https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-314-Ministry-of-Magic-Spokesperson-Umbridge/13685272/
Translated Chapter
315. The Inarticulate Fudge
Fudge might not have been much to look at in most ways, but when it came to power, he had an instinct as sharp as a blade.
The moment he saw Umbridge’s image reflected in the Streaming Mirror—representing the Ministry of Magic—he immediately grasped the danger. If Umbridge appeared on screen, with moving images and impassioned voice, she could easily eclipse him in public perception.
In the past, the Minister of Magic had only been able to promote himself through static text in newspapers. But the Streaming Mirror offered motion, emotion, and raw presence—far more compelling than any dry article.
And though Umbridge and Fudge appeared to be inseparable allies, Fudge knew the truth deep down: Umbridge was a strange, chilling amalgam of power and ambition—ruthless, calculating, and utterly devoid of mercy.
If the chance ever came to replace him, she wouldn’t hesitate.
—She must not appear on camera.
Fudge made his decision instantly.
No… not just Umbridge.
Anyone who posed a threat to his position—Rufus Scrimgeour, Crouch, Bones—none of them were allowed to give interviews to the Aslan Magical Workshop.
Only he, Fudge, should be seen by the entire wizarding Britain. Or, at best, a few nameless, powerless junior interns.
When Wade pressed again, asking about Umbridge’s preferences and expressing hope that journalists could capture her with a cat, Fudge finally snapped.
“No,” he said sharply, face stony. “Umbridge does not like real cats.”
“She finds them filthy and troublesome,” he continued, “so she only enjoys cat-shaped decorations.”
“Hmm…” Wade hesitated, voice thoughtful. “How do you know she truly dislikes them? Maybe she’s just considering her colleagues—avoiding disruptions in the office, you know? Perhaps she only carries the decorations to keep things peaceful.”
He didn’t say it outright, but the implication hung in the air:
Are you, Minister, deliberately painting a false picture of your subordinate? Are you so obsessed with holding onto your power that you’re unwilling to let her shine?
For the first time, Fudge felt the crushing weight of being utterly unable to defend himself.
He spoke the truth—yet no one believed him.
Worse still, the one doubting him was Wade, a young man he’d treated with warmth and trust. That sting cut deeper than any criticism.
Fudge snapped, “I’ve worked with Umbridge for over a decade! Do you think I don’t know her better than you? I know she doesn’t keep cats. If you’d ever heard her talk—drunk, mind you—about how to deal with Muggles and Muggle-borns, you’d know she has no kindness in her at all.”
And then came the insult: “Becoming the next Mileson Bagnor?”
Mileson Bagnor had been Fudge’s immediate predecessor—the Minister who presided over the end of Voldemort’s war (though the victory was hardly her doing). She’d earned immense public respect.
Fudge hated it when people compared him to her.
“Really…” Wade said slowly, drawing out the word, his tone laced with skepticism. That single syllable tightened Fudge’s chest like a vice.
Kingsley stared at Wade, stunned.
If he hadn’t seen Wade walk through the door just moments before, he’d have sworn the boy had been in the room the whole time.
Fudge might not have realized it—but Wade’s doubt of him now was no different than Fudge’s own doubt of Sirius Black.
The reasoning was eerily similar.
Kingsley glanced at Harry, whose green eyes were wide with alarm, then at Remus Lupin, who was barely suppressing a smile. He confirmed it wasn’t a trick of the mind.
But Fudge, with his single-minded focus, remained oblivious.
He spoke in the cold, rigid tone of bureaucracy:
“The Ministry of Magic hasn’t decided whether to promote Umbridge to Deputy Minister—this requires careful consideration.”
“Due to the risk of leaks, public controversy, or damage to the Ministry’s image, such matters must be discussed thoroughly. We can’t just let anyone be interviewed on a whim.”
“Even as Minister,” he added, emphasizing each word like a hammer, “I can only control my own schedule.”
He stressed “Deputy Minister” clearly—hinting that he was the one who should be interviewed.
But the boy in front of him—so young, so unimpressed—didn’t catch the subtext.
He simply nodded, disappointment clear in his voice:
“Oh… alright. We’ll wait until Umbridge is available for an interview.”
“Good… good,” Fudge muttered through clenched teeth. “I hope that day comes.”
He turned sharply and marched out.
—It never will.
—Back at the Ministry, I’ll draft a law immediately: no official above the Department Head level may accept an interview from Aslan Magical Workshop—except the Minister himself.
The Aurors filed out in a rush. Kingsley stayed behind, then turned to Remus Lupin.
“Though I’m fairly certain,” he said, “I still need to ask—Is Sirius Black connected to the Wizard Purity Party or Gellert Grindelwald?”
Remus Lupin offered a slightly forced expression of confusion. “Why would you think that? They have absolutely no ties.”
Kingsley nodded, then smiled at Wade and Harry.
“It’s a pleasure to see you both, Mr. Potter, Mr. Gray. May happiness and peace always be with you.”
“Uh… thanks?” Harry replied, uncertain.
The man’s smile was kind—but somehow, unnerving.
Kingsley nodded once more, then pulled open the door and left.
Harry didn’t trust anyone who wanted to send Sirius Black to prison.
Once Kingsley was gone, he paused, then asked Remus: “Do you think he was threatening us?”
Remus laughed, half-exasperated. “I’d say he was sincere. Wade, if you really want to work with Umbridge, you’d be better off talking to her directly. Fudge is more likely to be an obstacle than a help.”
“Honestly,” Harry sighed, “it’s sad. She’s clearly talented, yet her own boss keeps tearing her down.”
He felt genuine sympathy for the woman—wronged by her superior.
Wade slowly widened his eyes, then turned to face them, stunned.
“What? Did I say something wrong?” Remus asked, frowning. He had sensed Fudge’s clear disdain for Umbridge.
“Don’t explain,” Wade groaned. He flopped back onto the sofa, summoning a glass of water with a flick of his hand. He drank it down in one long gulp, then exhaled heavily.
“I’ve said everything I’m going to say today.”
A knock sounded at the door.
The frame creaked open, and a tall, lean figure stepped in.
“I see I’ve missed the peak of the conversation…” Dumbledore smiled, glancing at the group. “But judging by your expressions—outcome seems promising?”
(End of Chapter)
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