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After our departure, Fudge remained at the entrance of the maze, trying to deal on his own with all the mess of this night.
He was facing a flood of questions and complaints from the crowd. The public — and especially the journalists — were practically ready to tear him apart in search of a juicy piece of information.
At any other time, he would've taken advantage of such a situation to promote himself as an exemplary Minister, increasing his chances in the next election.
However, after everything that had happened — and after the things I had revealed — public opinion about him wasn't very positive. Trying to talk to them now would only have the opposite effect of what he wanted.
'Damn Night! I shouldn't have let him talk so much!' Fudge thought, grinding his teeth.
But shaking his head, he tried to push the regret away. There were more urgent matters to deal with at the moment — like the corpse and the severed body parts on the ground.
However, just as Fudge was about to order his staff to collect the remains, he noticed something that made him freeze for a moment.
'Wait a second... Night didn't actually tell us everything that happened!' his eyes widened slightly.
Only now, after reflecting for a bit on the chaos of tonight, did he realize that I had never really finished my account of what had happened in the graveyard.
He remembered that at no point had I said how Harry and I managed to escape that place.
And in fact, when he thought about it, he realized I didn't even seem to have any intention of talking about it — which was highly suspicious.
But unfortunately for the Minister, that realization came a little too late.
'Damn it! That was such a crucial piece of information, and I forgot to question him about it!'
Fudge grimaced bitterly, gripping and crushing his hat once again.
At that moment, he had been under so much pressure — and so stressed and irritated by everyone's criticism and whispers — that his mind couldn't think straight.
The only thing he could focus on was trying to discredit me and tarnish my reputation.
Because of that, now he had no idea how the two of us had managed to survive for so long in that graveyard, supposedly surrounded by dark wizards.
And he also didn't know how we ended up with Pettigrew's corpse and Macnair's severed head — or what exactly had caused their deaths.
But he was sure of one thing: the death of those two wizards had something to do with me… in a deep, dangerous, and perhaps even criminal way.
For Fudge, that was more than enough reason to have continued questioning me.
He had no doubt that if he had pressed me for a few more answers — answers he thought would incriminate me — he might have been able to turn public opinion back in his favor.
Maybe he could've even made me look, in everyone's eyes, like just another arrogant, dangerous brat hungry for fame at any cost.
'No. I can't let this opportunity slip away!' he told himself, a vengeful gleam flashing in his eyes, 'I have to find Night and make him tell me what he did before escaping the graveyard.'
With that thought, Fudge spun on his heels and, with firm and arrogant steps, began walking toward the medical tent with only one goal in mind.
To uncover the whole truth... or at least the 'truth' he wanted.
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-Medical Tent-
As soon as we arrived at the medical tent, Madam Pomfrey immediately took Harry and me to the back, where two isolated beds awaited us — clearly prepared in advance.
The healer witch was in such a hurry to examine us that she didn't even let me speak to my sister or to Gabrielle, who watched us with worried and curious eyes as we passed by.
Determined not to let anyone interfere with her work or overwhelm us with more questions, Madam Pomfrey even stopped our families and friends from staying by our side.
And knowing the matron's reputation all too well, no one dared to oppose her. Everyone remained quiet, waiting obediently in another part of the tent.
"Lie down there," Madam Pomfrey said, pointing to the beds.
Without questioning her, Harry and I immediately obeyed, climbing onto the beds and lying down.
Seeing that, she nodded to us before turning and walking toward a large cabinet on the other side, where several medical tools and potions were stored — things she'd likely use on us.
But before leaving, she didn't forget to draw the white curtain that surrounded our beds.
As soon as she closed it, the two of us were completely cut off from the outside world, unable to hear or see anything beyond it. Clearly, the curtain was enchanted, blocking any sound from outside.
'Phew... Finally, she's gone!' I let out a relieved sigh, sitting up on the bed.
I think that not even in Voldemort's presence had I felt as much pressure and nervousness as I did in Madam Pomfrey's.
I was sure that if she were a dark witch — or even a Dark Lady — she could've made the entire world kneel before her in less than a week.
'Everyone calls Grindelwald or Voldemort the greatest Dark Lords, but they're only great because no witch has ever tried to conquer the world yet,'
'Women can be truly terrifying when they want to be.' I thought, pursing my lips.
Reflecting on that, my mind involuntarily drifted to Morgana LeFay — the most feared and dangerous dark witch to ever exist in the wizarding world.
The woman who, wielding the purest and most unfathomable black magic, along with unmatched cruelty and cunning, fought directly against the legendary Merlin and King Arthur.
'Yeah... good thing there aren't any Dark Ladies around nowadays,' I thought, feeling a slight shiver.
Shaking my head, I pushed those thoughts away. I had already dealt with enough dark magic and dark wizards for one day.
I then remained calmly seated on my bed, humming softly as I finally allowed my body and mind to relax.
Harry, on the other hand, was restless on the bed beside me. He kept glancing anxiously around, his hands clutching the sheets.
His emotions were so agitated that they broke my brief moment of peace, making me frown at him.
I could tell he was less stressed than when we were in the graveyard or on the Quidditch Pitch, but something was still clearly bothering him.
"Sigh... Okay, Harry, spit it out," I said, catching his attention.
"Huh? W-what?" he stammered, turning to me in surprise and alarm.
"Dude, it's practically written all over your face that something's bugging that little head of yours," I said, giving him an ironic look.
"Now, either you tell me what's going on, or when Madam Pomfrey comes back, she's going to find a little lion hanging upside down from the ceiling. Your choice."
Saying that, I crossed my arms, staring at the Boy-Who-Lived with an expression that clearly said I was waiting.
Feeling the intensity of my gaze, Harry shifted uncomfortably on the bed.
But he knew me well enough to realize that I wasn't bluffing. If he didn't open his mouth in the next few seconds, I would do exactly what I'd said.
So, nervously, the golden boy gave in and began to speak.
"I-I think... I think I could've defeated him," he said, his tone hesitant.
"Defeated who?" I asked, confused.
"Voldemort... I think I could've defeated Voldemort."
"You could've?" I raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you have done that?"
"Look, this might sound crazy, but... if I had touched him — or if he had touched me — he would've burned to ashes..." he said, looking nervous.
Then, afraid I wouldn't believe him, he quickly continued to explain.
"I'm not lying! Headmaster Dumbledore told me this happens because of the protection my mum left on me before she died. That's what keeps Voldemort from touching me."
"Really?" I feigned surprise.
"Yes," he nodded softly.
His gaze then fell to his hands resting on his lap. "I've seen it happen before..." he added, his voice lowering, tinged with sadness and anguish.
His eyes looked distant, weighed down. He kept staring blankly at his hands, too ashamed to meet my eyes.
The emotions radiating from the golden boy were a whirlwind of negativity... and among them, regret, fear, and guilt were the strongest.
'Huh?' I blinked, confused. I had no idea why he was feeling that way — so sad and guilty.
'Am I missing something here?'
End.
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