The Ministry of Magic's Atrium operated efficiently and in a comfortable silence. As Lord Voldemort (under the impeccable and intimidating guise of Minister Tom Gaunt) calmly crossed the atrium, all the wizards and witches around him stopped and immediately made way for him, greeting him with slight bows that conveyed the respect they held for their new minister.
Exactly one month had passed since he assumed the highest office in the country, and the Ministry was no longer the same.
In his first few weeks, Voldemort had personally taken charge of purging the entire institution, throwing out every single one of the parasites and incompetents that the previous administrations of Fudge and Bagnold had placed in positions of power. The leeches had finally been eradicated. Of course, he had filled those vacancies with his own inner circle and trusted Death Eaters, but unlike the old guard, his followers were competent, loyal, and above all efficient wizards who would do their jobs well without complaint. That masterstroke had not only streamlined the government but had also granted him total control over every department and sub-department in the country.
As he made his way toward the elevator reserved exclusively for the Minister, a cold, somewhat amused smile curved his lips as he recalled a particular event from his early days.
He remembered with immense pleasure how he had mentally destroyed that insufferable toad.
Just the day after he had come to power, the doors to his office had burst open. A plump woman, dressed in an excessively pink outfit and with a face that bore an unsettling resemblance to that of an amphibian, had burst into his office. In a shrill, ridiculously high-pitched voice, she introduced herself as Dolores Umbridge and had the incredible audacity to demand that he give her back her former—and, according to her, privileged—position as Undersecretary to the Minister.
Voldemort looked at her and imagined her as a toad begging for more flies to eat. He didn't even have to raise his voice. Seated behind his desk, the Dark Lord stopped writing and fixed his eyes on her, dropping his facade of a kind and approachable minister for a second, exposing the pure, concentrated murderous intent of his magic directly onto the woman's soul and mind.
With just that look, the foolish woman cowered. The color drained from her face, her knees trembled like jelly, and letting out a moan of pure terror, she turned on her heel and ran out of the office, never to set foot in the Ministry of Magic again. He was sure many were silently thanking her for that.
Voldemort chuckled softly as he stepped out of the elevator and entered the spacious, luxurious offices of the Minister of Magic.
As he walked toward his desk, he thought about how much he hated that human weakness. That was what he detested most about people. That blind arrogance, that delusion of those who believe they deserve everything—respect, titles, or positions—without having the real power to demand or back it up. They live wrapped up in their own fantasies of grandeur, but at the first sign of real strength, at the first drop of true terror, they crumble completely, lose their will, and run to hide in the shadows.
Voldemort sat down in the comfortable black leather chair behind his desk. He rested his elbows on the wood and interlaced his long fingers in front of his face, observing everything through the large window of his office.
A proud smile spread across his face. His eyes glowed with a red light in the dimness of the office.
There were laws, there was politics, and above all, bureaucracy, but at the heart of it all, the truth of the wizarding world remained exactly the same as it had been a thousand years ago. That in the end, it is always the strong who rule and make the decisions that change the world.
Lord Voldemort's thoughts of supremacy were interrupted by a couple of sharp knocks on his office door.
With a lazy wave of his hand, the doors swung wide open. Entering the Minister's office with firm steps and defensive postures were Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Security, and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the veteran and recently reinstated Auror and member of the Order of the Phoenix.
Tom smiled politely, putting on his impeccable facade. He stood up and gestured toward the chairs in front of his desk.
"Madame Bones, Auror Moody. Please, take a seat," Tom invited them courteously. "To what do I owe the honor of such a sudden visit?"
Both Aurors sat down, though Moody remained stiff on the edge of his chair, his magical eye darting rapidly to scan every corner of the office.
Amelia cleared her throat, maintaining her usual expression and professionalism.
"First of all, Minister, I want to thank you for the substantial budget increase you've granted my department this week," Amelia began. "However, the main reason for our visit is to provide a status report. Unfortunately, we have not yet obtained a single clue regarding the whereabouts of the prisoners who escaped from Azkaban as a result of Grindelwald's skirmish on British soil."
Tom wiped the smile from his face, his expression shifting to one of deep concern.
"This is a very serious matter, Madame Bones. These criminals pose a latent threat to our society," Tom remarked, resting his elbows on the desk. "We need to capture them as soon as possible."
Moody, who had been watching the Minister's performance with exasperation and disgust, tapped the floor with his cane.
"Oh, really? Seriously?" Moody asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And tell me, Minister… couldn't you give us a 'hint' as to where they're hiding?"
Voldemort slowly scratched his chin, patiently ignoring the Auror's insolence.
"Unfortunately, Auror Moody, I have no information in my possession that could assist you in your investigation," Tom replied. "But I wish you the best in your search. The Ministry has full confidence in you."
That false kindness was the last straw for Alastor. Clenching his teeth, Moody leaned his face over the desk, closing the distance menacingly.
"Are you absolutely certain you know absolutely nothing… Gaunt?" Moody asked him with fury and resentment, spitting out the surname as if it were poison.
Voldemort did not back down. A smile meant to be friendly reappeared on his face, but this time, it did not reach his eyes.
"I know nothing, Alastor," Voldemort whispered.
At that very moment, he released just a fraction of his magical power; he didn't want to cause a scene. The air in the office froze. The pressure was overwhelming, dark, and above all, lethal; Moody felt as if an invisible hand were crushing his throat. The old Auror was left gasping for air and was pushed back forcefully, falling heavily against the back of his chair.
Amelia, who also felt the terrifying touch of that magic, quickly rose from her seat, pale but determined not to show weakness in front of her enemy.
"We thank you for receiving us, Minister. We'll take our leave to continue with our work," said Amelia, giving a stiff bow before turning and striding out of the office.
Moody struggled to his feet, glaring at Tom before following his boss out of the Minister's offices.
As they walked through the Ministry's wide corridors, surrounded by the murmur of people, Moody looked at the woman beside him.
"Tell me one thing, Amelia," Moody growled under his breath. "How did it feel to stand before the Dark Lord himself, asking him for orders?"
Amelia let out a long sigh, rubbing her arms to try to shake off the cold that still felt like it was burning her bones.
"I don't know exactly how to answer that, Alastor," Amelia confessed, her voice betraying the exhaustion of the past few weeks. "Fear, terror, awe... I have many answers to that question. His power is suffocating and seems endless."
Moody clenched his fists around his cane and whispered bitterly.
"This is all that damn boy's fault."
Amelia stopped right in front of the golden bars of the lifts. She raised an eyebrow, confused by the statement. When they stepped into the empty cabin and the doors closed, she stared at him.
"Which boy are you referring to, Alastor?"
Moody snorted, as if the answer were obvious.
"Aurelian Gaunt," the Auror spat. "I always knew it, Amelia. My instincts never fail me. From the first time I saw that arrogant Slytherin brat last year, I had a feeling he was involved in something dark. Unfortunately for us, that was the reappearance of his father. He brought him back in some way I still don't know."
Amelia's eyes widened at the gravity of the accusation.
"Lord Gaunt? A Hogwarts student? Alastor, that's..."
"Madness?" Moody interrupted, laughing dryly. "It's better than that. The evidence was always there for anyone who wanted to see it, but everyone was too blinded by the boy's money and inventions to notice it."
Moody scratched his head, his magical eye spinning furiously toward the elevator door, gnawed by regret.
"I should have eliminated him when I could," Moody declared coldly. "As soon as I found out who he really was… but now it's too late; he has too much power and influence."
Amelia stood her ground, her sense of justice clashing with the Auror's ruthless pragmatism.
"By Merlin's beard, Alastor!" Amelia rebuked him harshly. "You can't go around eliminating children just because of who their parents were or are! That's not how we do things. We are the law, not cold-blooded killers."
Moody burst into a hoarse, harsh, joyless laugh at the head of the department's words.
"Dumbledore told me exactly the same thing last year," Moody muttered, fixing his normal eye on Amelia. "And thanks to that mindset of morality and ethics we have, we lost the war before it even began."
The elevator jolted to a stop on the floor of the Department of Magical Security. The golden bars slid open.
Moody adjusted his coat and stepped out of the cabin.
"I'll be in touch when I find any trace of those damned Azkaban criminals, Amelia," Moody said as he disappeared into the bustle of the hallway, the sound of his cane tapping echoing behind him.
Amelia Bones also stepped out of the elevator, but her feet felt as heavy as lead. She stood for a moment in front of the doors to her own department, processing the irony of her current reality.
She now worked for and reported to the very man who had murdered her brother Edgar and her entire family in the First War. The Bones' murderer was the Minister of Magic.
Amelia closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, her gaze had hardened with a new resolve. She clenched her jaw and walked toward her office, promising herself to do everything in her power to protect her country and her people from those monsters, no matter what power or titles they now held. She would bring them all to justice.
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