceless, joyless artifacts.
In the vast, opulent dining room, a long table was set. Those seated along its length were shrouded in black robes and silver masks. Those deemed worthy enough to sit near the head wore no such disguises.
At the very top, in a high-backed throne-like chair, sat a figure that was not quite a man. His skin was white as bone, his face flat and snakelike, with slits for nostrils and eyes that burned red. A great serpent coiled at the foot of his chair. The air around him hummed with a cold, terrible power.
Lord Voldemort.
To his immediate right sat Severus Snape, his face a careful blank. To his left, Lucius Malfoy, looking paler and more strained than usual.
The hall was silent but for the soft hiss-sss of the great snake, Nagini, tasting the air heavy with fear and ambition.
The red eyes slowly turned to the Potions Master.
"Severus," Voldemort's voice was a high, cold whisper that seemed to come from the walls themselves. "You tell me there is a new child of prophecy. The… 'traveler.' Speak."
(End of Chapter)
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