Chapter 211: A Crowded Night at Hagrid's Hut
Hagrid's hut.
Outside, the wind and rain had not yet died down. Hagrid prodded the fire, sending sparks spiralling upward.
"Thunder's been somethin' fierce tonight. Never heard it like that before…"
Knock, knock.
A heavy rapping at the door. Hagrid hauled himself up to answer, calling out as he went.
"Who's there?"
"It's me, Hagrid."
Recognising Dumbledore's voice, Hagrid quickened his stride and pulled the door wide.
"Oh, evenin', Professor Dumbledore. Rain's comin' down somethin' terrible, what're yeh…"
He trailed off. There was someone standing beside the Headmaster.
Short and stout, wearing a suit with a bright scarlet tie and purple pointed boots. The man pulled a dark green bowler hat from his head and tucked it under his arm, smoothing down his dishevelled grey hair.
"Cornelius Fudge?"
Hagrid blurted the name in shock. He had never expected the Minister for Magic to turn up in weather like this, at this hour.
He ducked his head slightly, lowering his line of sight beneath the door frame, and spotted several Aurors standing in formation outside the hut. His stomach dropped.
"Good evening, Hagrid."
Hagrid stepped aside without thinking, stumbled backward, and dropped heavily onto a stool. It groaned under his weight. His face had gone white as he looked from Dumbledore to Fudge and back again.
"I'm sorry, Hagrid," Fudge said, speaking quickly, as though he did not want to spend any more time here than necessary. "The Ministry has to act. The attacks at Hogwarts have been far too serious."
The moment he heard it, Hagrid understood. It was the Chamber again.
Fifty years ago, he had been suspected in exactly the same way. Fifty years ago, the Chamber had been opened, and a girl had died.
Hagrid had been expelled for opening the Chamber and releasing the monster. His wand had been snapped.
"No, no, I didn't, Professor Dumbledore, yeh know, I…"
Hagrid looked at Dumbledore with desperate, pleading eyes, his words stumbling over themselves.
"Cornelius, I will say this again," Dumbledore said, and his tone was nothing like its usual warmth. It was hard and sharp with displeasure. "Hagrid is absolutely not the one who opened the Chamber. I trust him completely."
Dumbledore was close, very close, to grasping the final thread of this crisis. He believed it could be resolved, and more than that, he saw an opportunity to clear Hagrid's name at last.
He had never, not for a single moment, believed that Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin or that he had commanded a monster to harm his fellow students.
Seeing Dumbledore's brow crease, Fudge pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. Rain, or sweat, or both.
Fudge had no desire to be at Hogwarts this late at night either. This was Dumbledore's territory.
But the pressure was unbearable. The pure-blood families had made it unbearable.
He had known about the earlier attacks, of course, but those incidents had been kept relatively contained. The victims had all been Muggle-born students.
To put it bluntly, they carried little weight.
But Blaise Zabini, Petrified not long ago, was pure-blood.
On the very night it happened, Fudge had been buried under a deluge of furious letters from pure-blood parents. It had left him reeling.
Yes, Hogwarts had the Mandrake Restorative Draught. Yes, Zabini had recovered quickly. But it made no difference. Those families had found every excuse imaginable to tear Fudge apart.
Fudge felt wronged. He was the Minister for Magic, true, but what happened inside Hogwarts was hardly under his authority.
Yet Fudge needed public support, and the voices that carried the most weight belonged to those same pure-blood families.
They were few in number, but the "support" they provided the Ministry each year was substantial.
If Fudge wanted to keep his post, he had to keep them satisfied. After all, he was counting on awarding himself an Order of Merlin, First Class, when he retired. A Minister forced out early would not have that privilege.
"Albus, you trust Hagrid, and I trust you," Fudge said carefully. "But not everyone shares that trust."
"We both understand each other's difficulties. I need to give those families an answer."
Fudge knew perfectly well that Dumbledore was dealing with the same pressure from pure-blood parents. Beyond genuine concern for their children's safety, many of them were almost certainly using this as an opportunity to make trouble for a Headmaster whose reputation among pure-bloods had never been particularly warm.
"Albus, I give you my word, the Ministry will follow proper procedure in every respect."
After years of dealing with Dumbledore, Fudge understood the man. Dumbledore valued rules and order. That was the angle to work from.
Fudge glanced at Hagrid, and for a brief moment, something close to guilt flickered in his eyes. He did not truly believe this enormous gamekeeper had opened the Chamber again to attack students. With a build like that, if Hagrid wanted to harm someone, he would hardly need conspiracies and monsters.
But Fudge's political career had to be protected. The "suspect" would simply have to be inconvenienced for a while.
"I can only apologise again. Hagrid's prior record counts against him. The Ministry has been in contact with the Board of Governors, so this time…"
At those words, a rare flash of anger burned through Dumbledore's bright blue eyes.
"Cornelius, taking Hagrid away will accomplish nothing."
"T-take me away?" Hagrid's huge frame had begun to tremble. "Where?"
"Oh, it won't be for long," Fudge said hurriedly. "Just a precaution. Once the real culprit is caught, you'll be released at once. We'll apologise properly…"
But he did not meet Hagrid's eyes as he said it, as though even he felt the hollowness of his own words.
Hagrid's fear deepened, his voice shaking.
"It's not… it's not Azkaban, is it?"
Before Fudge could answer, another heavy knock rattled the door.
It swung open, and a tall man with long, platinum-blond hair stepped inside, wearing a satisfied smile.
"Lucius Malfoy! What're you doin' here? Get out o' my house! Out!"
At the sight of him, Hagrid's fear turned to fury, and he roared at the intruder.
Lucius gave a delicate cough, pressing a black-gloved hand over his nose and mouth. His eyes swept the interior of the hut with undisguised contempt.
"You call this a house? Believe me, entering it brings me no pleasure."
"I was simply looking for… oh, Headmaster. There you are."
Dumbledore's expression grew darker still. The fire behind his eyes burned hotter, though he kept his voice level.
"Lucius. What, exactly, brings you here?"
"Something rather unfortunate, I'm afraid, Dumbledore…"
As he spoke, Lucius reached into his robes and produced a rolled piece of parchment. It was an order of temporary suspension directed at Dumbledore, bearing the signatures of twelve governors. For a man who respected order and rules, a document like this would surely be enough to…
Whoosh.
A burst of scarlet flame ignited in the centre of the room, appearing from nowhere.
A clear, bright, still-young cry rang out, and the fire melted away.
A handsome boy with dark green eyes stood where nothing had been a moment before. A small orange-red bird perched on his shoulder. In his raised hand, he held a battered old diary.
"Quite the gathering tonight."
Leonardo's gaze swept the room, taking in every face.
"Headmaster, there's something I'd like you to see."