The public humiliation of the "Corridor Six" and the subsequent show of parental panic did not go unnoticed at the Ministry. Cornelius Fudge, already on politically unstable ground, saw the incident not as a matter of school discipline, but as another demonstration of Ariana Dumbledore's unnerving and rapidly growing influence. She had, without any official power, become a force that could command the absolute loyalty of her peers and the protective fury of the Hogwarts staff. She was an uncontrolled variable, and Fudge, a man who loathed anything he couldn't control, decided he needed to deal with her directly.
He arrived at Hogwarts unannounced a few days later, his bowler hat in his hand, a forced, ingratiating smile on his face. He requested a "private and informal chat" with Miss Dumbledore. The request was flatly denied.
He found himself instead in the Headmaster's office, facing not just a serene Ariana, but a united and formidable front. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his expression pleasant but his eyes as hard as diamonds. Professor McGonagall stood by the fireplace, her posture rigid with disapproval. And to Fudge's immense dismay, Amelia Bones was also present, having been "coincidentally" at the castle to review its new security protocols.
"Minister," Dumbledore began, his voice deceptively mild. "I was surprised to hear you wished for a private meeting with one of our students. All official matters concerning a minor must, of course, be conducted with a Head of House present." Plus, Dumbledore personally had absolutely no interest in allowing Fudge to even breathe near Ariana.
"And a representative from the DMLE, given the sensitive nature of recent events," Amelia Bones added, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Fudge, realizing he was cornered, abandoned his pretense of a casual chat. He turned to Ariana, his smile now looking more like a pained grimace. "Miss Dumbledore," he said, trying to sound magnanimous. "Your rise has been… remarkable. Your name carries a great deal of weight. Your actions have had… significant impact."
"I have merely responded to developing situations with logical and efficient solutions, Minister," Ariana replied, her voice cool and neutral.
"Yes, well, precisely!" Fudge blustered. "You are a voice of… well, a voice of reason! And in these trying times, the Ministry values reason." He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I'll be frank. The public perception of this business with Potter… it's been difficult. But your public support, your endorsement of the Ministry's position that we must remain calm and not rush to panic… it would be an invaluable asset. It would stabilize things immensely."
He was asking her to join his side, to lend her credibility to his campaign of denial. He was offering her a seat at his table.
"So, my dear girl," he finished, his smile now wide and hopeful. "What will it take? What would it take for the Ministry to have your full support?"
Ariana looked at him. She did not look at him with contempt or anger. She looked at him as a Healer might look at a patient who was stubbornly refusing a life-saving diagnosis.
"Minister," she said calmly. "You are attempting to solve the wrong problem. You are treating this as a public relations issue. It is a national security crisis. Your focus on my 'support' is an inefficient allocation of your attention."
She stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the calm, peaceful grounds of Hogwarts. She had Fudge's complete attention, something perhaps only Lucius could have achieved, so she was going to use it. "Let us engage in a simple thought experiment. We will consider two possible futures. In Future A, you are correct. Voldemort has not returned. You continue your campaign of denial, you silence Dumbledore and Harry, and the world remains at peace. Your legacy is secured as the Minister who maintained stability."
She turned back to face him. "Now, let us consider Future B. In Future B, Harry and Dumbledore are correct. Voldemort has returned. He is currently gathering his strength, recruiting his followers, and planning his assault. You, meanwhile, are spending your time and resources actively dismantling the very defenses that could protect us. You are discrediting the heroes, silencing the warnings, and leaving the wizarding world vulnerable and unprepared."
Her eyes, cool and analytical, locked onto his. "When the inevitable happens, Minister—when Voldemort makes his public reappearance, when the war begins in earnest—what will your legacy be then? You will not be remembered as the Minister who maintained stability. You will be remembered as the fool who let the wolf into the sheepfold. The coward who buried his head in the sand while darkness gathered. Your entire political career, everything you have ever worked for, will be reduced to a single, humiliating footnote in the history of his second rise."
Fudge's face had gone from pink to a pasty, sickly white. Ariana's calm, logical dissection of his potential political annihilation was more terrifying than any threat.
"The only logical course of action," she concluded, "is to prepare for Future B, even if you believe in Future A. To strengthen our defenses is prudent, regardless of the source of the threat. It is the only decision that does not result in your complete and utter ruin."
"But how?" Fudge croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't just go after people based on Dumbledore's suspicions! The old families… the Wizengamot… they would never stand for widespread interrogations! They would fight any attempt to use Veritaserum!"
"Veritaserum is a crude and unreliable tool against a skilled Occlumens," Ariana said dismissively.
"You do not need to interrogate them. You need to secure their loyalty."
"Secure their loyalty? How?"
Ariana laid out her solution. It was simple, elegant, and diabolically clever.
"You will draft a new Ministry Employee Mandate," she explained. "A Loyalty Oath. It will be a magically binding vow, framed not as a test of past allegiances, but as a proactive measure of future commitment to the security of the wizarding world. Every employee of the Ministry, from the department heads down to the junior assistants, will be required to take it."
"A vow?" Amelia Bones said, intrigued.
"A specific kind of vow," Ariana clarified. "It will be framed in positive, patriotic language. 'I swear my primary allegiance to the Ministry of Magic and the laws of wizarding Britain. I swear that I will not knowingly aid, conspire with, or provide support to any individual or organization declared an enemy of the magical state, including but not limited to the entity known as Lord Voldemort.' Simple. Unobjectionable. Perhaps a little more framing is necessary to make sure that the vow is narrowed down."
She continued, her eyes gleaming with a cold, strategic light. "But the true genius will be in the enforcement clause. The vow will be magically configured so that if the oath-taker violates its terms, they are not struck dead or rendered speechless. Instead, the magic of the vow will compel them, irresistibly, to walk directly to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, present themselves to the Head Auror on duty, surrender their wand, and give a full and complete confession of their treasonous acts."
The room was silent. Dumbledore stared at her, a look of profound, almost fearful, awe on his face. She had weaponized the Unbreakable Vow, turning it from a personal promise into an institutional security system.
"No true Death Eater sympathizer could ever take such an oath," Amelia Bones breathed, instantly seeing the brilliance of it. "They would be forced to resign their posts or be exposed the moment they tried to help him. Whatever the crime or alliance may be, the DMLE can be the judge of it's nature."
"And any loyal Ministry employee would have no reason to refuse," Ariana finished. "To do so would be to admit you have something to hide. It is a self-purging system. You will weed out the traitors from your Ministry without ever having to ask a single question or brew a single drop of Veritaserum."
She looked at Fudge, whose mind was reeling, a desperate, political hope dawning in his terrified eyes. She had just handed him a way out. A way to look strong, to secure his ministry, and to prepare for the worst, all without ever having to publicly admit that Dumbledore had been right.
"The choice is yours, Minister," Ariana said, her voice now quiet. "You can continue your current path and gamble your entire legacy on the hope that a dark lord has not returned. Or you can take logical, decisive, and politically defensible action to protect the world you are sworn to lead."
She had laid the trap. She had baited it with his own political survival. And now, all she had to do was wait for him to walk into it.