London's city center slept soundly under the cloak of night. Muggles dreamt in their beds, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding beneath their feet in the Ministry of Magic. A heavily armored goblin strike force, seemingly materializing from thin air, had bypassed the usual red telephone booth entrance and stormed the first three levels.
Inside the Minister's office, pandemonium reigned.
"Terrible news! Something terrible has happened!" Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, burst through the door, his expression a mask of worry as he addressed Fudge.
Fudge felt a strange sense of déjà vu. "Has the Dark Lord sent his thugs again? Because I already…"
"No, not at all."
"Phew." Fudge visibly relaxed, relieved that Tom Riddle no longer wanted to dispose of him. Anything else was, in comparison, a mere trifle. He picked up his tea and took a leisurely sip. "So what was all the yelling about? Calm down! Speak slowly, like me."
"It wasn't the Dark Lord, but someone did break in."
"Pfft! Cough, cough…" Fudge pounded his chest, sputtering and wide-eyed. "What did you just say?!"
"Uh… Minister, I meant someone broke in…" Scrimgeour hesitated, then added, "Your… pants."
"…" Fudge followed Scrimgeour's gaze downwards to see the tea he'd spat out had indeed made a mess, leaving unsightly wet patches in certain areas. It looked rather unfortunate.
"…" Fudge's face darkened. Had Scrimgeour not witnessed his coughing fit, he'd surely assume the Minister had wet himself out of sheer terror.
Forced to change the subject, Fudge blamed the unwelcome intruders. "Who dares such insolence?! Don't they know I'm protecting them? Don't they know the Ministry of Magic belongs to Tom Riddle?!"
"…" Scrimgeour's expression was unreadable, but he wisely refrained from comment.
His face grew serious again. "It's those goblins, Minister—the ones who've been so active lately. They're outnumbered, but our people have managed to contain them for now. I doubt we will resolve this favorably anytime soon."
The Ministry of Magic's defenses were now two to three times stronger than before, bolstered by powerful Death Eaters alongside the Aurors. The goblins didn't stand a chance, and attempting to seize the Ministry was sheer delusion.
"Hmph… arrogant dwarves." Fudge chuckled coldly, feeling only disdain for the squat creatures who'd caused his little "accident". Small in stature, small in brains!
"Oh, and remind me later," Fudge added, suddenly remembering something. "I'm writing to Umbridge to give those damned things a stern warning after this."
"Yes, Minister." Scrimgeour nodded. "What are your orders now?"
"Deal with those nuisances yourself." Fudge waved him off impatiently. "If there's nothing else, be gone!"
"Understood!" Scrimgeour knew Fudge was eager to change his trousers. A seasoned professional knew when to feign ignorance, especially under such delicate circumstances. To avoid future retribution, one had to preserve the boss's dignity.
...
While the wizards swiftly subdued the goblin insurgency, in a forgotten corner, a large, red-eyed black rat stealthily navigated the pipes towards the ninth underground level.
"Squeak… squeak squeak…"
At a bend in the pipe, the rat paused, displaying a distinctly human-like expression of confusion before resuming its descent. The deeper it went, the angrier it became. How much further, damn it?!
If not for that cursed Tom Riddle and his anti-Apparition charm, it wouldn't have had to transform into this loathsome creature to infiltrate the Ministry! The Ministry already possessed anti-Apparition measures, restricting it to specific individuals. Tom's enhancement, however slight, was enough to thwart even Albus Dumbledore's attempts at forceful Apparition.
The large black rat wriggling through the pipes was none other than Voldemort's remnant soul who had conspired with Lanlock to steal the Prophecy Orb. He couldn't Apparate, and a direct assault would be too conspicuous. He knew all too well that he was different from the goblins: Tom Riddle wouldn't bother with their antics, but the moment he appeared—poof!—the evil Tom Riddle would randomly spawn nearby!
The thought both infuriated and delighted him. Heh heh! I, Voldemort, am that man's most valued adversary!
As for why the remnant soul could transform into a rat, it was a new Animagus technique he had mastered during the winter break. Logically, he should have transformed into a snake, but snakes were far too conspicuous.
At Lanlock's suggestion, the remnant soul realized that an inconspicuous animal would effectively evade Tom Riddle. He agreed to Lanlock's help and, through some obscure magic, forcibly altered his snake Animagus into a rat.
Initially, the remnant soul had wanted to become a ladybug—smaller, and therefore even harder for Tom Riddle to detect. Unfortunately, the ritual only allowed specific animal transformations. There were no snakes that could become ladybugs, but there were snakes that could become pigs.
But becoming a snake is better than a pig.
In the end, Voldemort's remnant soul, his face a mask of grim determination, chose to become a rat. Though initially repulsive, he was now rather fond of it. This rat is useful, isn't it?! Tom hasn't come to catch it, even after all this time.
His mood improved, the red-eyed rat marched triumphantly onwards, the countless mini-hamburgers he had consumed making him feel right at home in the pipes. Ignoring the unpleasant odors, he pressed on towards the Department of Mysteries on the ninth underground floor.
---