A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts - Chapter 467: A Starkly Different Attitude

A loud gasp echoed through the conference room as the wizard who had been inquiring about discounts for his granddaughter’s new products slid from his chair to the floor. He cursed under his breath, but no one paid him any mind. The room resembled a bustling market, even Professor Marchbanks looked astounded by Dumbledore’s presence.

“Are you sure he’s truly returned? Dumbledore, I mean… really back?” Amelia Bones’ face, beneath a single lens of her glasses, wore a serious expression.

Dumbledore gently shook his head. Bones’ tense posture relaxed, her thick eyebrows finding their proper place once more.

“So, we have time to prepare,” she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Provided we don’t turn a blind eye and act as if nothing has happened—”

“Enough, Dumbledore!” Fudge shouted, his face flushed, spit flying, seemingly oblivious to it all. “Stop spreading this atmosphere of terror! There’s no evidence he’s truly back… no signs of his return!”

“The evidence is right under your nose, Fudge. You just need to take a moment to look down,” Dumbledore said.

“Where?”

“Barty Crouch—”

“Ah-ha! Knew you’d bring that up!” Fudge rudely adjusted his collar, his face and neck reddening with anger. He stood, squashing his hat in his hand, waving his arms passionately. “Gentlemen, ladies, let me elucidate on this so-called evidence, and you’ll see how absurd it is—”

Members of the Wizengamot stared as Fudge paced the room, speaking loudly.

“Barty Crouch! I didn’t want to bring it up, involved as it is with scandal, but— former Head of the International Magical Cooperation Department, committed a serious breach of duty twelve years ago, pulled his damn Death Eater son out of prison, hoodwinked everyone! Barty Crouch used Polyjuice Potion to swap his wife and son, eluding even the Dementors… I admit there are flaws at Azkaban, and we’re considering adding a Thief’s Cascade to erase all charms and effects—”

Fudge abruptly halted. Clutching his hat tightly in one hand and leaning on a chair with the other, he said, “Think about it! His actions were insane. A murderer over a dozen years ago, he’s so… evil! Not much better than those Death Eaters.”

“Cornelius,” Amelia frowned, “Barty did indeed err, but according to his testimony, his wife was in a critical state, and he couldn’t resist her final plea—”

“Not just that!” Fudge interrupted, “Barty Crouch’s crimes aren’t limited to that. He drove his own son mad!”

Silence fell in the room, only broken by Fudge’s heavy breathing. He seemed like a dangerous gladiator, not in the Ministry’s chamber but an ancient arena, poised to fight anyone who dared challenge him.

He had met his match in Dumbledore, who sat calmly with his hands crossed on the table, watching Fudge with interest. “Interesting perspective, Fudge. I’m increasingly intrigued by your thoughts. Pray, continue.”

Fudge, seemingly aggravated by Dumbledore’s serene expression, raised his voice as if enchanted with a Sonorus charm.

“I have evidence too, Dumbledore. If you choose to believe Barty Crouch, you must believe it all, right?” Fudge wore an odd smile, having prepared extensively for this day, speaking effortlessly now.

His small eyes fixed on Dumbledore, who met his gaze without flinching. Dumbledore seemed to exude an indescribable force, prompting Fudge to avert his eyes.

“The Imperius Curse… yes, everyone, have you considered how Barty Crouch controlled his son? To conceal his crimes, to climb higher in the Ministry, he subjected his son to the Imperius Curse, keeping the young Crouch confined beneath an Invisibility Cloak for twelve years!”

“He got what he deserved, that little Death Eater!” Professor Marchbanks exclaimed. “He was complicit in the torture of the Longbottoms, utterly despicable. If not for Felix,” she glanced quickly to her side, “that poor couple would still be in St. Mungo’s, barely living.”

“I know,” Fudge said impatiently, “I assure you, I have no sympathy for that Death Eater. My uncle perished in the war; I detest them as much as you do! I merely wish to tell you, Barty Crouch has gone mad, long gone, not the man you imagine. Someone who consistently uses an Unforgivable Curse for twelve years, what becomes of their soul? Hm?”

Felix looked surprised at Fudge’s insight, finding a whole new layer to Fudge’s character. His resistance and stubbornness widened Felix’s perspective. Fudge’s strategy was convincing: first, expose Crouch’s crimes, painting Crouch as a dangerous criminal, and then justify young Crouch’s behavior, although flawed. It was a compelling story, with some loopholes, yet a compelling narrative nonetheless. If Felix guessed correctly, Fudge was about to dismantle Crouch’s entire testimony—

“Barty Crouch is insane!” Fudge exclaimed, “His reappearance was met with severe torment, both mentally and physically!” He looked at Amelia Bones, “You understand this, don’t you?”

“Barty Crouch did endure inhuman torment, but—” Bones cautiously started.

“St. Mungo’s confirmed his condition!” Fudge immediately turned to Doris Purkiss, “Your therapist… he admitted Barty Crouch was under severe Confundus and memory tampering!”

Purkiss nodded slowly. Several members of the Wizengamot seemed swayed, expressing a mix of sympathy and regret.

“That’s the truth!” Fudge waved his hat, “No mysterious figure! No war!” He placed the hat back on his head, smiling at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore smiled back. He even clapped a few times. “Fudge, your stories are all built on imagination—”

“So, you have evidence?” Fudge asked eagerly.

Dumbledore calmly responded, “If you’re expecting evidence of Voldemort standing before you,” Fudge shrank at the name, Dumbledore continued, “then, no, I don’t. But I’m happy to share some facts and my speculations based on them.”

“So, you’re spinning tales too, Dumbledore? I’m busy and not interested in these—”

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore interrupted.

“What—unfortunately?” Fudge gasped, as if Dumbledore had brandished a wand at him.

“Forgive me, Fudge, I am the Chief Wizard of Wizengamot. Despite your role as Minister, as per protocol, you’re a member of Wizengamot and must hear me out,” Dumbledore said, and Fudge stared as if someone had lashed out at him.

Felix sat quietly, pondering. If Dumbledore intended to reveal all about Voldemort’s secrets, he wouldn’t believe it. He leaned towards Dumbledore’s plan to issue a warning, but to what extent?

“Where do I begin?” Dumbledore spoke softly. “Fourteen years ago, that night, Voldemort, with the aid of a traitor, entered the Potters’ safe house, killed them, but failed before baby Harry Potter. His Killing Curse rebounded, ro

bbing Voldemort of his physical form. No one saw him after that night.”

Dumbledore paused, surveying the room, a calm demeanor enveloping the chamber.

“Then, as days turned into weeks, and weeks into years, whispers began among those who felt his return imminent. He was a shadow—subtle, cunning, and patient, waiting for the right moment, right followers. His methods were not without error, leaving traces… smaller incidents,” Dumbledore continued, emphasizing each word with precision.

Fudge’s expression shifted, showing signs of irritation and impatience. “Get to the point, Dumbledore! What’s your evidence?”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore nodded, “the prophecy. Heard by Severus Snape, overheard by another. The Dark Lord sought to mark his equal; thus, Harry Potter became his target. But the prophecy also foretold that neither could live while the other survives. Voldemort knows of this prophecy, for Severus delivered it to him. He acted upon it, seeking Harry Potter.”

“Rubbish!” Fudge exclaimed.

“Alas, the prophecy is genuine,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring Fudge’s outburst. “Voldemort might not have returned in flesh, but he’s risen in influence and power. His followers have been gradually regrouping, awaiting his instructions. Pettigrew’s resurrection, a riddle to all but a few, was part of his design.”

Fudge frowned. “Pettigrew’s resurrection? You’re inventing these stories now, Dumbledore!”

“I assure you, I am not,” Dumbledore replied calmly.

The room was silent, the tension palpable. Dumbledore’s words hung heavily in the air, the weight of their implications sinking in. Felix watched as the once bustling chamber became a stage for a battle of narratives. It was no longer just about evidence; it was about belief.

“Back to the point, I read in the paper about an expedition team that caught wind of the terrifying tales in the Albanian Forest. Strange deaths of small animals and livestock, behaving oddly before their demise. An eight-year-old swore he saw a snake reading a newspaper with moving pictures.”

“Do we all understand what this might imply?” Dumbledore addressed the group.

Tabulous Ogden grumbled discontentedly, “Which foolish wizard casually left the paper around?”

“This doesn’t necessarily signify anything…” Fudge stubbornly asserted. “It could be an Animagus from another country, coincidentally in snake form.”

“I checked, they were possessed,” Dumbledore stated.

“What—what?”

“Posessed,” Dumbledore repeated, “It doesn’t explain everything. It could be a malevolent spirit, but I must remind you, it might also be someone who has lost power. I continue investigating in the forest… I found a large pit filled with animal carcasses, mostly rodents and snakes. Lots of snakes, in fact. I tried unraveling the mystery and at one point, I thought I saw a familiar figure, tattered, turned into a specter. But I haven’t seen him since.”

“You mean that thing… he’s avoiding you?” Amelia Bones asked seriously.

“I believe so,” Dumbledore nodded slightly. “I persuaded nearby households to relocate and asked the local wizard pub’s owner to keep an eye on the specter. And so it went on for over a decade. I gathered more information, solidifying my speculations.”

“But if it is indeed that person, why hide in the Albanian Forest for over a decade?” Amelia Bones inquired.

“Exactly! I’d like to know that—”

“I’m afraid I can only offer some speculation,” Dumbledore said.

“Your speculation holds weight,” Mrs. Bones acknowledged, some wizards in the room nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads.

“I believe—before I make any assumptions, I need to remind you, Voldemort has been greatly weakened, more limited than a ghost, even. His flaw is he can’t suppress strong resistance for long, so he’s more inclined to possess simple minds, especially snakes. He has a peculiar influence over them.”

“Snake-tongued,” Mrs. Bones grimly remarked.

“Exactly. Perhaps in the years of his weakened state, he hoped some Death Eater would find him, help him regain power… but he was disappointed, ruling through fear, destined to fail,” Dumbledore spoke softly. “Of course, a few loyal to him ended up in Azkaban.”

“Little Barty Crouch, Lestrange!” Mrs. Bones exclaimed.

Felix’s mind raced; he felt a tug, the first time during the conversation with Neville when he thought about Azkaban and Dementors. He had failed to grasp a crucial point – Azkaban was a prison, housing various criminals.

Leaning back in his chair, he gazed at the ceiling, deep in thought. Dumbledore’s voice turned into background noise, sparking inspiration…

“About four years ago, Voldemort possessed a professor at Hogwarts, tried to get the Philosopher’s Stone… finally stopped by Harry Potter and his friends… the Stone destroyed.”

“Over a year ago, presumed dead war hero Pettigrew reappeared, along with a Death Eater—later revealed to be young Crouch. Ordered to infiltrate the school, but before their conspiracy could unfold, they were discovered by Harry Potter and his friends. A fight broke out on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, thanks to the timely intervention of the once-accused-as-a-Death-Eater Sirius Black and two school professors, they survived.”

“Unfortunately, these people almost died at the hands of rogue Dementors.” Dumbledore’s tone turned severe; Fudge shrunk, Umbridge hiding behind files. “Pettigrew died that night, by a Dementor’s kiss… he repented at the end, admitting to betraying the Potters, and he said one thing.”

The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath, watching Dumbledore.

“He said: He’s coming back, that person whose name we can’t even mention, he’s coming back. I’ve done wrong, forgive me—”

“What!” Mrs. Bones gasped, staring at Fudge incredulously. “No one told me about this! Did you impose a gag order?”

Fudge stuttered, wiping sweat, finally blurting out, “What do you want me to do? Lock down everything over some meaningless words? Undo all the peace we’ve worked for over these years?”

“Peace isn’t feigned,” Felix smiled, finally understanding.

Azkaban, Dark Wizard, Death Eaters… Voldemort, resurrection… and Dumbledore.

All of this pieced together a speculation. If Dumbledore inflicted fatal wounds on Voldemort multiple times, if Voldemort was incredibly weak and reliant on others’ help, his options would be limited.

This person had to be a Death Eater, fiercely loyal to Voldemort, believing in his ideals. Only then could they gain Voldemort’s limited trust and the honor of assisting the “great Dark Lord” with injuries or even a resurrection ritual.

If this person had evaded capture post-war, they couldn’t have stayed inactive for over a decade; they must have been in Azkaban.

Would they know more, like about Horcruxes?

Of course, Voldemort was extremely selfish; he wouldn’t allow anyone, even a loyal servant offering their life, to know about Horcruxes. He might have used a spell to safeguard the secret, a forgetfulness charm or confusion charm could achieve that…

Fudge glared at Felix, his expression stubborn.

“Towards this year, the signs became clearer,” Dumbledore said. “Several disappearances occurred. Bertha Jorkins vanished from Voldemort’s last hideout, then a Muggle. Frank Bryce, living in the village of Voldemort’s father’s birth. I read about it in the newspaper, remember? I read Muggle papers… and Crouch, if not rescued, could have been another disappearance.”

“Dumbledore, what you’re saying is speculation, perhaps mere coincidence!”

“I have a witness,” Dumbledore said gravely.

Fudge glanced quickly, almost twisting his neck in the speed, others also turned to Dumbledore, Fudge muttering, “You’re not suggesting it’s Barty Crouch, his testimony is unreliable—”

“What about his house-elf?” Dumbledore politely asked, waving his wand, and suddenly, Dobby and Winky appeared in the office.

Dobby seemed bewildered, but Winky adjusted quickly to the setting. They both bowed deeply, saying, “Good day, gentlemen wizards.”

Everyone stared—not because of Dumbledore’s magic but because both wore well-kept clothing. They understood:

These were two free house-elves.

>

You can access more chapters from HERE by joining my Patreon community. You’ll gain exclusive early access to the COMPLETE NOVEL.

As a member of my Patreon community, here is what you’ll get:

• Early access to the COMPLETE NOVEL.
• You also get access to all the novels I’m translating, you can find them here HERE.
• You Get Ad-free Chapters.
• Plus, you can Cancel your membership at any time.