On both sides of the long table, the School Governors wore grim expressions, and no one exchanged pleasantries.
Lucius Malfoy sat in the corner, his fingertips gently tapping the head of his snake-cane, his face indifferent, as though he had no interest in the meeting.
The meeting was chaired by the elderly Thicknesse Shafiq, who cleared his throat and spoke in a hoarse voice: "Gentlemen, McNeil is dead, and the School Board needs to add new members."
Ottaline Selwyn slammed the table. "That madman! He controlled a monster to kill Walton, and right in front of Fudge! What is this? A Hogwarts Professor? He is more reckless than the Dark Lord!"
Percival Travers chimed in: "We should join forces with the Ministry of Magic and publicly expose his crimes! Let the entire wizarding world know that Hogwarts harbors a Dark Wizard more dangerous than Lord Voldemort!"
"Exactly! Pressure The Daily Prophet, reveal the truth about Sagres controlling monsters and murdering a School Governor, paint him as a new Dark Lord, unite the pure-blood families, force Dumbledore to expel him, and even push the International Confederation of Wizards to impose sanctions!"
Griselda Fowlly slowly shook her head, her voice carrying a trace of barely concealed fear. "Have you all lost your minds? Have you forgotten the terrifying appearance of that monster that day? Do you want it to appear on your dinner table at home?"
"Sagres is not Lord Voldemort. His danger lies in the fact that… he doesn't need the support of pure-blood families. That means he could attack anyone." Her voice lowered, heavy with dread. "Haven't you noticed that even Dumbledore… is helpless against him?"
"What is the Ministry of Magic's stance?"
"They will most likely remain silent and try to smooth things over."
"Fudge, that good-for-nothing…"
"Since the Ministry of Magic has chosen silence and Dumbledore has made no move, why should the School Board stick its neck out?"
Lucius cleared his throat and finally spoke.
"Everyone, instead of debating how to deal with him, let's consider—do we truly have the ability to deal with him?"
Ottaline Selwyn glared at Lucius. "Malfoy, are you afraid? Or… do you have some private arrangement with that madman?"
Lucius sneered. "I am simply pragmatic. If you want to die, I won't stop you, but do not drag the entire School Board down with you."
Percival Travers gritted his teeth. "So we're just going to let this go? Did Walton die for nothing?"
Marcella Burke sighed. "It's not letting it go—it's waiting for the right time."
Lucius seized the opportunity to add, "I suggest we temporarily postpone the by-election for the School Board seat."
His tone was steady, but in truth, he only wanted to buy time to ensure the vacant seat eventually went to someone controllable.
"What about Walton's death then?"
"Announce it publicly as a 'sudden severe illness.' Persuade the members of the McNeil family; the funeral should be conducted discreetly…"
"How can there be a funeral when there's no body?"
…
…
Fudge had changed a great deal; the Minister of Magic had never been so angry since taking office.
He paced anxiously in his office, his new magical prosthetic arm making a dull clunking sound.
Though only a day had passed since the incident, the overly ornate prosthetic limb—adorned with intricate golden patterns—had already replaced his lost arm.
But every time his gaze swept over the gleaming wood and metal, Fudge's facial muscles twitched uncontrollably. "That madman… he dared to control a monster to attack me… And Dumbledore—he must have had a more clever way to save me, but he just watched… No, he personally severed my arm!"
But when he recalled Sargeras's calm, indifferent eyes, the bloody scene suddenly stabbed through his mind.
A chill instantly seized Fudge, soaking the back of his robes with cold sweat. He swallowed back the roar that had risen to his throat, his voice turning dry and trembling. "No… no… I must not provoke him…"
At that moment, a cautious knock sounded.
Fudge spun around abruptly, his heavy magical prosthetic limb knocking over the silver inkstand on the desk with a loud bang.
Purple-black ink, like thick blood, splattered instantly, spilling wildly across a stack of documents.
Standing at the door were the grim-faced Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour, and the uneasy editor of The Daily Prophet, Barnabas Cuffe.
…
Rufus Scrimgeour frowned deeply, his grayish-yellow eyes fixed sharply on Fudge. "Minister, the Aurors witnessed Sagres Greengrass controlling a monster to kill someone. This is ironclad proof—"
"Ironclad proof?"
Fudge shrieked, cutting him off as though scalded. He waved his intact hand wildly, while his ink-stained prosthetic limb unconsciously tapped the desk, producing an irritating thump-thump sound.
"It is indeed ironclad proof—then what? Send Aurors to catch him? Do you know that the Killing Curse on that thing is like giving it a tonic?"
He leaned closer to Scrimgeour, lowering his voice but unable to hide the fear in it. "Listen—use Article 13 of the Maximum Secrecy Act! Have all Aurors involved in the operation sign a Silence Contract and erase the relevant memories."
At this point, his bloodshot eyes turned to Cuffe, who stood frozen in silence. "And your newspaper! Those employees who were on site—keep their mouths shut! If anyone dares to utter a single word…"
Fudge's teeth gnashed. "I'll throw them into Azkaban and let him be neighbors with the Dementors!"
"But Minister, the Ministry needs an internal explanation! Procedurally, we should…" Scrimgeour tried to maintain a semblance of rationality.
"Explanation?!"
Fudge slashed his hand through the air, cutting him off. "Just say we encountered an extremely dangerous, unknown magical creature riot! As for the details—those involve top-level Dark Arts defense secrets, absolutely confidential! Not to be disclosed! Understood?!"
Scrimgeour's jaw tightened, and for a moment a faint, imperceptible flicker of disdain and contempt passed through his eyes. At last, he nodded stiffly. "…Yes, Minister."
Barnabas Cuffe finally found an opening. Rubbing his hands together, a fawning yet fearful smile spread across his face. "Minister, rest assured—for the Hogwarts incident report, we will strictly follow your previous instructions, treating it with a 'low-key, downplayed' emphasis, highlighting that the crisis has already been resolved…"
"'Low-key'? 'Downplayed'?"
Fudge suddenly erupted.
He grabbed Cuffe's collar with his new arm, spittle nearly spraying across the editor's face. "What I want is not low-key! What I want is for it to completely disappear! My arm! Your employees! The dead Hogwarts School Governor! Not a single word is allowed to appear in your wretched newspaper! And don't even mention that name! Is that clear?!"
Cuffe stammered in terror. "But… but readers need the truth…"
"Truth?"
Fudge yanked him closer, almost shouting in fury.
"Rita Skeeter, who went chasing after the truth last time, disappeared without a trace in front of me. Do you want to try it too?!"
Then he suddenly released the man, adjusted his collar, and put on a "tragic" expression.
"Listen, Cuffe, I'll give you a truth!"
He straightened his back and struck his chest hard with his intact hand. "The truth is—I, Cornelius Fudge, in order to protect the innocent students of Hogwarts, bravely led the charge, fighting valiantly against a ferocious, unknown Dark magical creature! This scar is my medal for guarding the future of the Wizarding World!"
He deliberately shook his prosthetic limb, speaking with an undeniable tone of authority. "I've even thought of next week's front-page headline for you: 'Cornelius Fudge: The Fearless Shield of Hogwarts'!"
Fudge muttered to himself, "I want it to take up the entire page! The accompanying picture should be me… yes… a solo shot, looking thoughtful and resolute! If you dare to miswrite a single word… Hmph, you wouldn't want to miswrite it!"
Cuffe was dumbfounded, staring at Fudge's face as it switched seamlessly between "hero" and "tyrant," as if constricted by an invisible python.
He could only nod stiffly, unable to force a sound from his throat.
After everyone left, Fudge walked to the large floor-to-ceiling window.
Facing his blurred reflection in the glass, he began to rehearse his "tragic speech" pose, raising his prosthetic limb high.
"The Wizarding World needs sacrifice… and I regard my scars as medals!"
"At that time, the monster was only ten feet away from the students! I didn't hesitate to stand in front of them—"
But Fudge suddenly choked, because he remembered he had actually been screaming and running away at the time.
"Damn it!"
A wave of shame and fury surged through his chest. He snatched the water glass from the table and hurled it to the floor, shards and water scattering in every direction.
He glared at his prosthetic limb, muttering curses through clenched teeth. "Sagres… you bastard who deserves to rot in hell! One day… one day I'll make you kneel and personally put this damned thing back on me!"
But the very next second, a crow outside the window beat its wings as it flew past, letting out a hoarse caw.
Fudge jolted in fright and stumbled backward, staring in horror at the direction the crow had vanished, as if it were Sagres's spy.
…
In the corner of the corridor, two young Aurors who had been present in the Chamber of Secrets overheard the scattered roars and the final heavy thud from inside the Minister's office before the door opened and closed.
One of them could no longer hold back a derisive snort. "Fearless Shield? Ha! I'll bet ten Galleons the wet trousers he changed out of are still being scrubbed by a House-elf! He nearly pissed on Dumbledore's shoes!"
The other glanced around nervously and whispered, "Good thing we signed the Silence Contract… at least that means we won't be shoved out by this so-called Fearless Shield Minister as appetizers for that monster. Honestly, I'd rather face ten Dark Wizards than get within a step of that thing again."
~~~~~~~
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