The Fidelius Charm

"So, what exactly happened with that Sirius Black?" Harry asked, still unclear about the events of the past.

Dumbledore let out a long sigh. "Let me explain."

With a wave of his hand, he conjured a bundle of ropes, binding Peter Pettigrew tightly and sealing his ears shut. Then, with another flick, several chairs materialized behind them. Once everyone had taken a seat, Dumbledore began again.

"At the time, our war against the Death Eaters was taking a turn for the worse. When we learned that Voldemort had discovered the prophecy, we didn't know which child he would choose. So, we arranged for both the Potters and the Longbottoms to go into hiding..."

Hearing his parents mentioned, Neville abruptly lifted his head to look at Dumbledore. But since he had been sitting quietly in the corner, few people noticed his reaction.

Dumbledore continued, unhurriedly, "Back then, Madam Longbottom—Neville's grandmother—stepped forward and became the Secret-Keeper for the Longbottoms' hiding place..."

Seeing the confusion on Harry's face, Dumbledore smiled. "I placed a series of protective enchantments over the Potters' and the Longbottoms' safe houses. Among them, the most crucial was a highly complex spell known as the Fidelius Charm. This spell permanently hides a secret within a living soul. The person entrusted with this secret is called the Secret-Keeper. Unless the Secret-Keeper willingly reveals it, the secret can never be discovered. Even magic cannot expose it.

"Originally, I had arranged for Sirius Black to be the Secret-Keeper for the Potters... However, it seems that Black and the Potters secretly changed the plan. To be fair, it was a clever idea. Under normal circumstances, it could have deceived everyone. But unfortunately, they chose Peter to be the Secret-Keeper instead..."

"Later, when Black heard about the Potters' deaths, he sought out Peter. And then—Peter blew up nearly an entire street, transformed into a rat amidst the chaos, and escaped. Black, believing he had avenged his friends, stood there laughing hysterically as the Aurors arrived. He neither resisted nor defended himself. He was simply taken straight to Azkaban."

"Wait," Harry interjected, suddenly noticing a problem. "He was sent straight to Azkaban? Without a trial?"

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "The Ministry of Magic was rather... aggressive in those days. Many people were imprisoned in Azkaban as soon as the evidence seemed conclusive. As far as I know, when evidence was presented in court, Black did not make any attempt to refute it."

Dumbledore and the others departed with Peter Pettigrew in tow. Shortly afterward, Ron—his face twisted in disgust—stormed into the bathroom, clutching his blanket. Judging by the continuous sound of running water that followed, he was determined to scrub away every last trace left by that middle-aged rat of a man.

"Judging by Ron's reaction, I'd say the fact that Scabbers was actually a middle-aged, overweight wizard is going to haunt him for quite some time," Harry remarked, glancing at the closed bathroom door. Then he turned to Seamus and the others. "Let's try not to bring it up until he's had time to process it."

Seamus, Dean, and the others nodded in agreement.

Yet, by midday, the entire school had already heard about what had happened in Gryffindor Tower. The story had been exaggerated beyond recognition—its details more dramatic, its twists more convoluted, its cast of characters multiplied beyond reason. It had grown so absurd that even Harry, one of the direct witnesses, was caught off guard.

And all of this was thanks to one particularly enthusiastic storyteller.

Harry could understand Ron's excitement—after all, being the center of attention could be thrilling once in a while. But did he really have to go so far as to claim that he and the others had helped Dumbledore fight an "epic battle" against Pettigrew in their dormitory? That Dumbledore had struggled mightily and only managed to subdue Peter with their assistance?

Considering Pettigrew's actual strength—not to mention the fact that he hadn't even had a wand at the time—Harry found it laughable. Even if Peter had been armed, every single person in that room (except maybe Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Hermione) could have easily taken him down without breaking a sweat.

At first, Harry was puzzled as to why no one questioned the obviously flawed "The True Story of How We Captured Peter Pettigrew, Version 2.0," or its even more outrageous sequels. But on his way to the Great Hall, he overheard a group of sixth and seventh years discussing their admiration for Gryffindor's brave second-years and their heroic resistance against the Dark Lord's minions.

And then Harry understood.

With judgment like that, these people would probably believe it if enough students insisted that Draco Malfoy had defeated Dumbledore in a duel.

And if, by some miracle, Draco Malfoy did manage to defeat Dumbledore…? Harry chuckled to himself. As if that could ever happen. Given the average lifespan of powerful wizards, Dumbledore could easily live to be two hundred. By then, Malfoy would probably have trouble just walking.

--

That afternoon was Gilderoy Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Perhaps having learned from his disastrous Cornish Pixie demonstration—or perhaps simply unable to find a magical creature he was confident he could handle—Lockhart had chosen the safest teaching method possible: reading aloud from his own books.

One had to admit, Lockhart was a master at captivating an audience. Despite the sheer dullness of the lesson, he somehow managed to keep the students engaged and enthusiastic.

Once he felt the atmosphere had reached its peak, Lockhart strode to the front of the class and announced loudly, "Now, to bring the stories in this book to life, I will select a few lucky students to act out certain roles. First, for the role of the werewolf—who would like to volunteer?"

Sitting in the back, Harry had been meditating, preparing for the night's upcoming duel. But suddenly, he felt an eager gaze fixed upon him. He looked up—right into Lockhart's expectant eyes.

Lockhart cleared his throat. "Now, I declare that the werewolf will be played by Ha—"

The classroom door swung open.

Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, clad in deep emerald robes.

"Apologies, Professor Lockhart, but I need a few students to accompany me to the Headmaster's office. The Ministry insists that all involved parties be present."

"Oh, of course, of course! If it's a Ministry request—" Lockhart gestured grandly for her to proceed.

And then he watched, wide-eyed, as six students stood up and followed McGonagall out of the room—including his personally chosen werewolf, Harry Potter.

"Iced lemon drop," McGonagall said.

The stone beast came to life, leaping aside, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiraling marble staircase that twisted upward.

Under Professor McGonagall's lead, the group stepped onto the staircase. As soon as the last person set foot on it, the wall behind them slowly closed. They ascended in circles, rising gradually until they reached a gleaming oak door. Embedded in the door was a griffin's head, half-emerging from the wood, its curious eyes fixed on them while it held a brass door knocker in its beak.

A loud commotion could be heard from behind the door, as if a dozen people were in the middle of a heated discussion. As Professor McGonagall rapped the door knocker three times, the door slowly swung open, and the noise inside instantly amplified several times over.

Harry stepped around Professor McGonagall and saw seven or eight people in the Headmaster's office, engaged in a fierce argument. In the corner of the room sat Peter Pettigrew, his expression vacant, tied securely to a chair.

"No! I absolutely do not agree to releasing that Black!" A shrill voice cut through the noise. Harry saw a short, plump middle-aged witch, her back to him, speaking in a high-pitched tone. "Doing so would gravely undermine the authority of the Ministry of Magic! Headmaster Dumbledore, I trust you wouldn't want to damage relations with the Ministry over a mere Black, would you?"

"The so-called authority of the Ministry... Is it truly so important that sacrificing an innocent person is acceptable?" Harry stepped into the office, his voice calm yet piercing.

His words drew nearly every gaze in the room toward him, including that of the short, plump witch. However, the moment Harry saw her face, he sincerely wished she had kept her back turned.

She was short and round, her tightly stretched robes barely containing her bulk. Her face was broad and sagging, her large mouth perpetually drooping in a displeased scowl, as though the entire world owed her money. Her bulging, round eyes protruded slightly, and her neck—if it even existed—was entirely swallowed by rolls of fat. Perched atop her short, curled hair was a black velvet bow, absurdly girlish and completely at odds with her appearance.

How should one describe it? Perhaps she could be classified as some unholy offspring of a toad and a fly after a drunken night together?

"This is a discussion for adults," the short, plump witch said sharply, her lips stretching into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It would be best if children refrained from voicing immature opinions. The affairs of the Ministry of Magic are not for little boys to meddle in—do you understand?"

Harry felt a wave of nausea just looking at her. He frowned, forcing down the queasiness and took a step back.

"And you are...?" Hermione stepped forward, her gaze scrutinizing the repulsive woman.

"Me?" The woman puffed out her chest proudly. "I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. You may address me as Madam Umbridge."

At that, Hermione also frowned, suppressing her own revulsion as she stepped back.

Looking thoroughly pleased with herself, Umbridge turned back to Dumbledore. "Well, Headmaster, shall we proceed as I suggested? Sirius Black remains where he belongs, and as for this Peter Pettigrew—since he is, after all, a Death Eater who has violated numerous laws—why don't we simply find an appropriate charge and throw him into Azkaban? That way, both sides get what they want, wouldn't you agree?"

"No!" Harry's voice rang out firmly. "Sirius Black must be released! The innocent should not be sacrificed for the sake of maintaining so-called authority! And if that authority requires the sacrifice of innocent lives to sustain itself, then perhaps it isn't worth having at all!"

"You—" Umbridge's beady eyes widened as she opened her mouth to retort, but the short, stocky man standing beside her raised a hand, stopping her.

This man, dressed in robes of garish colors, had a solid build and graying hair. His sharp gaze flicked briefly to Harry's forehead, where the lightning-shaped scar peeked out from beneath his messy black hair. He then crouched slightly, offering Harry an affable smile.

"Now, now, my dear boy, I completely understand your feelings," he said in a genial tone. "But sometimes, we must consider the bigger picture. Think about it—if we publicly exonerate Sirius Black, wouldn't that imply there may be others in Azkaban who have been wrongfully imprisoned? If that happens, the Ministry would be forced to review every single inmate's case."

He paused for effect before continuing, "Now, let's set aside the immense manpower and resources such an effort would require—can you guarantee that in the process of these new trials, no mistakes will be made? What if a real criminal is mistakenly freed? If even one dangerous individual returns to society and brings harm to innocent people, wouldn't that be a disaster? And all of it—just because we decided to overturn one single case. Both the Ministry of Magic and the entire wizarding world cannot afford such risks. Do you understand?"

Harry's expression remained unshaken. He met the man's gaze without hesitation.

"I stand by what I said," Harry replied resolutely. "It is wrong to abandon justice out of fear of possible consequences!"

Cornelius Fudge's face twitched slightly. He glanced at Harry, then at the others behind him, all of whom shared his unwavering determination. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh and turned toward Dumbledore, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement.

Fudge spread his hands helplessly. "Dumbledore, your students are rather..."

"Cornelius," Dumbledore interrupted with a pleasant smile, "Harry's stance is my stance. We cannot justify sacrificing the innocent simply because we fear potential consequences, can we?"

Fudge ran a hand through his thinning hair in frustration. "Kingsley, take these students back. This matter no longer concerns them."

"Yes, Minister." A deep, steady voice answered. A tall, dark-skinned man with a bald head and a single gold hoop earring stepped forward, motioning for Harry and the others to follow him out of the Headmaster's office.

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