The Muggle Liaison Office handled all matters concerning Muggles. Arthur Weasley's department, the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, fell under its broad umbrella, though the Liaison Office encompassed far more ground.
Fudge had made a genuine overture. More to the point, this was the very department Erwin had targeted from the start. Controlling it would smooth over countless obstacles.
Erwin nodded thoughtfully. "Since Minister Fudge has gone out of his way to extend this invitation, I'd be a fool to turn it down. I'll dispatch a Cavendish representative to the Ministry posthaste. Rest assured, they'll prove worthy of your faith."
A relieved grin spread across Fudge's face. He'd dreaded rejection—that would leave him utterly cornered. Now, with the bribe accepted, Erwin was bound to lend a hand.
Sure enough, Erwin continued smoothly, "Minister, if I may, I've given some thought to your predicament. Nothing groundbreaking, mind you—just a few observations. Take them or leave them; they're the clearest path I see forward."
Fudge leaned in eagerly. "By all means, Mr. Cavendish. Speak freely."
"It's straightforward, really," Erwin said. "You've already pledged to resign publicly if You-Know-Who returns. Backing out now would paint you as a liar, and the backlash would be swift. Even if you clung to the post, the vultures would circle soon enough."
Fudge's expression darkened, but he held his tongue.
Erwin pressed on. "The pure-blood families—and yes, even rising stars like the Cavendishes—could muscle you back in with a bit of pressure and alliances. But whispers would spread: 'Fudge only sits there because the old families propped him up.' Hardly the legacy you want."
Fudge's shoulders slumped. "There must be another way."
Erwin's eyes gleamed. "Of course there is. Hear me out."
Fudge perked up, hanging on every word.
"You-Know-Who's return is no rumor—it's fact," Erwin said. "The Ministry's in a panic. Being Minister isn't a cushy seat at the best of times, but with him stirring, you'd shoulder the blame for any chaos. And let's face it, he's not the sort you cross lightly."
The pieces clicked for Fudge. If You-Know-Who unleashed hell, he'd be the fall guy. More headaches, no doubt.
He bobbed his head vigorously.
Erwin's lips twitched in a knowing smile. Fools like Fudge were a gift—they bent so easily to a nudge.
"The fix is simple, Minister," Erwin went on. "Appoint a proxy, someone utterly loyal, to front the role. You pull the strings from the shadows. Should You-Know-Who resurface, shove them forward to absorb the heat. Then, when the dust settles, reclaim your seat openly. Or, if you prefer, have your puppet step down, citing their own inadequacies, and nominate you as the steady hand the Ministry needs."
Fudge's face lit up like a Lumos charm. It was genius—retaining power without the risk. If disaster struck, he'd dodge the blame entirely. And when the time came, a swift return to glory, courtesy of his stand-in.
"Brilliant, Mr. Cavendish!" Fudge burst out, beaming. "You've given me a lifeline. I won't forget this."
Erwin chuckled. "Best not dally, then. Get your ducks in a row. I won't keep you."
Fudge nodded, gratitude pouring out. "Your guidance means the world. I'll make it right." With that, he bustled off.
Once the door clicked shut, Old Tom sidled up to Erwin.
"Master, Fudge is a right prat—far too self-serving."
Erwin smirked. "Precisely. He dropped the formalities the second he thought he'd outfoxed the trap. Thinks he's dodged a hex."
"And the Muggle Liaison Office?" Old Tom asked.
"That's his olive branch," Erwin replied. "He can't renege now—he knows it. To him, it's the Ministry's dead weight. Little does he realize it's our golden ticket. Send Corent. His talents will shine there at last."
Old Tom inclined his head. "Consider it done. But what of Umbridge? Any shot at the top job?"
Erwin shook his head firmly. "Not this round."
Tom frowned. "Then why bother reaching out to her?"
"Because she won't snag it now doesn't make her worthless," Erwin explained. "Fudge grasps her type all too well—ambitious as sin, just like him. He won't hand her real reins; she's a wild card. But mark my words, in half a year tops, he'll itch to reclaim the Minister's chair. That's when the real games begin, and Umbridge will get her opening."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "She's a schemer. Controlling her could prove tricky."
Erwin laughed outright. "Tricky? Hardly. Umbridge is a half-blood playing pure-blood, preaching blood purity while scorning her own kind. To bury that truth, she even paid off her father, Orford Umbridge, to vanish from wizarding Britain—anything to hush her lineage. Her flaws scream for leverage. Spread the word: track down Orford, her Muggle mother Ellen Cracknell, and that Squib brother of hers."
Old Tom grinned wickedly. "As you command, Master."
...
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