Vernon looked horrified.
George and Fred, on the other hand, nodded enthusiastically—they saw nothing wrong with bringing up memories as evidence.
"Oh, right! We have our memories!" George clapped his hands. "The Ministry has Pensieves!"
"Dad's used one before," Fred added.
Vernon turned his face away awkwardly. "If you have proof, you can sue this… Ministry of yours. That Bagman fellow is the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, right?"
George and Fred fell silent.
"Is there some difficulty?" Vernon asked, trying to be helpful. "You could hire a lawyer, of course—I wouldn't necessarily recommend it, though. Three hundred Galleons doesn't sound like much."
By British legal standards, just consulting a lawyer could cost over a hundred pounds.
Three hundred Galleons?
It would barely cover legal fees.
"At Gringotts' exchange rate, three hundred Galleons is about fifteen hundred pounds," Harry explained.
Vernon nodded—more than he had initially estimated. Fifteen hundred pounds was still worth pursuing.
But Hermione shook her head. "Every young wizard has a limited amount of Muggle money they can exchange for Galleons each year. In real value, three hundred Galleons is worth far more than fifteen hundred pounds."
She calculated briefly. "More like double."
Vernon's eyes widened—three thousand pounds was absolutely worth taking legal action over.
He looked at George and Fred more kindly now. That bumbling, overly curious Arthur Weasley had somehow raised children with real business sense.
Still in school, and already making at least three hundred Galleons—possibly even more.
What a shame...
Why did they have to be wizards?
But soon, the softness in his gaze vanished entirely.
"What's a lawyer?" George and Fred asked, looking completely clueless.
Vernon stared at them in shock.
Almost eighteen years old, and they didn't even know what a lawyer was?!
"Wizards don't have lawyers," Hermione admitted awkwardly.
Vernon leaned back, eyes filled with disbelief.
"But suing the Ministry shouldn't be a problem," Hermione said hesitantly. "I don't recall seeing any laws that would prevent it."
Ron turned to her with a horrified expression. "Hermione, you've read Ministry law?!"
Who in their right mind would do that?
"We're Gryffindors," Hermione said simply.
The Gryffindors around them all grinned knowingly.
George and Fred, especially, laughed even louder. "That's right, we're Gryffindors! Hermione, thanks for the reminder—we really should read up on Ministry law."
"Got to aim for an 'O' in this subject."
Still laughing, they headed off to their dormitory.
On the way, George and Fred eagerly sought Vernon's advice on how to sue the Ministry and get their money back—an area in which he had considerable expertise.
That night, they celebrated until late. It wasn't until the early morning hours that the last of the drunken students helped each other stumble off to bed.
Ron rubbed his reddened face. Now that things had settled down, he finally had a chance to ask about everything that had happened. There had been too many people around earlier to have a proper conversation.
Sirius Black, still groggy, was shaken awake by Lupin.
Since Harry had disappeared via Portkey, the two of them had been frantically searching for him and had missed the conversation in the headmaster's office. Now, they couldn't afford to miss anything else.
Crookshanks padded over to Harry, rubbing against his leg and meowing insistently.
"Wait, let me get Neville," Ron said, turning to look across the common room. Neville was struggling to drag his dormmate, Seamus, across the floor. He hadn't dared to use a Levitation Charm—he'd had some drinks tonight too and was afraid he might accidentally send Seamus flying into the fireplace.
"It's someone outside," Harry said, picking up Crookshanks. "It's probably Aunt Petunia."
Ron hesitated, itching to ask—
Hermione sighed. "Don't bother asking Harry if he understands cat language. He doesn't. He's just guessing based on Crookshanks' behavior."
Ron blinked at her.
Harry? Sure, that made sense.
But Hermione too?
"How did you know?" he asked suspiciously.
Hermione shook her head. "I'm not reading minds."
Ron's confusion deepened.
She was just like Harry—he hadn't even said anything, and she already knew what he was thinking.
"I just read basic psychology books to pass the time when I get tired of studying," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "You're really easy to read."
Ron groaned, rubbing his face. "Why does everyone say that?"
Harry walked over to the entrance, moved the portrait hole aside, and saw Petunia and Vernon standing outside.
Once they climbed through—
"Why is the entrance to your common room a hole?" Vernon huffed, panting. He wasn't exactly built for crawling through narrow spaces. Thankfully, the passage magically adjusted to each person's size, so at least he hadn't gotten stuck.
"It's just the way it is," Harry said simply. "Why are you here so late? Came to admire a bunch of drunkards?"
"Petunia was worried about you," Vernon said, sinking onto the sofa. "We told those little lightbulb-faced creatures to let us know when your celebration was over."
Petunia didn't say anything.
Her face looked conflicted, almost guilty. "I never knew your life was this dangerous. I never knew about Lily, either…"
When they were younger, Lily had boasted about how wonderful Hogwarts was.
Petunia had believed it—believed it was safe and happy, just as Lily described.
But after coming here tonight and seeing it for herself…
She had even spoken to the house-elves about it.
This place wasn't just dangerous.
Harry had faced a Dark wizard in his first year. In second year, he fought a basilisk. She didn't fully understand what that was, but the house-elves had patiently explained—comparing its danger level to that of a dragon.
Hatred could make people blind to suffering.
But when that hatred collapsed—
It shattered, leaving behind a flood of guilt that had been bottled up for decades.
Hermione hesitated.
The truth was—
Hogwarts hadn't always been this dangerous.
It had only gotten this way after Harry enrolled.
But she definitely wasn't going to say that.
Harry was not some cursed star of misfortune!
"I'm fine," Harry reassured her, standing up. He removed his robe, revealing the basilisk-hide armor underneath. "See? I even have armor. There were some surprises, but I didn't get hurt. The blood on me isn't mine."
"What was that about a key?" Petunia asked, sitting beside Vernon and frowning.
"A Portkey," Harry explained, conjuring a cushion for Sirius, who had turned into a dog. "It's a magical transportation object—it teleports anyone who touches it to a designated location."
"Death Eaters?" Lupin asked grimly.
Harry nodded. He glanced at Neville, who was still dragging Seamus toward their dormitory.
This wasn't a secret.
Rita Skeeter had already published it in The Daily Prophet.
The Ministry, of course, had immediately issued a "correction," publicly denouncing Skeeter.
Sirius barked twice, then realized he couldn't talk in his Animagus form and transformed back. "Which one of them? Did you catch him?"
"It was probably Barty Crouch Jr.," Harry said quietly.
Thud!
A loud crash echoed from near the fireplace.
Neville had dropped Dennis heavily onto the floor, his face completely pale.
"Sorry, Harry," Neville stammered, trembling as he walked over. His eyes were wide with shock. For the first time, his voice carried real intensity. "Did you just say Barty Crouch Jr.?"
"You mean the son of former International Magical Cooperation Head Barty Crouch?"
"That Barty Crouch Jr.?"
Harry nodded. "It's him."
"He's still alive?" Neville clenched his fists, his round face flushed red, his voice shaking even more than when he faced Snape.
"He probably is," Harry confirmed.
"This isn't just another of Skeeter's lies?" Neville asked, as if needing further confirmation. "My gran says nothing she writes is true—she's a complete fraud."
Harry answered patiently, "You can trust me. I was the one who sent Skeeter to investigate it."
Neville didn't say another word.
He numbly turned toward the dormitory, then, remembering Dennis still lay on the floor, quickly turned back to drag him inside.
"That boy—he has a grudge against Barty Crouch Jr.?" Petunia asked.
Sirius said nothing.
Lupin pressed his lips together. "A terrible story. The night James and Lily were attacked, Crouch Jr. and Bellatrix Lestrange tortured the Longbottoms for an entire night using the Cruciatus Curse."
"They've been in St. Mungo's ever since—never recovered."
Vernon and Petunia didn't know what the Cruciatus Curse was.
But they did understand the word torture.
"I see," Harry murmured, glancing toward the boys' dormitory.
He could faintly hear Neville's quiet sobs, mixed with the snores of his dormmates.
Lupin sighed but said nothing.
Sirius's expression grew heavier as well.
Harry continued explaining. Apart from the part about the Horcruxes, he told them everything.
The more Petunia listened, the more her heart pounded in fear.
"This sounds more intense than those action movies Americans make," Vernon finally commented.
Petunia shot him a glare and jabbed him hard in the side.
Is that really something you should say?
This is your nephew!
Petunia opened her mouth.
She wanted to say something like, "We might not be able to help you with much, but you'll always have a home on Privet Drive."
But she couldn't say it.
She hesitated.
Made up her mind.
But no matter what, the words just wouldn't come out.
They sat by the fire and talked until three in the morning.
Harry walked Petunia and Vernon back.
Sirius and Lupin stayed in the common room to sleep.
The Next Day
Harry had just returned from his morning exercise when Hermione rushed toward him, holding up a copy of The Daily Prophet with a grave expression.
"Harry, bad news! Look at today's paper!"
Harry took it.
The front page featured a large photograph—
A shot from the previous night at the graveyard in Little Hangleton.
He was in the center, gripping both sword and wand, standing over a battlefield littered with corpses.
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Powerstones?
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