The hospital wing was a pocket of tense, sterile silence in a castle still buzzing with confused celebration. Harry lay in a freshly starched bed, his arm bandaged and throbbing, Madam Pomfrey fussing over him with a series of gentle but potent healing spells. Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, McGonagall, Hermione, Daphne, and the Weasleys formed a tight, anxious circle around him.
The peace was shattered by the arrival of Cornelius Fudge. The Minister for Magic bustled in, his pinstriped robes swishing, a copy of the Daily Prophet already clutched in his hand, ready for a photo opportunity with the "brave Hogwarts champion."
"There he is!" Fudge boomed, his face beaming. "The boy of the hour! A bit of a scrape, I hear, but a magnificent victory! A real triumph for inter-school cooperation!"
Dumbledore stepped forward, his expression grave, blocking Fudge's path to Harry's bedside. "Cornelius," he said, his voice low and serious. "I am afraid the situation is far more serious than a simple scrape. Harry was attacked. The Triwizard Cup was an unauthorized Portkey. It took him to a location where he was confronted by Peter Pettigrew."
Fudge's cheerful demeanor vanished. His face went slack with disbelief, then hardened with denial. "Pettigrew? Preposterous! The man's a fugitive, hiding in the wind! How could he possibly orchestrate something of this magnitude?"
"He was not alone, Minister," Dumbledore continued, his voice like the tolling of a great bell. "He was there to perform a dark ritual. He took Harry's blood. It is my belief that he has succeeded in using it to restore Lord Voldemort to a physical body."
"No," Fudge said, his voice rising, taking a step back as if from a physical blow. "Absolutely not. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone. He is finished. This is… this is just the boy's overactive imagination! The stress of the tournament, clearly!"
"I saw him!" Harry protested from the bed, his voice weak but firm. "Pettigrew! He was there!"
"The boy is clearly delirious!" Fudge blustered, his face turning a blotchy red. He was a man terrified of the truth, a politician whose entire career was built on an era of peace and prosperity.
The return of Voldemort was a reality he was simply unwilling to accept. "I will not have it! Spreading panic and fear! Dumbledore, I am deeply disappointed in you for entertaining such fanciful, dangerous nonsense!"
The argument escalated, Fudge's loud, panicked denials clashing with Dumbledore's grim, insistent truths. The others watched, horrified at the Minister's willful blindness.
It was Ariana who cut through the noise. She had been standing quietly by the door, observing the interaction with a cool, analytical eye. She now stepped forward, her voice not loud, but carrying a weight that silenced the room.
"Minister Fudge," she said, her tone respectful but her logic unyielding.
Fudge turned to her, momentarily flustered by this new interruption. "Ah, Miss Dumbledore! A fine young witch! You see, this is all just a misunderstanding…"
"Let us, for a moment, set aside the Voldemort hypothesis," Ariana said, calmly dismantling his argument. "Let us assume you are correct and he has not returned. We are still left with a series of undeniable, verifiable facts." She began to tick them off on her fingers.
"Fact one: Peter Pettigrew, a known Death Eater and dangerous fugitive, is active and capable of orchestrating complex magical plots. Fact two: Someone has already infiltrated Hogwarts and confounded the Goblet of Fire, as we have uncovered at the start of the year. Fact three: two of the other Triwizard champions, Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum, were incapacitated by powerful, illegal curses—the Cruciatus and Imperius, respectively—during the final task. This means there is at least one, and possibly more, highly skilled dark wizard operating freely, capable of casting Unforgivables within a school full of children."
She paused, letting the weight of these facts settle. "Voldemort may or may not be back, Minister. That is a matter for future debate. But what is not debatable is that the threats to our world are escalating. Pettigrew is at large. Dark wizards are casting Unforgivable Curses at international champions. Surely, the most prudent and responsible course of action for the Ministry would be to bolster its defenses. To increase the number of active Aurors, to tighten security, to prepare our world for the undeniable threats that do exist, regardless of their ultimate source. To do anything less would be a dereliction of your duty to protect the public, wouldn't you agree?"
Her argument was a brilliant piece of political maneuvering. She had sidestepped his primary point of denial and cornered him with a set of facts he could not refute, framing increased vigilance not as panic, but as responsible governance.
Fudge stared at her, his mouth opening and closing. He was trapped. To deny her logic would be to admit his own incompetence. "Well… yes… of course," he stammered. "We will, naturally, be… looking into these matters. Increasing vigilance! Yes!"
At that moment, the door to the hospital wing opened again, and Amelia Bones strode in, her monocle glinting. "I heard the Minister was here," she said, her sharp gaze taking in the scene. She had clearly been summoned by Dumbledore.
Fudge, seeing a way out, seized it. "Amelia! Excellent! I was just explaining to Dumbledore that the DMLE will be increasing its patrols! Looking into these unfortunate security lapses at the tournament! I leave it in your capable hands!" And with that, he bustled out of the room, fleeing a truth he could not bear to face.
Amelia Bones watched him go, a look of profound disdain on her face. She then turned to Harry. "Potter," she said, her voice all business. "The Minister may be a fool, but I am not. I need to know exactly what happened in that graveyard. I need a memory. For official review."
Dumbledore nodded. "It is the only way, Harry."
Harry agreed, and Dumbledore began preparing to extract the memory.
"Director Bones," Ariana said, stepping forward again. "I request permission to be present for the viewing of the memory."
Amelia looked at her, surprised. "This is an official DMLE investigation, Miss Dumbledore. It is highly irregular."
"The circumstances are highly irregular," Ariana countered smoothly. "I have been acting as a strategic advisor to Harry for this tournament. My protocol coupled with his own bravery and quick thinking is the reason he is alive right now. Understanding the full scope of the threat he faced is essential for me to continue providing him with effective protection. Furthermore, my unique perspective may allow me to identify details that others might miss."
Dumbledore and Sirius both nodded their support. Amelia Bones considered for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Very well. Your involvement in recent events has earned you that much. You may observe."
"We would like to be present as well," Hermione said, stepping forward, with Daphne at her side.
"We are part of her team."
Amelia was about to refuse, but Dumbledore intervened. "Let them stay, Amelia. These young people have proven themselves to be more capable and trustworthy than half the Ministry. They are a unit. They deserve to face this together."
And so, a small, somber group gathered around the Pensieve that Dumbledore had summoned. One by one, they would view the memory: Dumbledore, the wise leader; McGonagall, the steadfast teacher; Sirius and Remus, the family; Amelia Bones, the arm of the law; and the three brilliant girls who had become Harry's unshakable shield.
They prepared to dive into Harry's memory, to witness the dark ritual in the graveyard, and to face the unassailable, terrifying evidence of Lord Voldemort's return. The time for denial was over. The time for war had begun.