"Here the honest wizard described the entire scheme of the crime," he said.
Dumbledore stepped forward from behind his desk. He took the parchment from Fudge and carefully skimmed it. Then he looked up, smiling.
"Well, I don't see any crime my student could be accused of," he said simply.
"How so?" the minister burst out indignantly. "It's all written there!"
Dumbledore shook his head slightly and looked at the Minister with a fatherly smile.
"It says here," he said calmly, "that Muggles are secretly removing enchanted objects from Mr. Rich's workshop hangar at night. That's the only fact, and it's circumstantial, Cornelius. Everything else is idle speculation, unsupported by anything other than unfounded accusations. As Chairman of the Wizengamot, I can tell you that this document is, at worst, a good way to wipe your ass. This document cannot in any way serve as grounds for accusing the young man of a crime. But Lord Rich has the right to sue the author of this opus for libel," the Headmaster waved the parchment before the minister's eyes.
Suddenly the minister's expression changed: he understood. Taking a step back, he muttered:
- What... I didn't... But I was told...
"You have been misled, Cornelius," said Dumbledore.
Richard squinted at the minister through the slits of his eyelids, as if peering through a sniper's scope at an enemy in a virtual group shooter. He was worried, anxious, and frightened, but he hid these feelings behind a mask of cold indifference. But the dominant emotion was anger. Even fury, cold as arctic ice, burst forth.
Fudge caught the young lord's gaze and felt a wave of fear. The minister's heart skipped a beat. He saw a small boy before him, but every fiber of his being felt as if he were locked in a cage with a hungry dragon, thirsty for the elderly wizard's luscious flesh. Fudge looked at Richard with an expression of mingled terror and bravado.
"Kingsley!" he cried loudly. "We're leaving."
"Yes, sir," the dark-skinned Auror responded with relief.
The minister walked over to the fireplace and threw a handful of floo powder into it.
"The Ministry of Magic," he said, then turned around.
A green flame lit up in the fireplace behind the minister.
"I won't let this go!" Fudge declared angrily, then turned sharply and jumped into the fire.
Following the minister, the Aurors left the office through the fireplace.
Pomona Sprout sighed in relief and relaxed.
Professor McGonagall no longer looked like a taut string, but her face still retained a stern and displeased expression.
Headmaster Dumbledore addressed the deans in a fatherly tone:
"Pomona, Minerva, you go ahead. Don't worry about Mr. Rich; he's safe in my office."
"Okay, Albus," McGonagall replied, then headed for the exit.
Professor Sprout walked up to Richard and patted him on the head.
"Everything is wonderful, my dear," she smiled warmly. "After you talk to the Headmaster, go to the dorm and rest. If you're feeling unwell, go to the hospital wing."
"Thank you, Dean Sprout," Richard said sincerely.
Soon the headmaster and the young Hufflepuff were left alone in the office, not counting the phoenix and many living portraits.
"Is there anything you want to tell me, my boy?" Dumbledore asked good-naturedly.
Richard instinctively ran the back of his hand across his chin. He studied the Headmaster carefully, noting details like the white stars on his purple robe, like those of a fairytale stargazer, the bells in his beard, and the sharp eyes hidden behind half-moon glasses.