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This was the first time Tom had ever met Cornelius Fudge.
His appearance and figure weren't worth describing, only because there was nothing remarkable about them.
And standing next to the pink toad of a woman at his side, the two of them looked like they'd been made for each other: one a beef meatball, the other a pork one.
From the moment Tom laid eyes on him, he felt no kinship at all.
The green velvet-trimmed suit, the overly neat tie, the greasy shine of his face, and hair that had clearly suffered an overdose of hairspray—he didn't look like the Minister for Magic so much as some washed-up Muggle politician clinging to relevance.
And as for the pink toad… the instant Tom saw her, he swore to Merlin himself: if this woman ever ended up teaching at Hogwarts, he'd personally shove her into a Dementor's maw, he even believed if Voldemort saw her, he would put aside their enmity and help him. Just a few glances were enough to sting his eyes. If he had to see that face every day, he'd be tempted to kill himself.
Fudge, for his part, was studying Tom in return.
His first thought: what a handsome boy. For a fleeting moment, he even saw a shadow of his younger self. Back at school, he too had been the darling of the crowd...
It was Fudge's first time meeting Tom in person, but he knew more than a little about him already. They'd crossed paths indirectly several times.
For one, nearly all of the Aurors' upgraded equipment over the past two years had come from this second-year boy. Fudge himself carried one of the alchemical devices Tom had designed.
The last time Fudge had been dragged to Hogwarts, it was thanks to Tom as well—his clash with Lockhart had unraveled the biggest scam the British wizarding world had seen in decades, leaving Fudge scrambling.
And who could forget the uproar over The History of Wizarding World? A child daring to redefine what it meant to be pure-blooded had half the old families fuming and the other half applauding.
If he were being honest, Fudge didn't like Tom's knack for stirring trouble. He preferred people to stay in their lanes, do their jobs, and not make waves. Students should just study. Why raise such a fuss? It only made headaches for him.
But reality left him no choice. He had to like Tom—or at least act like it.
Tom had backing from certain pure-blood families: the Rosiers, the Notts, and by marriage, the Greengrasses. Abroad, his reputation and influence practically overshadowed Fudge's own. Since becoming Minister, Fudge could count on one hand the times he'd made international headlines. Tom, meanwhile, published a single article and the whole wizarding world ate it up. Half the people Tom posed with in newspapers were individuals Fudge himself needed to court.
As a politician, the first rule was simple: serve the dish the diner prefers. And picking a fight with a boy with that kind of network would be sheer idiocy.
So, Cornelius Fudge had decided to keep his posture low.
...
When Tom entered the office, he only greeted Dumbledore politely, nodded at the group, and fell silent. Fudge pretended to take it as unfamiliarity, stepping forward warmly, hand outstretched.
"My boy—you must be Tom Riddle. Handsome young man, aren't you? I've heard your name more than a few times. Thank you for the fine equipment you've given our Aurors—it's saved more lives than I can count."
"Tom, this is Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge," Dumbledore supplied. "He's here about the basilisk. And this lady is Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement."
Umbridge's expression soured. Dumbledore had stopped right there—no sign of introducing her.
Of course, she was wrong to take it personally. Albus hadn't meant to slight her. First, he had no desire to. Second, he'd honestly forgotten who she was.
"Minister Fudge," Tom said with a polite nod as he shook Fudge's hand, nothing out of place in his manner.
Whatever came in the future, today wasn't the time to bare fangs.
"Good lad," Fudge beamed, warm and avuncular, as though Tom were one of his own.
"You flatter me," Tom replied modestly before turning to Amelia Bones. "Mrs. Bones, long time no see."
"Not that long," she chuckled. "Christmas wasn't more than two months ago."
Dumbledore blinked, surprised. "Tom, you and Amelia know each other?"
"Albus, you forget." Bones smiled lightly. "Seraphina Greengrass happens to be one of my few close friends."
At that, memory returned to the Headmaster. "Ah, of course. Getting old dulls the mind. I'd forgotten how you and Seraphina used to terrorize Gryffindor boys—had them hiding in bathrooms rather than face you."
Tom shot Bones a startled look. He hadn't expected his future mother-in-law (Lady Greengrass) and Amelia Bones to share such a colorful past.
"Ahem… Albus, some stories don't need retelling quite so vividly." Feeling Tom's gaze, Amelia coughed and steered the conversation elsewhere. "Tom, why don't you tell us about the basilisk?"
"Yes," Umbridge cut in, voice sticky-sweet and insufferably girlish. "I've never seen a basilisk myself. Does such a creature really exist?"
Up until now the others had been chatting comfortably, leaving her no space to butt in. She'd been reduced to the same status as the Auror bodyguards—an extra piece of furniture in the room.
"Should we look at it here?" Tom didn't spare her so much as a glance. Instead, he turned to Fudge. His indifference made Umbridge's face twitch with a mix of pale anger and flushed embarrassment.
"Er… here is fine," Fudge said after a brief pause, though his tone wasn't all that confident.
"Headmaster, could you expand the room a little?" Tom asked politely. "There's not nearly enough space."
Dumbledore gave a casual flick of his wand, and the office stretched outward fivefold in an instant.
Tom pulled out his dragonhide pouch, tapped it with an Engorgement Charm, and—thud!—a massive basilisk head crashed onto the floor. By sheer bad luck, the hollow sockets where its eyes once had been landed facing Umbridge directly.
The grisly fangs, the dried blood around the eye sockets, the sheer oppressive aura…
Umbridge let out a piercing shriek and collapsed on the spot. Fudge wasn't much better; standing close to her, he nearly screamed as well, but Umbridge's reaction beat him to it. He staggered backward, and only the timely slide of an armchair kept him from toppling to the ground.
Still pale and shaken, Fudge darted a look around the room and found Tom's eyes. He realized who had moved the chair and gave the boy a grateful nod.
What a thoughtful young man. If not for Tom, he would've made a fool of himself just like Umbridge.
And really, after witnessing this, who could possibly doubt Tom had killed the basilisk himself? Fudge certainly wouldn't.
Bones and the Aurors froze in place, stunned. The basilisk's head alone was half the size of a dragon's body. Imagining the entire creature alive and moving was enough to make their stomachs tighten.
Killing a beast of this scale would've been difficult even if it were harmless. A basilisk, though—one wrong look and you'd be dead.
The Aurors exchanged glances. All wizards, sure—but the gulf between them and this second-year boy felt like a bottomless pit.
"…Mr. Riddle," Fudge finally stammered, "you—you can put it away now."
Tom arched an eyebrow, pretending to hesitate. "Minister Fudge, I was actually thinking… you should take a photo with it. Print it in the papers. Show the public that Hogwarts is safe again. Reassure the parents."
Fudge's eyes lit up instantly.
Power-hungry, yes. Clueless in real crises, often. But when it came to boosting his image and milking a publicity stunt, Cornelius Fudge's brain worked faster than lightning. He practically leapt from the chair, beaming at Tom as if the boy were his dearest nephew.
"Mr. Riddle is absolutely right! The people deserve to know."
He noticed Umbridge still trembling on the floor and scowled. "Dolores, how long are you planning to sit there? It's only a head! Must you be so pathetic?"
You weren't much better, you old fool!
Umbridge cursed both Fudge and Tom in her heart—especially Tom for springing the head without warning—but she pasted on her usual obedience and shuffled out of the way.
"Albus!" Fudge waved Dumbledore over cheerfully. "Join me in the picture. It'll do you some good, too. Parents won't be sending you those howlers by the dozen anymore."
"You, where's your camera? Quick, bring it over!"
One of the burly Aurors scrambled to produce his camera. Normally it was for evidence and crime scenes, not ministerial photo ops, but today was apparently full of surprises.
"Cornelius, I must confess…" Dumbledore said mildly as he took his place at Fudge's side, "all those howlers were swallowed by my mailbox. I'm rather sorry I never heard what they had to say."
Then he added, voice warm as ever: "By the way, the basilisk caused quite a lot of damage to the castle. The school's finances are stretched to the breaking point."
"Consider it done! I'll see to it you get the funding." Fudge agreed with no hesitation.
It wasn't his money anyway, and it was an easy way to earn public sympathy by "supporting education." His poll numbers would thank him.
Satisfied, Dumbledore smiled his trademark smile for the camera. Across Fudge, his eyes briefly met Tom's.
In that instant, both thought the same thing: 'What a fox.'
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