Ministry of Magic, Level One, the Minister's Office.
Inside were two people: Albus Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic.
Cornelius Fudge, short, plump, and solidly built, had a head of messy gray hair and wore an anxious expression. His outfit was especially odd: a pinstriped suit, a bright red tie, a black cloak, and purple pointed boots, topped with a dark green bowler hat. The mix-and-match fashion betrayed a serious lack of aesthetic sense.
After reading a letter, he turned to Dumbledore and said with an awkward expression, "Albus, I'm afraid we have no choice but to arrest Hagrid."
"What happened this time?" Dumbledore asked.
"This letter is from Professor McGonagall. She says there's been another student attack at Hogwarts—and coincidentally, it's another one from the Weasley family."
"Ron?" Dumbledore asked, assuming it must be someone close to Harry.
Fudge sighed. "Yes. She said she's already notified the Weasleys—they're probably on their way to the school now. Just think how Mrs. Weasley must feel… losing two children in just a matter of days."
Dumbledore emphasized, "Cornelius, those students are not dead. They've merely been petrified."
"Yes, petrified. But do you think the press and the other Ministries around the world will see it that way? They'll just blow everything out of proportion, claiming Hogwarts is harboring some great danger, that students are dying left and right."
"I remember you assured me over and over that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the culprit. That's why I didn't detain him at first. But now that this has happened again, the Ministry must act."
Fudge, for once, spoke with unusual firmness—unlike his usual indecisiveness.
Dumbledore was angry. He knew Fudge well—timid, indecisive, with no real backbone. All he ever cared about was maintaining the illusion of peace. He wanted all the powers of the Minister for Magic but none of the responsibilities.
Holding back his frustration, Dumbledore said, "There is no evidence whatsoever linking Hagrid to these events."
"But he does have a record from fifty years ago, doesn't he?"
"I've said it before—even the last time the Chamber was opened, we couldn't confirm that it was Hagrid. Someone else was responsible!"
Fudge was beginning to lose his patience, though he didn't dare raise his voice at Dumbledore. Annoyed, he said, "Try looking at it from my perspective—I have to do something, don't I?"
Indeed, he had to do something. The incident was on the verge of becoming an international scandal. If the British Minister for Magic appeared to be doing nothing, what would people think? That he was incompetent?
Public approval ratings were everything. If British wizards believed their Minister was useless, they could vote him out of office at any time.
Catching the "culprit" would give him a scapegoat to appease everyone. No evidence? Well, Sirius Black had been thrown into Azkaban for killing the Potters with barely any proof. If the real culprit was found later, he could always apologize. Hardly anyone would care.
Fudge held his ground in a silent standoff with Dumbledore—but ultimately, he was the one who faltered under the headmaster's piercing blue gaze.
Dumbledore sighed. "Fine. But you will not send Hagrid to Azkaban. He will be summoned by the Ministry as a suspect, nothing more."
Fudge wanted to bargain, but after meeting Dumbledore's icy stare, he shut up.
He called for two Aurors to accompany him, citing precautions in case Hagrid resisted or fled.
Dumbledore said nothing. The Aurors quietly thought to themselves, Even Dumbledore is going—what kind of wizard could possibly escape this?
When Riddle died, Ron's stolen life returned.
His eyes opened. Though his body felt stiff and his head ached, his mind was clear. It was like waking from a nightmare. For months, he'd been in a fog—unable to remember what he'd done, unable to distinguish dream from reality.
As Riddle's control faded, memories slowly returned. He had petrified Mrs. Norris. He had written the messages on the wall. He had killed Hagrid's chickens. He had awakened that terrifying monster. And finally, he had walked into the Chamber of Secrets on his own.
He nearly despaired—until he realized he wasn't dead. This wasn't the afterlife. That was Salazar Slytherin's statue, wasn't it?
His eyes turned slightly—and there he saw a dark figure nearby.
Harry Potter.
Ron's mind went blank again. What on earth had happened?
Harry glanced over and said, "You're awake? Let's get you back."
He grabbed Ron by the arm, and with a shift of space, they appeared in a very familiar place: Madam Pomfrey's infirmary.
Ron still wore a look of lingering terror. As he left the darkness of the Chamber, he had seen a massive serpent towering upright, staring at him with its flat, deadly gaze.
That monstrous basilisk… it wasn't dead.
Ron began to stammer and gesticulate wildly.
But Harry was already gone. After dropping Ron off, he headed for Hagrid's hut.
That night, the stars sparkled above.
Hagrid's window glowed with lamplight. The wooden door opened—it was cramped inside, barely room to stand. The two Aurors had to wait outside.
Even from a distance, Hagrid's booming voice rang out, practically shaking the hut.
"I didn't do it! I never hurt those kids!"
"But some necessary questioning is unavoidable. I've already agreed not to send you to Azkaban. That's a huge concession," Fudge said, spinning his hat nervously.
"Professor Dumbledore…" Hagrid looked pleadingly at him. Though a half-giant, he now resembled a wronged child.
Dumbledore sighed and was about to speak—
When a clear, young voice rang out from outside:
"There's no need. The person who opened the Chamber is dead. No one will be hurt again."
The two Aurors jumped, startled. The speaker was suddenly right beside them, and only now had they noticed his presence.
They gripped their wands—until he stepped from the shadows.
Harry Potter. Who didn't recognize him?
Harry played a video on his phone. Fudge, Hagrid, and Dumbledore all leaned in, their heads together, staring in amazement at the device.
The clip was short. It ended quickly.
Fudge's jaw dropped. "What… what kind of magic is this?"
"Call it magic if you like," Harry said. "What matters is the content. This proves who really opened the Chamber. And it also clears Hagrid of the incident fifty years ago. The restriction on his wand should be lifted."
Fudge could hardly believe it was over just like that. He'd been bracing himself for the worst—maybe even losing his job.
Dumbledore said, "Cornelius, leave this matter to me. I'll explain everything to the International Confederation of Wizards. They're well aware of Riddle—of Voldemort's younger self. This footage should serve as a warning to them as well."
Fudge flinched at the name.
He coughed. "That would be best."
In the end, Dumbledore told Fudge he'd meet with him again to decide how best to issue a public explanation through the Daily Prophet.
Fudge, finally satisfied, left with the two Aurors.
Dumbledore smiled. "What I'm most curious about is how you managed to defeat Riddle."
"Oh, I just did this, then that—and then he died," Harry replied.
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THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER
⚡🦉 THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER 🦉⚡
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📢 MAGIC REBORN! 📢
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