Chapter Six: Reactions from All Sides

“The entire Ministry of Magic knows this is impossible. Of course, it’s no surprise the Minister thinks otherwise.” Janus had served Fudge for many years and knew his mind all too well: the Minister wanted to shift the blame, but he didn’t realize it only made things more dangerous.

“Percy, everyone knows Azkaban is a cesspit. During the war, countless wrongly accused witches and wizards were thrown in there. But we can’t just lift the lid and make everyone sick just because there’s a foul smell.”

“Now look at this—Rita that woman stands on her moral high ground and throws a bomb in from afar. While we’re busy scrubbing the filth off ourselves, she’s reaping the praise of the entire wizarding world.”

“We could pin the mysterious man’s death on Headmaster Dumbledore and the Chosen One. But don’t forget, Mirrison took up the mantle of Minister when the wizarding world was on the brink of ruin. He retired early to preserve his flawless record and honor.” Janus cursed under his breath, warning Percy not to drag the former Minister into this.

“Percy, you must remember, former Minister Mirrison wouldn’t get involved.”

“But the Minister has no reason to lie to us!” Percy muttered in despair, realizing that Fudge could not escape the matter.

“It’s not a loss, at least not yet. Have you looked through the files?” Janus sifted through the documents, his frown deepening.

“Look at this page.” Janus pulled out a report from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes dated July 1, 1980.

“Winchester suspected to have been hit by a Soviet nuclear bomb…” Percy read softly, memories stirring.

“Theodore’s Lumos flickering!”

“It was him, the boy’s father. The report states that Theodore used Lumos to light up all of Winchester, covering Jessica and the child’s escape.”

Janus clicked his tongue, sighing. “I never imagined anyone could master fundamental spells to such an extent. Theodore was a genius in his own way. But his opponent wasn’t just any Auror—it was the righteous old Bartie. Look here, this battle had a massive impact on the Muggle world.”

At that time, the Muggle world was at the height of the Cold War. The white light enveloping Winchester was visible even from satellites. The Muggles believed the UK had been struck by a nuclear bomb, throwing all of Europe into nuclear war panic.

If it weren’t for the then-Director, now Minister Cornelius Fudge himself stepping in, negotiating behind the scenes to neutralize the fallout, perhaps the Muggles’ war would have erupted again.

“Investigations confirmed Winchester was fine, with no radiation traces. Professors from Oxford and Cambridge claimed the white light on July 1 was an extremely rare natural phenomenon… According to reports from the BBC and ITV.”

“That means it’s even less our concern!” Percy recalled; she had even participated in widespread memory modification efforts at that time.

“What would Rita say if she saw this file?”

“She’d shout in the papers: ‘Fudge stepped up to Minister by standing on the toes of innocent babies…’ If it involved former Minister Mirrison, I bet that report would be in Rita’s hands the next moment…” Janus imitated the woman’s shrill voice, his throat tightening.

“Old Bartie’s here…”

A green glow flickered in the fireplace of the hall as a tall, slender man appeared. Old Bartie had lost his chance to become Minister because his son was a Death Eater. He was transferred to the Department of International Magical Cooperation; though still a director, everyone knew it was a demotion. People hurriedly made way for the scowling Bartie, wary of being implicated by his sour mood.

“Percy, if Headmaster Dumbledore arrives, take him straight to the office,” Janus said, hurrying after Bartie into the Minister’s office, which was now a wreck.

“Dolores, Jonathan, Albert, Kidley, stay behind.” Seeing Bartie arrive, Fudge waved the others out. Besides Bartie, the remaining four were the Minister’s closest aides, fiercely loyal.

“Bartie, I order you to take personal responsibility for this matter!” Minister Fudge slammed his hand on the desk, as if he wanted to tear the Daily Prophet before him to shreds.

“Who do you think you are? A member of the Order of the Phoenix? Acting on your own to avenge the McKinnon family by punishing the Travis family! Ha, bypassing the trials to throw them into Azkaban! There was even a baby involved!” Fudge pointed his thick index finger at Bartie’s hooked nose as if he wished to poke it.

“The Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Wizengamot have been lying to me; everyone is lying! Deceiving me! Even the Minister’s office is deceiving me!”

“Our Aurors are nothing but despicable cowards, willing to kill mothers and children alike.”

“Minister Fudge, I cannot tolerate your insults against the Aurors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Bartie snapped back without hesitation. The baby in question was already dead.

“Ha! I almost forgot you’re the infamous Bartie Crouch, our upright former head of law enforcement. Isn’t it you who cast the Imperius Curse on an innocent baby? Who threw them into Azkaban without trial?

You claim to want to end the wizarding war quickly and have Aurors use Dark Magic against the mysterious man and Death Eaters. Yet in the end, all you do is use Dark Magic against babies. You are a disgrace to the Ministry and to the Aurors!”

“Fudge, you have no right to say that!” Bartie shot back fiercely. The two men leaned in toward each other, faces nearly touching.

“I have no right? Bartie, you call yourself the most righteous wizard, but what you’ve done is no different from the mysterious man. Is it just because you didn’t leave a lightning bolt scar on that child’s forehead?”

Bartie was speechless in the face of Fudge’s accusations. Fudge continued to roar. The soft-murmuring spells on the door could not contain the Minister’s fury; his anger echoed through the corridor.

Percy stood by the fireplace, worried and helpless. Seeing Headmaster Dumbledore arrive, she hurried over. “Headmaster Dumbledore…”

“I know everything,” Dumbledore waved his hand and strode into the room filled with rage.

Louder noises came from the fireplace behind him as a group led by Lucius Malfoy arrived at the Ministry. They were representatives of pure-blood families, eager to reclaim the advantages they had lost in the war.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, thank you for your owl. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have known the Travis family had surviving heirs.” Lucius smiled, his gratitude genuine.

“That was a brave child, worthy of all our respect,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I believe what truly matters is not bloodline, but character. Everyone here today, I believe… is here for kindness and justice.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, momentarily at a loss for words in response to Dumbledore’s statement.

“For kindness and justice—Headmaster, well said. The Travis child is worthy of the pure-blood name, having survived so bravely even in Azkaban.” Lucius sneered. “Headmaster Dumbledore, you’d better be prepared. I’ve heard the American Ilvermorny and the French Beauxbatons have already extended admissions offers to Master Rogue.”

“Is that so? That’s excellent news,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “Regardless of which school Rogue chooses, I sincerely rejoice for him. A kind-hearted child deserves the best education. I believe wherever he goes, he will become an outstanding wizard—not because of his bloodline, but because of his character.”

Malfoy’s face darkened. He had hoped this news would unsettle Dumbledore, but the Headmaster was more composed than expected.

He scowled, his tone low and begrudging. “The Headmaster is indeed magnanimous. However, members of the school board believe Hogwarts should not so easily relinquish a pure-blood heir. If Rogue chooses another school, the board will have reason to question Hogwarts’ educational philosophy.”

“Of course, we all know Hogwarts is the finest magical school. With just a little attention, Rogue will surely choose Hogwarts. Most wizards in the British magical community share this view.” Malfoy stared intently at Dumbledore, hoping to catch even the slightest flicker of doubt on his face.