Third Person POV
Cornelius Fudge had barely returned to his office when he found himself thinking about the same problem that had occupied his mind for months.
The Minister's position was about to become vacant.
Millicent Bagnold had announced her intention to retire, and the uncertainty surrounding her successor had turned the Ministry into a place of quiet political maneuvering. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about who should replace her, yet no candidate had emerged with enough support to make the outcome certain.
For a while, many had assumed the position would naturally pass to Albus Dumbledore.
Fudge had understood why.
Dumbledore possessed an enormous reputation among both ordinary witches and wizards and the old magical families. His role in the defeat of Grindelwald had made him one of the most respected figures in Britain, while his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts gave him influence over generations of young witches and wizards. If he wanted the position, few people could realistically stand against him.
But Dumbledore had apparently rejected the offer.
Fudge had learned that through several contacts within the Ministry, and while the information had initially surprised him, it had also created an opportunity.
Barty Crouch Sr. should have been the obvious alternative.
For years, Crouch had cultivated an image of strength and competence within the Ministry. His aggressive approach toward the remaining Death Eaters had earned him considerable popularity, particularly among those who believed that the Ministry had been too lenient during the war. Under different circumstances, Fudge suspected that Crouch would have been the most serious contender for the position.
Unfortunately for Crouch, his own son had destroyed much of that political capital.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s conviction for participating in the torture of the Longbottoms had become a stain that refused to disappear, regardless of how much Crouch Sr. tried to distance himself from it. The fact that Crouch had personally overseen his son's punishment had impressed some people, but it had not erased the whispers surrounding the family.
As a result, there was no obvious successor.
And whenever there was a political vacuum, ambitious people rushed to fill it.
Fudge was one of them.
He had spent considerable time cultivating relationships with influential families, carefully presenting himself as someone who could maintain stability without becoming controlled by any single faction. He had already visited several noble households and spoken with their heads, attempting to determine where their support might eventually fall.
He had even visited the Malfoys.
Lucius Malfoy had received him cordially enough, and their conversations had gone considerably better than Fudge had initially expected. The two had developed a reasonably good rapport, yet despite their pleasant discussions, Lucius had never actually promised him support.
That was the problem. Nobody had. Not openly.
Fudge had contacts. He had friends. He had people willing to listen to him.
What he didn't have was a noble family willing to stand up and publicly say that Cornelius Fudge should become the next Minister for Magic.
The magical aristocracy was divided into several broad factions, with the Malfoys representing much of the darker traditionalist interests, the Greengrasses maintaining influence among the more moderate or neutral families, and Dumbledore's connections forming the foundation of the lighter faction. Fudge had spent months trying to navigate between them without allowing any one side to believe that he belonged entirely to another.
It was proving considerably harder than he had expected.
He sat behind his desk and rubbed his forehead before forcing himself to stop thinking about the matter.
There was little point worrying about something he couldn't control.
His attention shifted toward the stack of letters that had been delivered earlier that morning. Most were exactly what he had come to expect from Ministry work: departmental reports, requests for authorization, complaints from lower-ranking officials, and documents requiring signatures from someone who had been unfortunate enough to hold a position above the person who had actually created the paperwork.
Fudge pushed most of them aside without much interest.
What he wanted to see were personal letters.
More specifically from noble families.
If a noble family had finally decided to support him, he wanted to know as soon as possible.
He reached for another envelope and paused.
There.
A letter sealed with unfamiliar wax.
Fudge frowned.
The seal was not one he immediately recognized, which made him even more curious. He carefully broke it and unfolded the parchment, expecting perhaps a request for a private meeting or an invitation from another family he had yet to visit.
Instead, the first line informed him that he had been invited to the opening of a shop.
Fudge stared at it.
"A shop?"
His expression slowly shifted from curiosity to irritation.
Was he really so free that people thought he could spend his time attending every insignificant shop opening in Britain?
He almost discarded the invitation immediately.
Then his eyes reached the bottom of the page.
Guest of Honour: Professor Albus Dumbledore.
Fudge stopped.
He read the line again.
Then he continued.
Distinguished Guests: Hogwarts Faculty, Lord Malfoy, Lord Calder, and other distinguished members of the wizarding community.
His irritation vanished.
Fudge straightened in his chair and began reading the invitation from the beginning.
The event was being hosted by two names that he now recognized.
Alastair Salvius-P and Blake Black.
His fingers tightened slightly around the parchment.
The returning heirs.
Only recently had both names begun circulating through political circles with any real intensity, yet the two had already managed to attract an unusual amount of attention. Blake Black had returned to Britain and been publicly recognized as the heir to House Black, while Alastair Salvius-P had caused his own share of controversy during his first year at Hogwarts.
Fudge had heard enough about the boy to know that he wasn't ordinary.
A first-year student who had openly challenged Dumbledore over his academic plans was considerably more interesting.
And now Dumbledore himself was attending the boy's business opening.
Fudge leaned back in his chair.
This wasn't a simple shop opening.
Not with those names on the guest list.
He looked again at the invitation.
The wording was polite, even respectful, but there was something beneath it that caught his attention. The invitation didn't merely ask him to attend. It positioned the event as an opportunity to meet the people involved and suggested that the organizers were interested in establishing relationships with influential members of wizarding society.
Fudge's mind immediately began working.
If Dumbledore was attending, then the event had legitimacy.
If Lucius Malfoy was attending, then it had the attention of one of the most influential families in Britain.
If other noble lords were attending, then the gathering represented a much wider political network than the opening of a shop should normally attract.
And if the Salvius and Black heirs were deliberately bringing those people together...
Fudge looked down at the invitation once more.
Perhaps this was precisely the opportunity he had been waiting for.
He could attend without appearing desperate for political support. He could meet influential figures in a social setting rather than approaching each family individually. More importantly, he could observe where the political winds were moving.
Perhaps he could even speak with Dumbledore.
Fudge slowly folded the invitation.
"I'll be there."
There was no hesitation now.
Whatever the shop turned out to be, attending the opening was worth the time.
If nothing else, it would give him an opportunity to understand what the two young heirs were trying to accomplish.
And if the invitation was as significant as he suspected, refusing it might prove to be a political mistake.
Elsewhere in Britain,
another invitation was being delivered.
At Greengrass Manor, Lord Greengrass was seated in his study when a house-elf appeared before him carrying an envelope.
"My Lord, a letter has arrived."
Greengrass looked up from the document he had been reading.
"From whom?"
The house-elf approached and held out the envelope.
"The seal is unfamiliar, my Lord."
Greengrass accepted it and immediately noticed the distinctive design pressed into the wax.
His expression softened.
He knew that seal.
Or at least he knew the family behind it.
Salvius.
For a moment, another name came to mind.
Caelum.
His old friend.
He hadn't seen the man's son since Alastair's return had been announced, although he had intended to arrange a meeting several times. Political responsibilities, family matters, and the constant flow of Ministry affairs had repeatedly interfered.
Now, apparently, the boy had decided to make the first move.
Greengrass broke the seal and unfolded the invitation.
At first glance, it appeared to be a conventional invitation to the opening of a business.
Then he began reading the wording.
His expression changed.
This wasn't written like an invitation from a young businessman seeking wealthy clients.
There was something more personal about it.
The tone reminded him of the way a younger member of a family might invite an older relative to witness an important achievement. There was respect without excessive formality, and beneath the carefully chosen words was an unmistakable sense that Alastair wanted the older generation to see what he had accomplished.
Greengrass smiled faintly.
"So you've learned about your father's friendships."
He leaned back in his chair.
It seemed that Alastair understood considerably more about his family history than Greengrass had initially assumed.
The boy had inherited more than his father's name.
He had inherited his ability to build relationships.
Greengrass looked once more at the invitation.
"I suppose it's about time I met him."
He placed the letter carefully beside the other documents on his desk.
"Prepare my response. I'll attend."
The house-elf bowed.
"Yes, master."
Similar scenes unfolded across Britain.
At several noble estates, invitations bearing the Arclight Beacon seal were opened with curiosity.
For some, it was an opportunity to meet the returning heir of House Black.
For others, it was an opportunity to meet the mysterious young heir of House Salvius.
For businessmen, it was the chance to see a product that could potentially transform the entertainment market.
For Ministry officials, it was an opportunity to understand what might become a significant new commercial venture.
For the noble families, however, there was another consideration.
Who else would be there?
That question alone was enough to convince several undecided guests to accept.
Nobody wanted to be the one influential family that failed to attend an event where every other important household had chosen to appear.
By the end of the week, the invitation list had begun generating whispers throughout wizarding society.
The opening of Arclight Beacon was no longer being discussed as the launch of a small shop.
It was becoming an event.
And neither Alastair nor Blake had yet revealed what exactly they intended to show Britain when the doors finally opened.