Hodge felt every pair of eyes in the room fix on him.
"You?" Fudge's eyes widened, his face a mask of disbelief. He glanced around, his gaze darting between Hodge and Dumbledore, while the members of the Wizengamot began whispering among themselves.
Dumbledore, by contrast, remained perfectly calm. He leaned forward slightly, an intrigued expression on his face, as if genuinely curious about what would happen next.
Harry stood there, mouth agape.
On the day Sirius Black turned himself in, Harry had been talking with Hodge about it. But that was before the surrender, when they were just watching Ministry officials and Dementors milling about outside the castle from a distance. Harry had even asked Hodge for tips on casting the Patronus Charm.
Amelia Bones handed Fudge a few documents.
Fudge glanced down at them for a moment, scanning the names. "Alright…" he said, his tone cautious. "You're a key witness? And Ronald Weasley, you're aware of this as well?" He turned to Ron, who shook his head vigorously.
"I don't know anything about Sirius Black," Ron said.
That was half a lie. Hodge had overheard Ron speculating enthusiastically about how Sirius might have escaped Azkaban more than once, but it was true that Ron had nothing to do with Sirius's surrender.
"Hodge Blackthorn," Fudge said, scrutinizing Hodge from the witness stand. The warmth and familiarity from their previous encounters had vanished. "You knew about Black… you've always known?" His voice carried a warning edge. "Let me remind you, perhaps you've heard some rumors or been misled into thinking your name will be celebrated if Black's case is overturned. But I'll tell you this—you're also entangling yourself in the case of the most notorious prisoner in history."
"Honorable… Minister of Magic," Hodge replied slowly, using the formal title but with a tone that carried little reverence. If anything, his next words made the slight disrespect in his voice seem trivial. "Do you believe Voldemort is still alive, lurking somewhere in the world, ready to return and resume the wizarding war that never truly ended?"
The tenth courtroom erupted into chaos. The Wizengamot members shifted uncomfortably in their seats, whispering frantically. Fudge's face turned scarlet.
Bang bang! Amelia Bones rapped her gavel, her eyes flashing with a hint of surprise. "That question is irrelevant to this hearing."
"Is it really?" Hodge countered.
"If Voldemort isn't dead, then these past twelve years have just been a halftime break. We've caught our breath, forgotten the brutality of war, and convinced ourselves it's over…" He clicked his tongue. "But the minions lurking in the shadows haven't forgotten. The Death Eaters who escaped justice haven't forgotten. My grandparents didn't fight in the war directly, but they publicly denounced Voldemort's pure-blood ideology in the papers, tearing his nonsense theories to shreds. And for that, Voldemort killed them himself. Oh, right—dead people don't speak. They only live on in our memories… or in the Minister's war anniversary speeches."
Amelia Bones subtly rolled her eyes.
Like many in the room, she turned to Fudge, waiting to see how he'd respond. She could hear the dissatisfaction with the current Minister in Hodge's words. Fudge's face darkened, his jaw clenched. "The war is over," he said through gritted teeth. "We won. Even if… even if the Dark Lord used some foul magic to return, he's doomed to fail. Right now, we're discussing the trial of Sirius Black, who's been accused—"
"Speaking of Sirius," Hodge interjected smoothly, "we can't ignore the one said to be his master—Voldemort." He continued, "Last year, Voldemort's remnant spirit possessed Quirinius Quirrell. Of course, that was because Hogwarts had something he wanted." The crowd instinctively glanced at Harry, clearly assuming he was what Voldemort was after. "Naturally, he failed, or I wouldn't be standing here." The Wizengamot members nodded, their suspicions confirmed. "Yes, I saw Voldemort with my own eyes. So did Harry and another student, Neville Longbottom."
Hodge deliberately left out Evelina Selma's name. For one, she had been under magical influence and hadn't seen Quirrell's true state. For another, she was now working as a healer at St. Mungo's while also monitoring Quirrell, who was in a vegetative state. Hodge didn't want to drag her into this.
Bang bang!
Amelia Bones struck her gavel again, her expression impassive. "I understand your point. Your family was killed by Voldemort, and in your first year, you saw his remnant spirit with your own eyes. You have every reason—and have shown the courage—to oppose him. If Sirius Black was truly Voldemort's loyal follower, you would never defend him. I get it. Now, continue…" Her face twisted in surprise as Hodge, without permission, stepped down from the witness stand and began pacing the courtroom. He even kicked a trailing chain back under a chair as he moved.
Hodge turned to face the room.
"Indeed, I'm defending myself," he said. "Because just now, the Minister implied that I've been swayed by Black—or worse, that I'm worshipping Voldemort or chasing fame by giving false testimony. I have to prove my innocence first. After all, that's the Minister of Magic we're talking about."
The Wizengamot members erupted into murmurs. A short, wrinkled old witch shouted in a piercing voice, "Fudge, is this boy telling the truth?" Fudge's face turned the color of liver. "Madam Marchbanks, there's no evidence—" "What counts as evidence?" she snapped. "Do we wait until Voldemort's pointing his wand at your nose? The boy said Voldemort's ghost slipped right under Dumbledore's nose. Have you sent anyone to verify it?"
The answer, of course, was no, which was why Fudge looked so flustered.
Dumbledore himself seemed slightly embarrassed. The one questioning Fudge was Griselda Marchbanks, a Wizengamot elder who had overseen magical examinations since the late 19th century. She had even been the chief examiner for Dumbledore's own class. Hodge had written to her, though he wasn't sure if she remembered.
In the courtroom, Madam Marchbanks continued shouting, "I don't care what you lot think, but peace is hard-won. If the shadow of war looms again, the best approach isn't to hide like cowards but to prepare! You'd better explain yourself, Fudge."
Fudge's face was a picture of discomfort. He stammered, "I've… heard some rumors, yes. So I sent a small team to Albania to investigate. We're preparing… but we can't just pull resources without solid proof… considering the public's reaction…"
Madam Marchbanks gave a dissatisfied huff. Fudge still hadn't addressed the Quirrell matter, but she didn't press further.
————
Supporting me on Pa-treon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .c-om/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Pa-treon normally.)