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Cornelius Fudge’s command carried the full weight of the Minister for Magic.
However, the Aurors standing behind him hesitated, clearly reluctant to follow through, after all, most of them had once walked these very corridors as Hogwarts students.
To disarm their former professors?
Who would dare be the first to raise a wand?
Certainly not those raised and trained under the same roof.
But of course, if they wouldn’t do it, someone else would. Noticing their visible discomfort, an elderly witch in a sickly pink cardigan stepped forward, a scowl twisting her features with irritation.
“Didn’t you hear the Minister’s instructions?” She snapped sharply, advancing with clipped steps and a self-important air.
“Umbridge,” Fudge sighed with visible relief, his face brightening as if salvation had arrived in a knitted sweater. “You never fail me when it counts.”
The elderly witch, Dolores Umbridge, had rescued him from embarrassment just in time.
“I live to serve, Minister. My loyalty to you and the Ministry is unwavering. No whisper of rebellion or outside influence shall sway me!” She simpered, her voice sweet yet oily as she moved to confiscate the wands of Professor McGonagall and the man currently wearing Gilderoy Lockhart’s face.
“I believe you must have received flawed intelligence. While a professor has indeed been killed, this tragedy has nothing whatsoever to do with Albus,” McGonagall said cautiously, her voice laced with quiet dignity.
She was clearly weighing her options, whether to hand over her wand and comply. Minerva McGonagall, ever mindful of the larger picture, rarely made decisions based on pride alone. And deep down, she refused to believe that Albus Dumbledore, of all people, could be tangled in something as foul as dark magic rituals.
“Whether there is truth or falsehood, we shall uncover it. The Ministry does not wrongly accuse the innocent, nor will we allow the guilty to go free. I trust you understand, we are simply fulfilling our sworn duty,” Umbridge declared with exaggerated righteousness, though her condescension bled through as she cast a superior glance toward McGonagall.
Though displeased, McGonagall moved as if to comply. However, the man beside her, Grindelwald, hidden beneath Lockhart’s borrowed features, clearly had no intention of indulging Umbridge’s theatrics.
“A wand is as vital to a wizard as breath itself. No one is taking mine,” Grindelwald stated, his voice calm but laced with steel, his expression darkening.
“You dare defy the law?” Umbridge hissed, her smile twisting into something venomous. “Don’t think for a moment that being a celebrated author entitles you to rebel against the Ministry. There will be consequences.”
“Is that a threat?” Grindelwald’s tone turned frostbitten as his gaze bore into hers, sharp, unflinching, and utterly chilling.
Umbridge faltered under his stare. A cold sensation prickled along her spine. Her knees wobbled ever so slightly.
Fear? Rage? Both emotions clashed in her chest. How could this… flamboyant showman provoke such a visceral reaction in her?
She was Dolores Umbridge, after all! A rising star at the Ministry! The Minister’s most trusted confidante!
“If you resist, don’t blame us for what happens next,” She snapped, brandishing her wand like a cudgel. But to Grindelwald, it may as well have been a child’s toy, or a twig fouled by a Hippogriff.
“Don’t escalate this, Professor Lockhart,” McGonagall interjected quickly, trying to deescalate the mounting tension. But Grindelwald remained unshaken.
“There is no law that permits the confiscation of a wizard’s wand without cause or conviction,” He said evenly.
“If these officials presume the right to act above the law, then they are no longer keepers of peace, they are disruptors of it. They pose more danger to our students than any spell gone astray. And I daresay Albus would not fault us for holding our ground.” His voice was soft, yet each word carried the weight of stone and the pull of gravity itself.
McGonagall paused. Then, slowly, she lowered her hand and kept her wand.
“Impressive. The previous Dark Lord really is something else,” Ian thought from the shadows, awestruck. “Even Professor McGonagall was moved by his reasoning.”
Ian wasn’t worried about being caught.
After all, his Disillusionment Charm was nothing short of masterful. At his current level, not even a trained Auror would detect him crouched in the corner, tightly clutching the note Grindelwald had slipped him.
“Has the Ministry gone completely mad? Targeting Dumbledore like this?” Ian still hadn’t moved, despite the note’s instructions.
He was curious, not only about the circumstances surrounding Professor Quirrell’s death, but also at the boldness of the Ministry to make an enemy of Albus Dumbledore so openly.
Something about this wasn’t right.
Everyone knew Cornelius Fudge had long tried to do anything to become Dumbledore’s favorite. Even when Albus had acted against Ministry wishes, Fudge preferred to overlook it, sweeping matters under the rug to avoid a public rift.
Take the Gringotts break-in, for example, the Ministry had scrambled to cover it up, all to avoid provoking Dumbledore.
So this sudden, direct confrontation couldn’t simply be Minister Fudge growing a backbone overnight.
No… this had been orchestrated.
And Ian intended to find out by whom.
“Damn it! Silence! You’re openly defying the Ministry! This is outright rebellion!” Umbridge’s shrill voice made her sound more like a croaking toad in a pink cardigan.
She was used to throwing accusations at anyone like she is doing now to Professor McGonagall and Grindelwald, a tactic that had always worked in the past. But this time, she had finally met her match.
“It’s you who are trampling the law,” Grindelwald said, his tone calm, almost disinterested.
“Enough!” Before Umbridge could respond, Minister Fudge, his face ashen with anger, glared at Grindelwald, as if he were trying to memorise the man’s features.
“This is a Ministry investigation! Every wizard has a duty to cooperate! Don’t think Hogwarts is above the law!” Minister Fudge’s voice was firm, but the undercurrent of tension was palpable.
“I will cooperate, but if you abandon respect for the law, then I will consider your actions as a voluntary forfeiture of the law’s protection,” Grindelwald said smoothly, his words hanging in the air, as if an invisible weight had settled in the room.
The Aurors shifted uncomfortably, unable to breathe easily in the heavy silence.
Just as Umbridge, her face darkening with fury, stepped forward to berate Grindelwald for his arrogance, a familiar voice broke through the tension.
“Fudge, long time no see.”
Albus Dumbledore appeared at the top of the staircase, his purple robes flowing gracefully as he descended. His movements were slow, but no one dared underestimate the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
“Is the Headmaster hiding something?” Ian noted something others missed, Dumbledore’s heartbeat was slightly faster than usual. Perhaps the Headmaster had rushed here on a jog.
Was he here to deal with the Ministry, or was it to protect them? After all, Grindelwald and the Ministry had nearly come to blows earlier.
As Ian pondered this, the Aurors couldn’t help but lower their heads in respect, not daring to meet Dumbledore’s gaze. Minister Fudge, though clearly displeased, restrained himself, aware that Dumbledore was not to be trifled with.
“Albus, long time no see,” Fudge said, his voice betraying a forced smile.
“I heard you’re here to investigate me? Do you believe I had anything to do with Professor Quirrell’s death?” Dumbledore said, walking down the stairs with an air of calmness. His gaze rested on Quirrell’s body, lying outside Snape’s office. He did not seem surprised or confused, though his eyes lingered on Quirrell’s lifeless form for a moment.
Then, Dumbledore’s eyes swept across the room, and Ian, hiding in the corner, felt the weight of his gaze. It wasn’t sharp, but it was significant. Ian immediately understood the message conveyed by Dumbledore’s eyes, it was the same as Grindelwald’s note.
“What’s going on?” Ian didn’t fully grasp what the two older wizards were up to, but reluctantly, he turned and left, heading for the Headmaster’s office on the top floor.
Behind him, the confrontation continued to unfold.
“Albus, you know I’ve always trusted you. After all, you’ve helped me immensely over the years. But the Ministry isn’t something I can control alone,” Fudge continued, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility.
“Someone with considerable influence and authority in the wizarding world has reported you, and we have no choice but to investigate.”
Fudge sighed deeply, the air of helplessness around him unmistakable.
Dumbledore, as always, remained silent, looking at Fudge calmly, his gaze unwavering. The Minister, unable to hold eye contact, shifted uneasily under the older wizard’s steady stare.
“I truly believe in you, Albus. Coming here so publicly was not my intention,” Fudge added, his voice full of feigned sincerity. But those present could hear the politician in his tone.
Everyone knew the Ministry’s efficiency had never been this swift. Quirrell’s body had barely been discovered, yet here they were.
“Someone with considerable authority? Who?” Snape’s voice interrupted, sharp and full of suspicion, as he emerged from his office. Upon seeing Dumbledore, he relaxed slightly, though the concern in his expression was evident.
It wasn’t the Ministry’s accusations that troubled him, it was the secret knowledge they had about Quirrell, and the unsettling mystery surrounding what had disappeared from his body.
“That’s not something you need to know,” Umbridge sneered, looking at Snape with disdain, her voice dripping with scorn.
“Umbridge!” Fudge’s voice rang out, stern, as he gestured for her to step back. He knew better than to provoke Dumbledore. His respect for the Headmaster was one born not of affection, but of fear.
After all, Fudge had witnessed Dumbledore’s true power firsthand. It was because of this very power that he sought to undermine the Headmaster’s influence.
If Dumbledore ever learned of the full extent of Fudge’s manipulation, the Minister would never sleep in peace again. Fudge had made himself a pawn of others, not out of simple loyalty, but because he understood how vast and far-reaching Dumbledore’s influence truly was.
Dumbledore could shield him from the sun and position him as Minister, but who could guarantee that Dumbledore wouldn’t sacrifice him in the future to elevate someone new?
Fudge viewed the position of Minister as the throne of the wizarding world, and that was why he was constantly on edge. No king would want such a kingmaker looming over them.
“As the one being investigated, don’t I have the right to know who has reported me?” Dumbledore walked over to Grindelwald.
He turned to face Fudge and the Aurors.
“I assure you, Albus, no one will slander or falsely accuse you. We will only seek the truth and put an end to any rumours that may arise,” Fudge responded.
“Not only to clear your name, but also to ensure that I am not accused of favouritism as Minister, since everyone knows of our… good relationship,” Fudge added, sidestepping Dumbledore’s question. He was clearly unwilling to reveal the informant.
“Of course, I understand the difficulties you face, and we trust in the Ministry’s authority. But since this is an investigation targeting me, please do not trouble the other professors,” Dumbledore said calmly, his expression sincere.
This caused Fudge to breathe a sigh of relief.
The psychological pressure on him was immense.
“Of course.”
Fudge made no further mention of confiscating the professors’ wands or trying to take Dumbledore’s. He had initially hoped to intimidate the Hogwarts professors, after all. They rarely respected his authority, and making them uncomfortable in front of the Aurors would have reinforced his power over them. Since that tactic had failed, he decided to let it go.
There would be other opportunities in the future.
“Examine this body and determine the cause of death for this poor victim,” Fudge ordered, gesturing to Quirrell’s body.
The Aurors didn’t hesitate this time and began their work. Before proceeding, they respectfully greeted Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape in low tones.
Their manners were impeccable.
“If anyone claims Dumbledore killed Quirrell, they’re speaking utter nonsense,” Professor McGonagall muttered, casting a quick glance at Dumbledore standing beside her.
Her words were also a subtle reminder to Dumbledore about the situation at hand.
But Dumbledore remained composed.
“I trust Fudge and these capable Aurors will uncover the truth,” Dumbledore said quietly, his gaze shifting to Grindelwald.
Grindelwald gave a slight nod in agreement.
“Exactly, that’s how it should be. It’s good that you understand our difficulties,” He added.
Fudge looked visibly relieved.
“There are traces of dark magic rituals,” One of the Aurors said, carefully examining the magical residue. “I believe this professor was sacrificed alive before his death, but as for the purpose…” The Auror hesitated.
His words didn’t surprise the professors, as Snape had already reached the same conclusion.
“What was the purpose? Don’t hold back! We’re the Ministry!” Umbridge interjected eagerly, clearly trying to draw attention to herself.
“We can only confirm that it was a dark magic ritual requiring a live sacrifice,” the Aurors responded, offering no further clarification.
This only disappointed Umbridge, though Fudge’s eyes glinted with hidden excitement at the vague answer. However, Umbridge, who had thrust herself in front of Fudge, didn’t notice.
“Wasn’t it to resurrect someone?” She pressed, her voice loud and insistent.
Her tone was brash, fearless, like that of a warrior.
“Enough! Stop spouting nonsense!” Professor McGonagall snapped, her temper fraying. “If there were truly a dark magic ritual capable of bringing the dead back to life, do you really think the Death Eaters would still be lying low?”
“Use that head of yours, which even a troll would shake its head at, and think about it!” Snape added, unable to restrain himself. His mocking tone was unusual for him, especially considering he had brought up the sensitive issue of the Death Eaters.
It was clear that both Professor McGonagall and Snape shared a deep disdain for Umbridge.
“I’m not asking you to answer me! I’m asking our Aurors to make a judgment!” Umbridge fumed, her eyes blazing with anger as she turned on Snape and Professor McGonagall.
“Especially you! How dare you mention Death Eaters?” She spat, her voice laced with fury. She seemed ready to threaten Snape at any moment.
“Even if there was a dark magic ritual that could resurrect the dead, how does that prove that our Headmaster killed a professor and performed this ritual?” Grindelwald suddenly spoke, his eyes narrowing at Umbridge.
“Let’s all calm down and focus on the facts. We’re all here to find the truth, so let’s not turn this into a tense standoff. Perhaps we should take this professor’s body back to the Ministry for further examination,” He suggested, attempting to mediate.
Fudge seized the opportunity to play the role of peacemaker.
He didn’t expect to eliminate Dumbledore; he simply wanted leverage. This way, he could prevent certain things he didn’t want to see happen and have bargaining power when dealing with Dumbledore. His hope was to ensure that the most powerful wizard of the century wouldn’t discard him for someone else.
“He certainly has a motive!” Umbridge declared, but her lack of political tact was evident. She clearly couldn’t read the room.
Fudge’s words made her realise she needed to step up as the villain.
“Oh?”
Grindelwald elongated the sound, provoking Umbridge further.
“Perhaps Albus Dumbledore can bury his past from others, but the Ministry can unearth it. He has attempted more than once to find a way to resurrect his deceased sister…”
Umbridge’s words were cut short.
“Bang~”
The magic flared, and she was sent flying against the wall, coughing and spitting blood, indicating at least a few broken ribs.
“Shut your filthy mouth!”
The one who acted was Snape.
His hands trembled.
After casting the spell, he nervously glanced at Dumbledore, having noticed a chilling look in the Headmaster’s eyes beneath his crescent-shaped glasses. As one of the few who understood Dumbledore well, Snape acted decisively to prevent Dumbledore from losing control.
“Damn it! How dare you attack a Ministry official! You’re all insane!” Umbridge shrieked as she struggled to rise, her voice piercing.
However, the expected support from Minister Fudge didn’t come. He remained silent, not even reprimanding Snape for his attack.
Fudge could sense the tension; he hadn’t come to provoke Dumbledore but to find leverage, not to anger him and seek death.
“What do you want…?”
Umbridge realised that Dumbledore had somehow appeared right in front of her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes sharp like an eagle’s.
“You shouldn’t be asking me what I want; you should be asking yourself what you want. My respect for the Ministry is not something you can use to speak freely in front of me.”
“If you don’t know what dignity means… I think I can teach you.” Dumbledore picked up Umbridge’s wand, which had fallen to the ground.
He calmly handed the wand back to Umbridge.
“It was you who attacked me first!”
Umbridge’s tone was furious, but she didn’t dare reach for her wand, realising Dumbledore was also holding one.
At that moment, feeling the overwhelming pressure emanating from him, Umbridge feared he might challenge her to a duel in the name of family. She finally remembered who stood before her.
Albus Dumbledore was not the timid figure she usually faced, but the most respected and powerful wizard in the magical world today.
“Is that so?”
Dumbledore stared at Umbridge.
In an instant, she felt her buried memories resurface, including those she thought she had forgotten.
“I give you one more chance to say it again.”
It was both a reminder and a warning.
The Aurors kept their heads down, the Minister of Magic remained silent, and “Professor Lockhart” was grinning. Snape and Professor McGonagall exchanged glances, both with complex expressions.
The atmosphere was tense.
Umbridge wanted to seek help from Fudge, but he and the Aurors pretended to be examining Quirrell’s body, offering no response. She felt a sense of isolation and fear.
“No, I accidentally bumped into the wall.”
Finally, Umbridge couldn’t withstand the pressure and chose to back down, she knew what she had just experienced and understood that everything she had buried would bury her if exposed.
“Well, be more careful next time.”
Dumbledore’s tone remained gentle.
He returned Umbridge’s wand to her and turned to approach Quirrell’s body, leaving her with a back that seemed full of vulnerabilities and opportunities for a sneak attack.
However, Umbridge couldn’t muster the courage.
“Have you received news that someone is trying to use Quirrell’s life to perform a resurrection ritual?” Dumbledore squatted in front of Quirrell’s body.
“No, no, no, someone is trying to use Quirrell’s corpse for some kind of resurrection ritual.” Fudge, no longer able to hold back, quickly revealed what he could.
He was an extremely clever politician, and politicians needed keen observation skills. Thus, even though his authority was compromised, he didn’t dare to speak up for Umbridge.
After all, he had discovered a deeply unsettling issue: Albus Dumbledore, who usually valued his reputation, was no longer concerned about it. The implications of this were enough to stir an uncontrollable anxiety within him.
As the commotion in the basement began to settle, Ian had already reached the door of the Headmaster’s office. The guardian statue was never a barrier for him; he just needed to lift his foot slightly, and the path to enter the office would be clear.
“What exactly do you want me to do? Is Tom hidden here?” Ian pushed open the heavy wooden door, only to find the quiet office occupied solely by the Phoenix, Fawkes, tending to its feathers.
“Fawkes, when you have a moment, could you visit the Room of Requirement? My Phoenix seems to be hatching, and I’m sure your experience with young Phoenixes is far greater than mine.”
Ian pulled out a rare herb, attempting to bribe Fawkes, but just as his hand reached out, the Phoenix suddenly took flight without warning.
It grabbed hold of Ian’s robes, and in an instant, both he and the creature vanished from the Headmaster’s office. When Ian’s vision cleared again, he found himself in a vast room, its floor littered with shattered stones, and ahead stood a half-open door.
The flickering candle flames illuminated the ground, revealing that the broken stones were actually life-sized chess pieces of wizards.
Stone soldiers, knights with broken heads, and kings whose bodies were nowhere to be found. This scene stirred some long-buried memories within Ian.
“Wow! Are you serious?”
Ian turned around.
The Phoenix that had brought him here had vanished, leaving behind a note written in Dumbledore’s familiar handwriting.
[There will be no danger.]
It was a short sentence, with no further explanation. Ian felt a bit helpless, drew his wand, and pushed open the door ahead.
As expected.
On the other side of the door was a small platform, with black flames burning in front of it, and the ground around it inscribed with numerous complex and powerful runes.
“Am I actually playing the role of Harry Potter here?”
Ian stepped onto the platform, his gaze falling on a table in front of the flames, where seven glass vials containing liquids of various colours were clearly visible.
In addition, a piece of yellowed parchment stood out prominently.
[Danger lies ahead, safety is behind.]
[Two among us can provide you help.]
[Drink them; one will help you pass through ahead, the other will return you to your original position.]
…
A classic logic puzzle.
Ian didn’t finish reading.
Instead, he pulled a potion from his pouch, drank it, and headed straight for the flames. The black fire did not harm him at all.
“Without Quirrell, can Voldemort still function?”
Ian’s doubts were answered as he crossed through the sea of flames, he found himself in a room with twelve massive pillars, at the centre of which stood a mirror he recognised very well.
The Mirror of Erised.
In front of the mirror stood a wizard dressed in black robes and a black hat. He seemed to sense someone’s presence, stretched his neck, and slowly turned around.
“The magic of sacrificing to the Death God has allowed me to temporarily escape death, and the rewards I now reap have completely freed me from death, allowing me to once again savour the beauty of breathing!”
The dark-robed wizard raised his hand and slowly removed his hood, revealing a face that was pockmarked like cement, with no nose and a snake-like visage.
“I admire your courage and commend Dumbledore’s boldness… However, he certainly did not anticipate that a wizard as remarkable as you would have to face what lies ahead.”
His raspy voice dripped with malice.
“Ian Prince, now, in a fair duel, you will truly see what a Dark Lord like me is.” A dull stone fell from his hand, shattering into pieces.
Having regained his magical power, Voldemort raised his wand.
“Avada…”
Voldemort began to chant the spell.
Ian also held up his wand.
However, he didn’t cast a spell. Instead, he threw a dozen vials at Voldemort.
Voldemort was alert, and although he dodged quickly, he couldn’t avoid Ian’s barrage entirely, and several vials struck him one after another.
In the next moment, Voldemort’s aunts, uncles, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers exploded on his body.
“Damn! What is this?!”
Voldemort felt his magical power waning, his face filled with terror as he screamed in rage as green light erupting from his wand and shooting toward Ian.
“It’s the magic of love.”
Ian’s wand also glowed green.
The two Avada Kedavra curses collided violently in mid-air.
At the same time, in the Room of Requirement, the black-purple eggshell quietly shattered.
(End of Chapter)
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