0794 Explanations

The crowd stirred uneasily, and many people had already anticipated this in their hearts. The seed of this dread had been planted earlier in the day when the dark witch who had gained notorious reputation in recent years, Cliodna had suddenly undergone shocking transformation from Moody into her true appearance.

The transformation had caused quite a commotion among the spectators and officials. When she had faced capture, she had done something completely unexpected, instead of fighting, she had smiled and then she had spoken those words.

The mystery of her behavior troubled the minds of everyone who had witnessed it.

Why would a witch who was supposedly in league with Voldemort choose to give such a warning?

The logic seemed flawed, almost contradictory. If she had indeed escaped from Azkaban and was working in service to Voldemort, then why reveal herself at all?

Why emerge from the perfect disguise of Alastor Moody’s to show her true face to the very people who would immediately recognize her as a wanted criminal? And most puzzling of all, why hadn’t she resisted capture?

Perhaps, many reasoned with the desperate hope of those seeking to avoid confronting an uncomfortable truth, she had simply wanted to create panic and chaos throughout the wizarding world.

From a dark wizard’s twisted perspective, such behavior would be reasonable, after all, what did servants of darkness fear more than a world remaining peaceful and secure?

The stability of their society was disgusting to those who thrived on fear and uncertainty. Even some members of Hogwarts’ faculty, such as Professor McGonagall, couldn’t help but think this way.

But there were others present who had knowledge that made such comfortable self-deception impossible. Dumbledore, Madam Bones from the Ministry of Magic, Severus, and some others, they knew very clearly that Cliodna wasn’t lying.

And now, adding his voice to this growing sound of terrible truth, stood Harry Potter who had disappeared into the depths of the Black Lake hours ago and returned bringing the most terrifying news imaginable: “Voldemort has returned.”

This was the “Boy Who Lived,” the one who had defeated Voldemort and saved the British wizarding world from dire straits.

Fudge gripped his bowler hat tightly, his cheeks flushed red, his chest heaving violently as if he wanted to explode, but he restrained this impulse.

Fudge looked left and right at the bewildered faces surrounding him—including the Aurors, the Ministry’s elite. These people looked at him with confusion, as if waiting for him to make a decision about how to handle the situation.

“Huff. Huff.”

Sweat rolled down Fudge’s forehead, and his face showed signs of turning from red to purple.

The Dark Lord had returned. The simple statement contained within it a universe of terrible consequences that Fudge’s mind could barely begin to process.

This meant chaos would return to the wizarding world like a plague spreading through a healthy population. It meant slaughter on a scale that the current generation could barely remember, having grown up in the peace that followed Voldemort’s first defeat.

It meant death stalking the corridors of power and the homes of ordinary citizens, striking without warning or mercy. Most terrifying of all, it meant war, not just any conflict, but a war against an enemy who had proven capable of bringing the entire magical community to its knees through fear alone.

And Fudge knew that he and his Ministry could not handle such a crisis independently. They would be forced to rely on Harry Potter, the young man who had somehow managed to defeat the Dark Lord once before while still in diapers.

They would have to depend on Albus Dumbledore. They would even need to bow their heads and seek assistance from Bryan Watson, the man who seemed to appear at every crucial moment with solutions that the Ministry itself could not provide.

The political consequences were as terrifying to Fudge as the magical ones. Accepting the truth of Voldemort’s return would mean admitting that his government had been caught completely unprepared, that all their assurances of safety and security had been nothing more than comforting lies.

It would mean handing over control of the crisis to people who were not obligated to the Ministry’s authority, acknowledging that their capabilities exceeded his own in every way.

Fudge tugged nervously at his collar, the gesture providing no relief from the suffocating sensation that seemed to be crushing his chest from within.

Every thought that passed through his increasingly panicked mind made him feel as though he were drowning in responsibilities he was utterly unprepared to handle. He was aware that many people were watching him with expectation and concern, waiting for the British Minister of Magic’s decision.

The pressure was unbearable, and in his desperation, Fudge chose the path that politicians throughout history have often selected when faced with inconvenient truths—denial.

“I’m sure you must have had quite a fright, my dear boy, quite a terrible ordeal indeed,” Fudge said, forcing his face into what he hoped resembled a reassuring smile.

“A dangerous criminal who should have been locked away in Azkaban managed to escape and caused this terrible accident. Such things are bound to cause confusion and distress in young minds.”

As he spoke, Fudge’s eyes kept darting toward Bryan Watson with a combination of expectation and fury.

Watson was supposed to be supporting the Ministry’s position, supposed to be backing up their official stance on these matters. After all, hadn’t this entire situation been orchestrated according to the plan that Watson had helped create, using a “fake” to deceive the public. But now Watson wasn’t saying anything, leaving the Ministry to face this alone!

“In this most regrettable matter, the Ministry bears full responsibility for the security breach that allowed this incident to occur,”

Fudge continued, his political instincts taking over.

“We will implement the strictest possible surveillance measures to ensure that the dark witch responsible cannot cause further harm to innocent citizens. You brought everyone back safely, Harry, and that was well done—truly heroic behavior that deserves recognition. I think awarding you an Order of Merlin, Second Class, would be totally appropriate.”

Fudge paused, his forced smile becoming even more strained as he prepared to address the elephant in the room—Harry’s claim about Voldemort’s return. “But as for this business about… the Dark Lord having returned? Ha ha!”

The laugh that came from Fudge’s lips was so obviously false that it fooled no one present.

“That’s completely impossible, isn’t it? Absolutely preposterous!” Fudge’s voice took on the false heartiness. “We all know that you’re the one who defeated him thirteen years ago, Harry. The Dark Lord is completely finished, permanently defeated.

I think Professor McGonagall’s suggestion is quite sensible, you should go to the hospital wing for a thorough check-up immediately. It’s absolutely necessary after what you’ve been through. You see, you’re clearly experiencing hallucinations brought on by trauma and exhaustion.”

“Cornelius—” Madam Bones said with some concern and helplessness, but Fudge suddenly turned his head. He put on the full dignity of the Minister of Magic, glaring fiercely at Bones, intimidating her into momentary silence.

“That wasn’t a hallucination!” Harry looked at Fudge with an expression of complete astonishment. He couldn’t understand why the Minister of Magic would so absurdly think he was talking nonsense. Couldn’t he see old Barty Crouch lying on the ground?

“Voldemort really has returned. He… he started as an ugly dwarf, then used magic… Someone was helping him—it was Barty Crouch, his son, Barty Crouch Jr.!”

Harry was furious. Fudge had no idea what they had actually seen and experienced. He had barely escaped with his life, and Fudge was saying his mind was confused.

“Ah, ha ha, Barty Crouch Junior!” Fudge’s response was to throw back his head and laugh with exaggerated amusement that was clearly intended to make Harry’s claims seem ridiculous to the crowd.

He looked around at the faces surrounding them, putting on the ridiculous expression of someone who had heard an absurd joke.

“Barty Crouch Junior… how absolutely absurd! How completely preposterous!”

Fudge’s voice dripped with condescension as he addressed Harry as if speaking to a small child who had just claimed to have seen dragons in the garden.

“That person died in Azkaban prison thirteen years ago, Mr. Potter, which is a matter of public record that anyone can verify. Given the obvious trauma you’ve suffered, I sincerely and strongly suggest that you spend some considerable time at St. Mungo’s Hospital, because you’ve clearly begun talking complete and utter nonsense!”

“If you ask me, you’re the one whose mind has become completely confused!” Sirius’s voice exploded across the shore like thunder in anger.

He rushed to Harry’s side, putting one hand on Harry’s shoulder, not caring that Fudge was his superior, and glared at him angrily.

“You know Harry isn’t lying. You know Voldemort has returned, but you turn a blind eye. You’re nothing but a complete coward!”

Before the ashen-faced Fudge could lash out at Sirius, Dumbledore called out warningly. Then Dumbledore looked toward Bryan, who had changed from his usual sharpness and maintained a quiet demeanor.

A flash of helplessness passed through Dumbledore’s blue eyes, but he suppressed this emotion in his heart and said to Fudge:

“Perhaps we could listen to what Harry and his companions actually experienced before making any definitive comments or judgments about their mental state, Cornelius,”

Dumbledore said. “However, this shore beside the lake is not the appropriate place for such a sensitive conversation. Let us adjourn to the castle where we can speak privately Come along, Harry, and Ron and Hermione.”

Dumbledore suddenly became assertive and decisive. He waved his wand to conjure several stretchers, had Harry and the others all lie on them, then also convinced Fleur to let Gabrielle lie on a stretcher too.

Looking at Barty, who had lost his life, a trace of sorrow flashed across Dumbledore’s aged face, but he quickly adjusted his emotions, had the unconscious Winky lie on top of Barty, and led them all toward the castle.

The Ministry group was all waiting for Fudge’s instructions. Fudge seemed to want to just walk away and not listen to Harry’s “nonsense”, but Barty was still the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, a high official of the Ministry. He had to find out how he had died.

Earlier, because of Cliodna’s appearance, all students had been confined to the castle and forbidden to go outside. Filch was guarding them in the entrance hall.

When they saw Dumbledore leading everyone up the marble steps, the students crowded in the entrance hall all rushed back, but they craned their necks curiously.

The return of Harry, Hermione, and the others made the Gryffindor students cheer, but the man with his head hanging over the edge of the stretcher, with a ghastly wound on his neck, made the students shudder.

“It’s Barty Crouch!” Fred whispered to those students standing near him.

“All Aurors and faculty members, please maintain your positions and establish a security perimeter in the Great Hall,” Bryan Watson said, finally breaking his long silence as the group made its way up the castle’s main staircase.

In the British wizarding world, Bryan Watson had built up considerable authority and respect over the course of many years.

Hearing his instruction, the Aurors instinctively stopped their forward progress and immediately began taking up defensive positions throughout the Great Hall.

But this automatic compliance with Watson’s orders did not go unnoticed by the political figures present. Glimpsing this scene—seeing highly trained Ministry personnel immediately accept to Watson’s authority without even glancing toward their official superiors for confirmation—caused the faces of Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, and Rufus Scrimgeour to immediately become very unpleasant indeed, but they said nothing.

Sirius and Remus both followed up, as did Professor McGonagall and Snape, but the Durmstrang students were somewhat at a loss. They desperately wanted to know where their headmaster had gone, but they were just students and didn’t know whether they should stay in the Great Hall or follow upstairs.

“Viktor—” Bryan beckoned to Krum at the bottom of the stairs.

“You come up too, as Durmstrang’s representative to hear what happened to your headmaster.”

Krum nodded both nervously and gratefully, then followed.

Once they reached the appropriate floor, Dumbledore arranged for a separate, private room to serve as a temporary resting place for Bartemius Crouch’s body, ensuring that the dead man would be treated with appropriate dignity while also keeping the disturbing sight away from the young people who had already been traumatized enough for one day.

He made the decision to leave Winky unconscious for the time being, allowing the house-elf to remain with her former master.

Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Gabrielle were all carefully transferred to beds in the castle’s common medical ward, where they could receive proper attention while still being available for the urgent consultation that Dumbledore clearly intended to conduct.

Madam Pomfrey’s face remained pale throughout her examination of the several people, while Professor McGonagall kept clutching her chest, looking anguished. Even though most people had been left downstairs, the common ward was still packed full, with some force compelling everyone to remain quiet and wait—

Madam Pomfrey examined them very carefully. Harry was quite indignant because Madam Pomfrey had lifted his clothes in front of so many people to carefully examine some wounds on his body, but thankfully when it was Hermione’s turn, she considerately drew the curtains around her.

“No serious problems, Albus—” Finally, Madam Pomfrey completed her examination. She spoke with the relieved tone of someone who had survived a disaster:

“They’ve all suffered some physical impact and various minor external injuries, but nothing that threatens their long-term health or well-being. What they need most now is adequate rest and time to process whatever trauma they may have experienced.”

“Albus, surely you can see that they’ve all been through quite enough for one day, haven’t they? They’re just children, and they need rest… ” Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled as she spoke. Her hand remained was pressed against her heart as if she was about to cry.

“No,” Dumbledore said firmly. “I understand your concerns, Minerva, and I share your desire to protect these children from further distress. But we must find out what happened to them as quickly as possible in order to respond accordingly. Speak, Harry. Tell us everything.”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep