"Oh, Lucius is here!" Fudge exclaimed with delight after his rounds of introductions.
William turned and saw Lucius Malfoy approaching with his son, Draco.
Lucius held his wand at his side, though his oversized diamond ring—the infamous "pigeon egg"—was notably absent.
Clearly, after recent financial "contributions" to the Ministry, Lucius wasn't in a position to flaunt his wealth as openly.
"Ah, Cornelius," Malfoy extended his hand as he neared the Minister. "Hello. I'm not sure you've met my son, Draco."
"Good to meet you," Fudge said, giving Draco a quick glance. "Now, allow me to introduce you to one of our Order of Merlin honorees."
With a polite smile, Malfoy nodded, clearly unwilling to miss this chance to expand his network, or he wouldn't have come to the ceremony.
He listened to Fudge's introduction, but then his eyes fell on Mr. Weasley, and the polite expression disappeared instantly, replaced by a look of cold disdain.
The two men locked eyes, refusing to break contact for a full twenty seconds, each daring the other to look away first.
Lucius glanced briefly at his wand, and made sure his dove egg was not there. He had no hesitation to show off his dueling skills, which he'd been honing recently.
Mr. Weasley was equally undeterred; he loosened his collar as if ready to shed his new robes and throw down.
But neither made the first move. With Fudge right there, whoever struck first would surely be at a disadvantage. Their gaze held the same taunt: "Come on, I dare you."
"Let's not have that here," Fudge interjected, stepping between them with a tense whisper. "We don't need to be the laughingstock of the international guests!"
Both men snorted in disdain but reluctantly stepped back.
"Arthur, do try to get along with Lucius. He did donate an entire building to the Ministry before Christmas, and I invited him as a distinguished guest."
Fudge patted Mr. Weasley's shoulder, clearly eager to keep the Ministry's wealthy "golden goose" appeased.
"Of course," Mr. Weasley replied with a wry smile. "I am very grateful for Mr. Malfoy's donation, though I imagine he'd rather not spend a few days in Azkaban."
Malfoy's expression darkened. Being shaken down by the Ministry was hardly something he was pleased about, wealth or not.
"Oh dear, Arthur," Malfoy sneered with exaggerated indignation. "Donating a building to the Ministry was something I chose to do. But what did you sell to get an invitation to the Order of Merlin ceremony? Did you sell your house?"
Mr. Weasley's jaw tightened, but he kept his cool.
William, who had remained silent until now, smiled and replied on Mr. Weasley's behalf. "Mr. Weasley doesn't need to sell his house or make donations. I invited him as my guest."
He looked directly at Lucius, his smile unwavering. "Order of Merlin recipients are allowed to bring fourteen guests, though I suppose, Mr. Malfoy, not having earned the honor, you wouldn't know that."
Lucius turned to face William, his eyes cold, clearly recognizing the boy who had recently made headlines. William met his gaze unflinchingly, and Malfoy's lips pressed into a thin line.
Beside him, Draco's hands shook as he glanced at William, memories flooding back of an encounter he'd rather forget.
His lips felt parched as he swallowed and took a few steps back—William's presence was like a living nightmare for him. Since that day, Draco hadn't even touched ice cream.
Lucius glanced briefly at William's parents, and then at Hermione's family. His gaze hardened at the sight of so many Muggle faces.
William's fingers brushed his wand. If Lucius dared to utter any insults, William was ready to give him a lesson right here and now, in full view of the Minister of Magic.
Malfoy seemed to sense the danger and refrained from saying anything offensive. He settled for a mocking sniff toward Mr. Weasley and steered Draco away.
"Take it easy, my boy," Fudge laughed as they walked on. "I imagine Lucius will remember from now on that Order of Merlin recipients can bring fourteen guests."
"And tell me, Minister," a wide, stocky woman on Fudge's left spoke up, "who would you bring to your own ceremony when you receive an Order of Merlin?"
The woman had a broad, loose-skinned face, her short, curly hair adorned with a small black velvet bow. Her voice was sharp and high, almost like a child's.
"What was that?" Fudge turned to her, squinting. "What did you just say?"
"I said that surely it won't be long until you, too, receive an Order of Merlin, Minister," she cooed in a greasy, sweet tone.
Fudge seemed taken aback, as though he was seeing her for the first time.
"Forgive me, you are…?"
"Dolores Umbridge, Minister." Umbridge's face broke into a flattering smile.
"Ah, yes! Now I remember—last year you approached me to help promote some books! And I believe I transferred you to the Auror Office…"
Umbridge's smile became a bit strained. Apparently, her transfer to the Auror Office hadn't gone smoothly.
She was far from meeting the Auror qualifications, and her attempt to use her connections had backfired in an office where prestige alone meant little. Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, was not one to indulge special privileges.
"You mentioned something about me receiving an Order of Merlin?" Fudge asked, as if interested. "Why do you say that?"
Umbridge adopted a shy, girlish manner, lavishing him with praise. "Under your leadership, Minister, the Ministry is thriving. You captured that dreadful Death Eater Tywin, and the development of the Wolfsbane Potion… Surely, you deserve a medal in recognition of your contributions.
"In my opinion minster, the First-Class Order of Merlin suits you well."
Fudge smiled modestly, waving his hand as if dismissing the idea. "Oh, I couldn't… Albus only received a First-Class Order of Merlin in 1945 after defeating Grindelwald—I'm far from worthy of that."
William watched Umbridge closely. It was clear she knew how to endear herself to those in power. Someone with her skillset would no doubt rise quickly.
As expected, Fudge considered her words for a moment.
"Umbridge, is it? I'll remember that. I'll review your record when we return. If the Auror Office isn't a good fit, we'll find you a better placement."
"Oh, thank you, Minister." Her voice was as soft and sweet as ever.
At that moment, the Wizengamot members arrived, each dressed in deep maroon robes adorned with an elegant silver "W" on the left side of their chests.
Dumbledore strode up to the podium, his midnight-blue robes radiating elegance, a broad smile on his face.
His silver hair and beard glistened in the torchlight, his fingers bedecked in brilliant gemstones that spanned all four knuckles on one hand, gleaming enough to make Thanos feel underdressed.
The members of the Wizengamot murmured among themselves as Dumbledore took his place. All eyes turned to him, and two elderly witches in the back row waved in greeting.
As the room quieted, the award ceremony was about to begin.
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