Chadwell pressed a hand to the wound on his face. Under the weight of everyone's gaze, he hesitated, then said: "I'm telling you that you — you're a Dark wizard at heart!"
Crack!
Another whip materialised, but this time Chadwell had thrown up an Armour Charm. The whip struck it with a sharp ring, leaving a fracture across the surface.
This time, Chadwell watched Bernadette without blinking — but she had not moved. Not a muscle. Not even a breath of magical energy. If it were wandless magic, there should still be something—
Eyes drifted to Dumbledore. If anyone in this room could act in front of this many people and leave no trace, it was this old man.
"Me?" Dumbledore pointed at himself, looking thoroughly blameless.
"..."
A strange, uncomfortable silence settled over the room. After much deliberation, no one quite dared point a finger at the greatest white wizard alive — who, for all his perpetual cheerfulness and mild-mannered air, was certainly not known to be without a temper.
Another half-minute passed. Dumbledore spoke, still smiling: "If no one has anything further to add, it's my turn." He removed his spectacles. "As it happens, I have some relevant intelligence regarding Chadwell's claim that Charles is a Dark wizard."
"???"
Confusion swept the room. No one could quite work out what Dumbledore was doing.
"When I decided to bring Charles on as a staff member, I was already aware that he had spent time in the company of those who could be described as... so-called 'Dark wizards.'"
"But — can anyone here tell me who those 'Dark wizards' actually were? Has anyone looked into it?"
Fudge said loudly: "Dark wizards are Dark wizards! Every last one of them belongs in Azkaban!"
"I said so-called Dark wizards. In truth, they were simply young people who had lost everything and went astray." Dumbledore paused and began to read out a list of names — name after name, steady and unhurried.
As the names were spoken, the expressions of Dawlish and the other Aurors changed. They exchanged glances.
"I believe at least half of those names will be familiar to you. Some were your colleagues. Some were your schoolmates. Some you may still remember; others you may have long since forgotten. But they share one thing: they all died in the war against Voldemort."
Fudge said, impatiently: "So? What's your point, Albus?"
Dumbledore said mildly: "The young people whom Chadwell identified as 'Dark wizards' were the children of those who died. They lost their families and received neither adequate care nor their rightful compensation payments. They were denied survivor's benefits. And yet, despite navigating the pressures of poverty and the dangers of actual Dark wizards, doing their best simply to survive — the very colleagues of their parents are now trying to brand them as Dark wizards and send them to Azkaban."
"Cornelius. Why do you suppose that is?"
Fudge jolted, and his face went red. He remembered. When he'd come into office and was eager to distinguish himself from his predecessor, he had signed a sweep of budget cuts without thinking through the consequences. At the time he had only been thinking about outshining the previous Minister — he'd never considered what those policy changes would actually do to people.
If the wider Ministry found out that his decisions had produced these results... the fallout would be catastrophic.
Dumbledore's gaze moved, with quiet significance, to Chadwell and his group. "Tell me, Chadwell — who was responsible for making those young people lose their families in the first place?"
"..."
Chadwell felt a cold weight settle in his chest. He did not meet Dumbledore's eyes. All the earlier aggression had drained out of him. He murmured: "I... don't know, sir."
"Is that so?"
Dumbledore held him in that gaze for a full thirty seconds. "Then — does anyone here still wish to continue pressing charges against these young people as 'Dark wizards'?"
Silence.
"Cornelius."
"Sir?"
Fudge mopped at his forehead and managed a thin smile. "When I get back... I'll make sure this is dealt with properly."
Chadwell quickly added: "All associated expenses — we'll cover them personally."
"Absolutely!"
"Of course!"
The others chimed in.
Dumbledore gave a slight nod and replaced his spectacles. "Then this matter is concluded." He paused. "Unless anyone has another suggestion?"
They looked at each other. They filed out, quietly.
The headmaster's office returned to its usual stillness.
"I'll be going too, Professor Dumbledore."
Dumbledore said: "I apologise, Charles. I should have warned you in advance."
Bernadette gave him a brief nod, held his gaze for a moment, then left.
On the other side, as Fudge's group filed out of the headmaster's office, they moved in sombre silence. Only once they reached a fireplace connected to the Floo Network did Fudge speak. "Chadwell, I'm afraid I can't help you any further with this matter."
"I understand, Minister."
Chadwell saw clearly enough that this had all been one of Dumbledore's traps — a pit dug and waiting for them to fall into. He threw down a pinch of Floo Powder, stated his home address, and was enveloped in a tongue of flame — and in that last instant before the fire took him, a low voice reached his ear, in a language he had never heard yet somehow understood perfectly:
"You have killed."
"You are guilty."
The next second, the Floo Powder fire — which should have had no real heat — turned scorching. Before he could react, he was incinerated, reduced to ash without even managing a scream.
"Hm?"
One of his companions blinked. "Was the flame in the fireplace a slightly different colour just now?"
"Floo fire's always that colour, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"Come on, let's go."
The group quickly threw their Floo Powder and vanished. Fudge and the others followed close behind.
The corridor fell quiet again. No one knew that Chadwell — whose family ranked just below the Malfoys among the pure-blood elite — had been silently reduced to a handful of ash.
A few minutes later, Bernadette stepped out from the shadow behind her office door. She had used shadow-jumping to follow them the whole way — undetected by anyone. After delivering her verdict, she had jumped back the same way, leaving no trace.
No one, however capable, could have spotted a single anomaly.
As for Chadwell's death — he had been witnessed by everyone leaving through the fireplace. Whatever had happened after he left could not be laid at her door, or Hogwarts'.
"I hope you'll all think twice before disturbing my studies again."
She had only dealt with the ringleader this time. Next time, it would not be so simple.
Meanwhile, in the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore was sitting quietly at his desk writing something when the door knocked again. Snape swept in, robes billowing. "Albus. Something has happened in the Slytherin common room."
"Oh?" Dumbledore looked up. "Has one of the children caused trouble?"
"Trouble?"
A cold smile. "It is rather more than trouble. The new transfer student — Patricia — took on the entire first year of Slytherin, plus portions of the second and third year. Single-handedly. In under five minutes. Precise dark curses, fluent poisoning spells, and a variety of black magic besides. The whole performance did not take five minutes. Albus, you have brought us quite a remarkable individual."
Dumbledore looked momentarily baffled, a picture of innocence. "Ah... I did rather think she was just a poor blind child."
"She's a Grindelwald."
"That's only a surname, Severus."
"Ha!"
Snape's laugh was not a warm one. "I only hope you know what you are doing."
"Of course I do. Don't worry — she's just a child."
"The man who nearly poisoned dozens of people was also 'just a child,' in your words."
He swept his robes aside and turned to leave. "You're the headmaster. Do as you see fit. All I can say is — best of luck, Albus."
Dumbledore watched Snape stride out and sighed. He turned to look at Fawkes, who had been dozing on his perch.
"Fawkes, would you mind taking me to Nurmengard once more?"
The Lord of the Mysteries world.
Wednesday afternoon. Bernadette received the Beyonder item crafted from the Shepherd's characteristic.
To be continued…
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