Weak Minister

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"No! Mr. Moody! We were part of the battle too! I took down many of them! If you're going to arrest someone, then arrest me as well!"

Penelope stepped forward suddenly, standing resolutely beside Ethan. Her voice was firm, though her trembling hands betrayed her nerves.

Facing off against a legend like Alastor Moody—an icon in the Auror world—required immense courage, especially for someone like Penelope, a rookie intern who had only been with the Ministry of Magic for a few days.

Ethan noticed her slight tremor, but her bravery lit a spark among the other team members. Stirred from their stupor, they quickly rallied, stepping forward to shield Ethan and demanding that Moody arrest them too if he dared.

The Aurors who had recently worked alongside Ethan's team exchanged uncertain looks. Deep down, they respected Ethan's actions; after all, the vile deeds of the Death Eaters had filled them with equal fury.

But Moody was their former leader, a man they revered. Supporting Ethan openly was not an option for them, even if they silently applauded his defiance.

Moody's piercing gaze bore into Ethan, his eyes blazing with intensity, as though ready to take Ethan into custody at any moment.

A sudden commotion broke the tension.

"What's going on here? What's happening?"

Minister Fudge's panicked voice rang out as he arrived, flanked by a tight circle of Aurors who formed a protective barrier around him.

The once-composed Fudge, who had exuded confidence at the Quidditch World Cup earlier, now looked utterly disheveled.

His robes were crumpled, his hair plastered to his sweat-drenched forehead, and his pale face betrayed his rising panic.

His gaze fell upon the corpse of a Death Eater sprawled on the ground, and his complexion grew even paler.

"Ethan, what is the meaning of this? What happened here?" Fudge asked in a shaky voice.

Before Ethan could respond, Moody cut in harshly.

"Minister! Ethan slaughtered them!"

"Enough, Mr. Moody!" Fudge snapped, visibly agitated. Moody's outburst only seemed to heighten the minister's unease.

Moody grunted but fell silent, stepping back with a scowl.

Ethan stepped forward and spoke quietly, his tone steady.

"Minister Fudge, this riot was instigated by the Death Eaters."

As if on cue, an ominous green glow suddenly illuminated the camp. All eyes turned skyward as a massive, eerie figure emerged above the treetops.

The shape took form—a towering skull composed of countless green stars. From the gaping maw of the skull, a massive serpent slithered, its tongue-like body twisting through the night.

The dark mark.

The enormous symbol rose higher, its sickly green glow casting an unnatural light over the campsite. Against the inky backdrop of the night, it looked like a sinister new constellation.

Fudge's face contorted in horror, his eyes fixed on the glowing emblem. A veteran of Voldemort's reign, he recognized it immediately.

"My God... My God..." Fudge murmured, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Suddenly, he seemed to snap out of his daze. Grabbing Ethan by the sleeve, he whispered hoarsely,

"Ethan, tell me... has He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned? Has the Dark Lord truly risen again?"

Ethan could see the dread in Fudge's eyes. The minister's thoughts were clear—if Voldemort had indeed returned, it would mark the end of his tenure and the beginning of chaos.

Although Fudge cared deeply about his power and public image, these concerns paled in comparison to the fear Voldemort inspired—a threat that struck directly at his own survival.

Ethan studied the panicked minister, a flicker of disappointment crossing his eyes.

Long ago, Ethan had subtly prepared Fudge for the possibility of Voldemort's return, hoping to steel the man for the challenges ahead.

He had wanted Fudge to rise to the occasion, to stand firm when it mattered most.

But now, it seemed that Ethan's hopes had been misplaced. The mere appearance of the Dark Mark had sent Fudge into a complete frenzy.

If this was his reaction now, it was laughable to think he could lead the Ministry of Magic in a true fight against Voldemort.

Ethan sighed inwardly. If things continued like this, Voldemort wouldn't need to fully return to topple the Ministry; Fudge's cowardice would do the job for him.

"Don't worry, Minister Fudge," Ethan said calmly, striving to steady the man's nerves.

"This is likely the work of some Death Eater remnants stirring up trouble."

Fudge visibly relaxed at Ethan's words, his tightly wound nerves easing, if only slightly.

For now, Ethan thought, keeping Fudge from a full-scale breakdown was the best they could hope for. Direct confrontation with Voldemort would have to wait; Fudge's frailty simply wouldn't hold under such pressure.

"Well then, Ethan," Fudge stammered, struggling to compose himself.

"This is... a significant incident. I must return to the Ministry immediately to manage public reassurance and ensure stability. You—you stay here and take charge of maintaining law and order."

His excuse for retreat was paper-thin, and the gathered Aurors and wizards exchanged knowing, disapproving glances. Many had not expected the Minister of Magic to abandon the field so blatantly.

But Fudge ignored their silent judgments.

"I'm leaving everything here in your capable hands, Ethan," he said, gesturing vaguely before turning to depart under heavy Auror protection.

"Minister Fudge!" Moody interjected urgently, attempting to dissuade him.

Fudge, however, waved him off without so much as a glance.

"Mr. Moody, I trust you'll defer to Ethan. He has considerable experience dealing with Death Eaters," Fudge said dismissively as he hastened away.

The irony of Fudge's statement hung heavy in the air. Few in the Ministry knew the Death Eaters better than Moody, who had spent most of his life battling them.

Perhaps only Dumbledore could claim greater expertise.

Moody's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he fought to contain his frustration.

Ethan stepped forward, his voice firm but measured.

"Moody, now's not the time for us to argue. The Death Eaters are still active, and stopping them is what matters most."

Moody studied Ethan with a mixture of surprise and suspicion, clearly not expecting such pragmatism.

After a pause, Moody spoke, his tone uncharacteristically calm and sincere.

"Ethan, I hope you'll rein yourself in. Believe me, I hate the Death Eaters more than anyone. But slaughtering them indiscriminately isn't the answer. That path only leads to more chaos—we've learned that lesson the hard way, through blood."

Ethan held Moody's gaze, nodding solemnly.

"I'll do my best, Moody. But for now, our focus must be on taking down these Death Eaters and restoring order."

The two men shared a tense, silent understanding. Though their approaches differed, their ultimate goal was the same: to destroy the Death Eaters and resist Voldemort.

In this moment of crisis, their personal disagreements had to take a backseat to the greater threat looming over them all.