After a long silence, Cornelius Fudge finally grasped the gravity of what was about to happen. He pointed a trembling finger at Rufus Scrimgeour, disbelief evident in his voice.
"How dare you! How dare you make such a monumental decision without my approval? Do you have any idea what kind of people the Pureblood Party wizards are? They're lunatics, all of them!"
"Remember how Gellert Grindelwald infiltrated MACUSA for months, reducing the American magical government to a laughingstock in the eyes of the entire wizarding world! And now you dare to provoke open war between the British Ministry of Magic and the Pureblood Party?"
Scrimgeour, however, remained composed in the face of Fudge's furious accusations.
"Minister Fudge, I have no intention of provoking a war. I am merely fulfilling my responsibilities as Head of the Auror Office for the British Ministry of Magic."
But Fudge was unimpressed. With a dramatic wave of his hand, he snapped, "Enough! Now tell me, what do you propose we do?"
It was clear that Scrimgeour had anticipated this reaction. Calm and unruffled, he responded, "Minister Fudge, I have already issued orders for all Aurors to return immediately. Remember, London is our stronghold—the seat of the British Ministry of Magic. Our numbers far surpass those of the Pureblood Party."
Hearing this, Fudge's expression softened slightly. His earlier panic was, after all, a natural response to the sudden threat of war. Deep down, Fudge knew the British Ministry of Magic was the most formidable organization in the magical world, especially within London.
As Fudge's demeanor grew less severe, Scrimgeour continued, "The second matter, Minister, is that I suggest you promptly reach out to the International Confederation of Wizards and the magical ministries of Europe. Inform them of our situation and request their assistance. Every additional force strengthens our chances of victory."
Fudge hesitated before responding, "Do you think they'll help us? Relations between the ministries may seem peaceful on the surface, but there's always been competition and rivalry beneath it."
Scrimgeour, undeterred, nodded firmly. "They will come. Grindelwald's Pureblood Party is a nightmare that has haunted many of them. They will not want to see its resurgence."
Realizing the logic in Scrimgeour's words, Fudge finally nodded. "Fine. I'll send word immediately, telling them that the devil who once terrorized the wizarding world has bared its fangs again!"
Just as Fudge turned to leave, Scrimgeour grabbed his arm.
"Wait. There's one more thing, Minister."
Fudge, startled, asked, "What is it, Rufus?"
Scrimgeour nodded solemnly. "I believe you should also contact Albus Dumbledore. We don't yet know how many wizards the Pureblood Party might send or who might appear."
Scrimgeour paused as if recalling something dreadful before continuing, "But if Gellert Grindelwald himself has left Nurmengard and comes to London, I fear no one but Dumbledore can stand against him."
Fudge paled at the mention of Grindelwald. If the Pureblood Party was a shadow over the ministries of Europe, then Grindelwald himself was a storm cloud that no magical government had ever successfully weathered.
The tales came flooding back: Grindelwald's infiltration of MACUSA, his near-destruction of Paris in a single night, his charisma that had united countless witches and wizards under his banner. He was the first true Dark Lord—brilliant, merciless, and unmatched.
Reluctantly, Fudge nodded. "You're right. No one but Dumbledore could possibly defeat Grindelwald. I'll write to him immediately. As President of the International Confederation of Wizards, this is his responsibility."
Without another word, Fudge hurried toward his office.
But just as he was about to leave, Dolores Umbridge, who had been silently observing, suddenly spoke up.
"One moment, Minister."
Fudge turned back, irritation evident in his furrowed brow. "What now, Madam Undersecretary? Surely nothing could be more important than this?"
With her trademark saccharine smile, Umbridge took a step forward and said softly, "Have you decided how you're going to phrase this letter to Dumbledore?"
Caught off guard, Fudge stammered, "I'll tell him everything that's happened and ask him to confront Grindelwald!"
Umbridge shook her head slowly, her tone measured. "Minister, I think it would be more appropriate to phrase it differently. Inform Dumbledore of the situation, but first, ask him to check whether Grindelwald has indeed left Nurmengard. If he has not, then request that Dumbledore remain there to keep watch."
Scrimgeour, puzzled, interjected, "Why?"
But Fudge appeared to grasp the implication, his face betraying a mixture of realization and unease.
Umbridge, exuding confidence, explained, "Without Grindelwald, the Pureblood Party is nothing more than a group of aging wizards. With the strength of the British Ministry and the aid of Aurors from other nations, we can easily wipe them out."
Her gaze lingered on Fudge as she added, "And such a decisive victory, under your leadership, Minister, would be a truly historic achievement."
She paused deliberately before continuing, "But for that to happen, Dumbledore must not come to London. Otherwise, certain ungrateful wizards might attribute the success to him instead."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.
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