"Once again, Miss Skeeter, you misinterpreted my words," he barked. "The Ministry's top priority has always been the welfare of its citizens - especially the children. This is why we sent our Inquisitors to Hogwarts in the first place. If I had known any inkling of what Umbridge was doing there, I would have removed her immediately. Indeed, once we received the report, I sent an urgent letter to recall her back to the Ministry."
Alongside Dolores, he would give up his fortune to have whoever had sent over the mountain of incriminating evidence against the woman and himself to the press. Copies of their private correspondence, her proclamations that she was acting in the Minister's name! And she was, but that was besides the point. Such blatant portrayals of policies were not fit for the public eye, it was all being blown out of proportion now. His government was being accused of racism. It made him look bad!
France had barely agreed to join the Triwizard Tournament, if they backed out because of this, it would be a disaster. There were already enough concerns over safety, if it got out that a Ministry official tortured three twelve-year-olds - the whole thing could be canceled!
No, it could not happen. Fudge had already sunk so much into this bloody Tournament. Millions of Galleons, several important favors, and his entire reputation leading up to the upcoming election.
"Sir? My apologies, Lord Malfoy is here to see you," an assistant said, knocking on the door.
"Excellent, send him in. I believe we were just about finished, Miss. Skeeter?"
"Yes, yes. Minister," she huffed and began to gather her things. The article spinning around in her head would not be a good one. Lucius knocked once and entered. "Lord Malfoy, would you care to give a statement -"
"Leave."
Her face went magenta and she shuffled out of the room without complaint. Well, the Prophet was a problem for future Cornelius to deal with, right now all he could do was try to fix things.
"You wished to see me, Cornelius?"
"Oh, Lucius! I'm so glad you could make it. I need your assistance. This is all turning into quite a disaster. We must ensure the World Cup and the Tournament run as smoothly as possible. I had an idea to get some perfect PR but it will require some careful maneuvering -"
...
Dumbledore tapped the joint against his crystal ashtray and released a long breath of smoke from his lungs. He did not smoke often, but it was summer break and he'd been having a particularly shitty time of things.
First Moody was making a fuss, acting stranger than usual, and calling the aurors to his home. It was frustrating enough to have to fill several positions deemed necessary by the Ministry, including a host of teacher's aides and various faculty. But with Moody now acting every bit the senile post-retiree, and the Ministry beating down his back, Moody suddenly looking unqualified for the role was enough to encourage Dumbledore back to his secret coping habit. There were so few qualified candidates for the new History Professor, that he'd really had no choice but to move Remus to that role. And he hardly had people begging for the job, so Moody would have to do, damn it.
Then there was that whole mess with Umbridge that had led to Minerva and himself chugging whiskey like it was water. He'd received a very generous budget as a result and went ahead and hired a counselor as well since a good fifty students had been unfortunate enough to witness that event unfold. Merlin knew they were overdue for some mental health services at the school.
Speaking of health services, he took a look at his clock and noticed he had a few more minutes. He savored another drag. Yes, everything was fine, happy thoughts, Albus.
He pondered over his biggest issue as he smoked.
Voldemort was undoubtedly regaining his power, and Harry Potter was an absolute unknown.
When Mister Potter had regaled him with the story of the Chamber, revealing what could only be a horcrux, Dumbledore had panicked.
He had not been able to confirm his suspicions until last term, when he'd totally on purpose and not by accident cursed himself securing the Gaunt family ring. (He was not dying, thank you, well no more in the sense that everyone's dying if you think about it.) Anyway, shriveled hand and unspeakable pain aside, he was fine, except that he had a bunch of horcruxes to get rid of and again, the ministry was being a pain, and now he had all this international scrutiny to deal with what with the Tournament and so he could hardly slip away to go horcrux hunting!
He took another drag. This was medicinal and legal. He was completely fine.
His fireplace chimed with an incoming floo, and Dumbledore grumpily vanished the joint and ashtray and muttered a quick spell to dissipate the smell from the room.
.....
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