Chapter 179: Casual Chat
The Leaky Cauldron was as suffocatingly dim and raucous as ever.
When Harry stumbled into the hidden wizarding pub on Charing Cross Road, his heavy trunk dragging behind him like a dead weight, the scent of stale ale and pipe smoke hit him like a physical blow. Behind the bar, Old Tom was methodically scrubbing the scarred wood with a rag that looked dirtier than the counter itself.
Beside Old Tom stood a short, stout man in a pinstriped suit and a violently lime-green cloak.
"Oh, thank goodness! You're finally here, Harry!"
The moment the stout man spotted the boy, the tight, frantic anxiety pinching his features melted into a wide, relieved smile. He stepped forward with eager haste, his hands reaching out to relieve Harry of his trunk.
Harry flinched. He took a sharp half-step back, his knuckles turning white around the handle of his luggage as he dodged the man's grasp. In the pub's murky lighting, his emerald-green eyes were hard, guarded, and entirely devoid of warmth.
He knew exactly who this man was. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Harry had seen him that terrible night at Hagrid's hut.
Just as Harry's muscles locked tight, his mind bracing for the inevitable judgment and the full, crushing wrath of the Ministry of Magic, the pub's battered wooden door groaned open once more.
Tamara Riddle stepped over the threshold. She pulled her own trunk behind her, her posture immaculate, her pace infuriatingly calm and unhurried.
Fudge's gaze drifted past Harry's shoulder. The moment he registered Tamara's presence, the Minister froze, visibly thrown off balance.
"Oh? Miss Riddle?" Fudge's sparse eyebrows shot up toward his receding hairline. "How unexpected. Did you also take the Knight Bus at this ungodly hour? Well, I suppose it's just as well. Since both of you underage wizards are here, come along together."
Pivoting on his heel, Fudge barked an order over his shoulder. "Tom, prepare a private parlor for us. And bring a pot of hot tea."
A few minutes later.
The three of them sat around a wobbly circular table in a reasonably clean private parlor on the second floor.
Tamara naturally claimed the plush armchair by the window. She rested her hands in her lap, her expression the very picture of polite, angelic patience. Internally, however, she was already calculating how quickly she could ditch this hypocritical, pompous fool of a Minister and slip into Knockturn Alley to source her alchemy materials. 'Hurry up and talk, you useless sack of flesh,' she mused darkly, her dark eyes lazily scanning the shabby room.
Sitting opposite Fudge, Harry was a coiled spring.
The entire ride here, he had obsessively rehearsed this exact confrontation. He had mapped out his defenses, sharpened his words to refute their accusations, and braced himself for the absolute worst—handing over his wand and being expelled from the wizarding world on the spot.
"Alright, Harry, don't look so tense."
Fudge took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea. When he spoke, his tone was generous, dripping with a fawning, grandfatherly warmth that made Harry's skin crawl. "Regarding those... little accidents you had back in Surrey. We've already sorted everything out."
Harry blinked.
The fiery, defiant speech he had prepared lodged sideways in his throat, choking him.
"Sorted?" Harry croaked, his voice dry as dust.
"Of course, of course!" Fudge waved a plump hand, his smile practically beaming. "Officials have already deflated your Aunt Marge and modified her memory. She remembers absolutely nothing of the incident. As far as she's concerned, she merely suffered a nasty bout of indigestion from overeating."
Harry stared at him, completely derailed.
"So, you see, no one was hurt," Fudge continued smoothly. "And certainly, no one is going to be tossed into Azkaban for a minor, youthful loss of control like that. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, my boy."
Harry's mind flatlined.
He had walked into this room believing he had just committed an act of ultimate rebellion. He had put his entire fate on the line, fully prepared to wage a desperate, solitary war against the injustice of the entire Ministry of Magic.
Yet here was Fudge, casually brushing off his rage, his struggle, and his desperate resolution as a comical little oopsie. 'Accidentally inflating his aunt like a balloon.' A light pardon. A pat on the head.
No punishment. No trial.
The Ministry of Magic had simply swept his mess under the rug with practiced efficiency.
A bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up in Harry's chest, though he didn't let it out. His white-knuckled fists slowly uncurled on his lap. An indescribable wave of powerlessness and sheer absurdity washed over him, drowning his righteous anger in a sea of gray.
Meanwhile, Tamara, who had been sitting in perfect, decorative silence, felt her carefully cultivated mask slip. Her dark eyes widened a fraction as Fudge's words registered.
Inflated a Muggle relative?
She turned her head, her gaze locking onto Harry. For the first time all night, she actually looked at him.
In her mind, the boy was a walking stereotype. This so-called Savior, Dumbledore's golden pet, was nothing more than a mediocre, painfully untalented child who relied entirely on the sacrifices of others to survive. A pathetic little Gryffindor who would meekly bow his head and take whatever abuse his filthy Muggle relatives dished out.
As for how he had managed to kill her past self time and time again? Pure, dumb luck. That wretched blood magic, the twin wand cores, the backlash of the Elder Wand. It was a cosmic joke. It certainly wasn't because this boy was actually stronger than her.
But now... she was genuinely surprised. This captive little pet actually had the spine to bite back?
He had actually used magic to blow his own Muggle relative into the sky?
Without her permission, the corner of Tamara's mouth twitched, curling upward into a faint, sharp arc.
It wasn't affection. It certainly wasn't respect for "Harry Potter" the person. It was the purest, darkest instinct of the Dark Lord bleeding through.
It was the deep, soul-level thrill of watching the law of the jungle take effect. The sheer, unadulterated pleasure of seeing lowly Muggles crushed beneath the heel of magic.
Harry, who had been tracking her from the corner of his eye, caught that microscopic shift in her expression perfectly.
In that split second, a sudden, violent surge of joy bloomed in his chest.
He saw the genuine surprise in Tamara's dark eyes. He saw that fleeting flash of dark appreciation—raw, unadulterated by her usual polite hypocrisy or perfunctory smiles.
It was as if the reckless, rebellious crime he had committed tonight had finally, finally earned him Tamara Riddle's sincere recognition.
'What the hell am I doing?!'
Harry jerked his head down, his gaze snapping to his knees as he cursed himself viciously in his own mind.
He had sworn to himself on the Knight Bus. He had promised himself he would never care about her again! He knew exactly what she was—a cold, ruthless, manipulative monster!
And yet, just because she threw him a single, insignificant look of approval, the massive psychological fortress he had spent hours building up had instantly, shamefully cracked down the middle.
"Alright, since that little misunderstanding is resolved, let's get down to business."
Fudge, entirely oblivious to the strange, volatile psychological undercurrent snapping between the two underage wizards, dropped his grandfatherly smile. His fleshy face tightened, his expression growing graver than Harry had ever seen it.
"The reason I am waiting for you here in the middle of the night is because the current situation is... very bad. You both should have seen the wanted posters in the Daily Prophet. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."
The name yanked Harry out of his spiral of self-loathing.
He looked up at Fudge, his brow furrowing in blank confusion. He didn't understand what this escaped convict had to do with him.
"He is a highly dangerous homicidal maniac, Harry, and..." Fudge hesitated, his eyes darting away as he chose his words with vague caution. "Well. In any case, he is extremely dangerous. I expect that until the school term begins, you will not wander anywhere outside of Diagon Alley. Is that understood?"
Before Harry could answer, Fudge turned his heavy gaze back to the window. "Miss Riddle, I expect you to be extra careful as well. The wizarding world is currently far from peaceful. And it is not just here in Britain. Even over in Eastern Europe, there has been terrible trouble recently."
"Oh?" Tamara raised a delicate eyebrow, her voice tilting with the absolute perfect measurement of polite, innocent curiosity.
"According to classified internal reports from the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Fudge leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "some sort of evil, dark magic entity seems to have recently awakened in Albania's Black Forest. Several Dark Wizard encampments were slaughtered to the last man overnight."
[Akarin's Note:
Enjoying the story? Dropping a quick review, comment, or Power Stone means the world to me and keeps these daily updates flowing!
Want to read 50 chapters ahead or just want to help keep a shameless translator alive? (My livelihood actually depends on this, haha 😭). You can support me directly here:
(P.S. Just remove the brackets and replace the [.] with a regular dot . to use the links!)
✨ Patreon (50 Advanced Chapters): patreon[.]com/AkarinTL
☕ Ko-fi (Support / Sponsor): ko-fi[.]com/AkarinTL
🔗 All My Links: linktr[.]ee/AkarinTL
Thank you so much for reading and keeping this project alive!]