One month later, the controversy surrounding Dumbledore reached a tense resolution. In the trial chamber, both sides clashed fiercely, each wielding fabricated evidence like weapons. Ultimately, Dumbledore clung to his position through alliances in the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards. On the surface, at least, the British Ministry of Magic washed its hands of the matter.
The cost was steep: Dumbledore's standing in the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards had crumbled. Whispers spread that he no longer deserved his roles as president of the Confederation or Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Among everyday wizards, prejudice festered even deeper—they were convinced Dumbledore had masterminded the entire scandal. The verdict only fueled their suspicions, painting him as a bully who leveraged his influence to bend the Ministry to his will.
At Hogwarts, the mood shifted as exams loomed. Laughter and levity evaporated overnight, especially for the fifth- and seventh-years buried in the library during every spare moment. Even dinner felt rushed, with students bolting to Slughorn's club meetings more promptly than for classes.
Those who'd quit the club early now regretted it bitterly. Slughorn had blacklisted them on the spot, ignoring them entirely in club and classroom alike. With everything at stake—for Slughorn's favor and Argus's influence—even the disinterested had no choice but to endure. Quitting on their own? That showed a shocking lack of foresight. In Slughorn's eyes, they weren't worth the effort.
"Argus, look! Harry and Ron are back!"
One crisp morning in the Great Hall, Draco's voice cut through the chatter as Argus savored his breakfast. Ron barely registered for Draco, but Harry was different—a friend, despite their occasional clashes.
Argus glanced up briefly before returning to his meal. Given Dumbledore's prowess and his investment in Harry, the boy's return was no shock. Ron? A footnote at best. They'd rescued Harry; leaving his tagalong behind wasn't an option. The Weasleys had been loyal for years—Argus wouldn't betray that.
Harry and Ron's arrival sparked a whirlwind at Hogwarts. Without exams, the castle would have buzzed for days. Per Dumbledore's narrative, they returned as Argus's assistants, sharing a sliver of heroic credit. Yet, with memories restored, Harry and Ron saw themselves as the true saviors of the Basilisk saga. They'd slain the monster and saved the school.
"Evil Slytherin," Ron grumbled at the Gryffindor table. "I told you—he's a dark wizard. We risked everything to kill that Basilisk in the Chamber. What does he have to do with it? We never saw him!"
"And now he's the hero? Claiming he killed it?" Harry stayed silent for once, tension etching his face.
The pair had scarcely sat when Gryffindors mobbed them with questions. Harry and Ron basked in the adoration. Ron, especially, puffed up, regaling them with tales of bravery—how he and Harry had teamed up to fell the beast.
"But... I heard Argus killed the Basilisk," a first-year piped up, confusion rippling through the crowd. "You two were already out cold?"
"Yeah," another echoed. "The Daily Prophet said Argus exposed Gilderoy Lockhart's fraud. But since he couldn't speak Parseltongue, he brought in Harry to open the Chamber."
Ron's face purpled; his glory was crumbling. Harry tugged at his sleeve, recalling Dumbledore's parting words in the hospital wing: 'Stay humble. Credit Argus where it's due.' But jealousy overrode Ron's restraint. He slammed the table and shot to his feet.
"The Basilisk was ours—Harry and me! Argus did nothing. He's a fraud, stealing all the credit!"
Heads turned. Eyes flicked between Argus—calmly slicing his bacon—and the Gryffindor duo. Whispers hung in the air, weighing Ron's claim.
Argus remained unfazed, as if the outburst were background noise. But Slytherins bristled. Pansy rose with a smirk. "Oh, absolutely. Argus did nothing at all."
"Lockhart knocked you and Harry out cold and dragged you away. Argus went back in alone, strolled into the Basilisk's mouth, and snapped its jaws shut on himself—just to die heroically!"
Laughter exploded across the hall. Exactly—Lockhart, the impostor? Hardly a savior. Without Argus, Harry and Ron would be Basilisk chow.
Ron's cheeks burned crimson. Never quick on his feet, he gaped, fumbling for a comeback that never came.
The initial warmth toward the pair chilled instantly. Admiration soured to disdain. Someone saves your life, and you spit in their face? Unthinkable.
Even Ron's siblings stared in disbelief. Percy scowled. "Ron, sit down—now!"
Harry, no stranger to backlash, sensed the shift and shoved Ron back into his seat. Too late. The damage was done. Ron's thank-you now would ring hollow, and Harry's hard-won goodwill—nurtured by Dumbledore for months—shattered in minutes.
"Seamus," Harry tried, turning to his roommate for normalcy, "what class do we have today?"
Seamus shot him a cool glance, shouldered his bag, and walked off without a word.
Defeated, Harry and Ron abandoned breakfast and trailed the Gryffindors to class, the weight of the hall's judgment heavy on their shoulders.