In the principal's office, Dumbledore was experiencing a headache, exacerbated by the presence of Cornelius Fudge, the potbellied Minister for Magic. Fudge, donning his bowler hat, raised his voice slightly, "Who else, if not you, could make three dementors vanish without leaving a trace?"
The disappearance of the dementors had placed Dumbledore at the top of the Ministry of Magic's list of suspects. Given the headmaster's well-known aversion to dementors, Fudge couldn't conceive of anyone else capable of such a feat. The relationship between the dementors of Azkaban and the Ministry was one of mutual benefit rather than subordination. The Ministry supplied prisoners for the dementors to feed on, and in return, the dementors guarded those prisoners. The disappearance of the dementors was a critical issue; if not resolved, it could lead to a strike and potentially allow the prisoners of Azkaban to escape—a scenario Fudge was desperate to avoid during his tenure.
Dumbledore, feeling somewhat exasperated, waved his hand dismissively. "Cornelius, it's possible that others besides me could achieve this. And there might be spells other than the Patronus Charm capable of eliminating a dementor."
Fudge, struck by a terrifying thought, exclaimed, "Impossible! We all know he can't have returned!" The mere possibility sent shivers down his spine, but then another thought struck him, and he said with renewed conviction, "It must be Sirius Black! He's the one lurking around, killing dementors!" His voice grew louder, as if trying to convince himself of this theory, until he finally stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Watching Fudge's departure, Dumbledore sighed inwardly, reflecting on how much had changed. Fudge hadn't always been this way; Dumbledore had once supported him, helping him rise to the position of Minister for Magic. However, it seemed that power and comfort had made Fudge timid. Dumbledore had believed that the wizarding world needed stability, but in hindsight, he wondered if he had made the right choice in supporting Fudge, who continued to deny the possibility of Voldemort's return.
"Power should not be wielded as a personal weapon," Dumbledore mused. He knew that if he showed even the slightest interest, his old friends, former students, the Ministry of Magic, the Wizengamot, and indeed the entire magical world would rally to make him Minister for Magic. But Dumbledore understood his own nature; he was pure, powerful, brave, and principled, yet he knew he must steer clear of power, for it was a poison that could corrupt him.
Reflecting on his past, Dumbledore recalled his association with the man who would become the first Dark Lord to challenge the Statute of Secrecy. He recognized that his own influence had played a part in that dark chapter. Thus, even during the most dangerous times, he had always refrained from seeking power.
Gazing at the small golden funnel on his desk, Dumbledore seemed to be speaking both to himself and to an unseen listener. "I hope you're not like that," he whispered. Before him, he envisioned two figures: a vibrant young man and a handsome student in a Hogwarts uniform, his face obscured by a mask. As their images merged, a third figure appeared, but Dumbledore's aging eyes could only discern the silhouette.
"The possibilities are endless," Dumbledore murmured, his gaze shifting to the Sorting Hat and the Sword of Gryffindor. He recognized the parallels and differences between himself and the figure he imagined. As he contemplated his own mortality, he wondered, "Is a phoenix too old to rise from the ashes?" John's second encounter with Fudge, the Minister of Magic, was as awkward as the first. Fudge's expression was sour, reminiscent of someone who had just tasted the Weasley twins' latest concoction, the Canary Cream. His displeasure was palpable, and he muttered under his breath, with "Sirius" being one of the few discernible words. John could only shrug at the sight; it seemed Fudge had once again found himself at odds with Dumbledore.
Upon returning to the Slytherin common room, John noticed another sour face, this time belonging to Daphne. Her usually composed features were twisted in annoyance, hinting at a temper simmering beneath the surface. As someone who often relied on Daphne's assistance in class, John approached her with concern. "What's the matter? Did Tom mess up your notes again?" he inquired, recalling a previous incident where Tom's carelessness had caused Daphne considerable frustration.
Daphne's response was laced with sarcasm, her voice unnaturally high-pitched, which sent shivers down John's spine. "Thank you, John," she drawled, her gratitude clearly forced. John, feeling a bit uneasy, simply nodded and attempted to smooth things over by promising to have Tom perform tricks as a form of apology.
The following day, John had a plan to cheer Daphne up. He whispered to her during breakfast, inviting her to join him on the covered bridge, a secluded spot known for its tranquility. Daphne, intrigued and hopeful, followed John, leaving her friend Pansy behind with a knowing smile.
The morning sun cast a warm glow over the bridge, highlighting John's features and stirring something in Daphne's heart. She hesitated before asking John what he had in store for her, her voice betraying her anticipation.
John, sensing her excitement, smiled reassuringly. "I know you've been upset, and I wanted to make it up to you," he said, locking eyes with her. The moment was charged with an unspoken connection, but before Daphne could respond, John snapped his fingers, and music filled the air.
"Watch this," John announced with a grin. "Tom has been practicing just for you, to make amends in his own way." He gestured towards Tom, the dog, who was preparing to perform a handstand while eating his meal upside down. The sight was both amusing and endearing, and John cheered Tom on enthusiastically, encouraging him to complete the trick.
For a moment, the atmosphere was filled with laughter and light-heartedness, a stark contrast to the tension that had preceded it. John's effort to lighten the mood and Daphne's willingness to be entertained by Tom's antics hinted at a deeper bond between them, one that went beyond mere classmates. As the sound of flags waving and shouts filled the air, Daphne's shy demeanor transformed into a frosty one. Her gaze fixed on Tom, who was fervently engaged in his task, and a sneer curled the corners of her mouth. "Impressive, isn't it?" John observed Tom's clean plate with a sense of satisfaction. Daphne's laugh was cold and mocking. "Thank you, John," she said, her voice taking on a sinister, high-pitched tone that made the sentence sound strangely awkward.
John scratched his head, puzzled by the odd feeling the interaction left him with. He ventured cautiously, "You know, Tom can also do a one-handed handstand while eating dog food."
"Thank you, John." Daphne repeated the phrase, turning on her heel and walking away before John could grasp the meaning of her words. He watched her leave, then turned his attention to Tom, who was now excitedly wagging his tail around him. "You've got it all wrong!" John exclaimed, a hint of realization in his voice.
Daphne paused, momentarily thinking John had caught on to her sarcasm, but she quickly dismissed the thought. John, still oblivious, lamented, "I've eaten double the amount of dog food these days, yet I haven't seen any growth!"
Tom, caught in the act, wore a guilty expression and lowered his head. Meanwhile, Daphne's departure was marked by heavy footsteps, each step a silent rebuke aimed at John. She was incredulous that John could note the quantity of dog food Tom consumed but remained clueless about the real reason behind her disdain.
_________
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Direct Link to playlist
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