Chapter 25: The Mysterious Language

Harry nodded, his throat tight. On the sofa nearby, Dudley lay still, his face pale and waxen under the magical lights of the Gringotts office. He didn't speak, nor did he need to. For once, all attention was on Harry, and Dudley was grateful for the chance to let his shattered spiritual senses recover in peace.

"Oh, this is terrible, absolutely terrible!" A flustered, important-sounding voice echoed from the hallway, followed by the hurried clatter of many footsteps. The assembled wizards parted like a wave, their gazes turning respectfully toward the entrance.

A portly, middle-aged man bustled in, his pinstriped suit rumpled and a dark green bowler hat perched precariously on his head. He was followed by a nervous-looking entourage.

"Minister," the wizards greeted him in unison.

This was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself.

"Dumbledore, you're here," Fudge said, making a beeline for the Hogwarts Headmaster. "Has the questioning begun?"

"Not yet, Cornelius," Dumbledore replied, his expression serene. "It's good that you've arrived. We can proceed together."

"Excellent, excellent." Fudge waved a hand at his aides. "Record everything," he commanded.

Instantly, every pair of eyes in the room—and several magically animated quills hovering in the air—focused on Harry. He shrank back into the plush sofa, unaccustomed to being the center of attention. He felt a desperate urge to disappear.

"Don't be nervous, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle and kind. "I will ask you some questions. Just answer them as best you can." A subtle warmth seemed to emanate from his voice, a calming magic that soothed Harry's frayed nerves.

"Very good," Dumbledore smiled. "Now, the robed person who attacked you. Did you get a clear look at his appearance?" It was a simple question, designed to ease him into the difficult conversation.

"No," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "He cast the spell, the green light, and the goblin… he just fell. I… I've seen that green light before. In my nightmares." His voice trailed off, the memory threatening to overwhelm him.

"Oh, my goodness," one of the ministry officials sighed. "Perhaps we shouldn't have asked." They all knew the boy's tragic history.

Fudge glanced at Dumbledore, a look of unease on his face, but Dumbledore didn't stop. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he continued. "What about the other figure? The black phantom. I'm told it appeared and blocked the attacker."

Harry nodded. "Yes. I don't know how it appeared. The robed man was flying toward me… I thought I was about to die." He paused, his brow furrowed in concentration. "But then, I heard a voice, and I felt… I don't know how to describe it. It was…"

"A sense of majesty?" Dumbledore supplied gently.

"Yes, exactly!" Harry said, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "It was majesty. The kind of feeling that makes you want to fall to your knees just by looking at it."

A ripple of intrigued murmurs went through the room. Dumbledore and Fudge exchanged a significant glance.

"And what did this person say?" Fudge asked, leaning forward. This was the crucial point.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I couldn't understand the language. It wasn't English. It sounded… ancient. And powerful. When the phantom spoke, the words themselves had that same feeling of authority and majesty."

"A mysterious ancient language?" Fudge looked puzzled. He turned to Dumbledore. "An ancient magical tongue?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "It is difficult to say based on this information alone."

"There are many ancient languages in this world," John, the Gringotts guard, chimed in. "Could it have been something foreign? Obscure dialects, perhaps?"

Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. It didn't feel like any language I've ever heard of. It felt… older."

Dumbledore steepled his long fingers. "After the phantom spoke, what happened? What were the effects of this… magic?"

"Let me think…" Harry closed his eyes, trying to recall the chaotic scene. "There was no light, no flash of a spell. It's just… the robed man, who was flying at me, suddenly just… fell. He dropped out of the air and hit the ground."

The room was filled with confused muttering. No one had ever heard of a spell with such an effect—one that simply negated another's magic without a counter-curse. Fudge looked at Dumbledore, who remained placid and unreadable.

"And then?" Dumbledore prompted.

"I remember him speaking two more times," Harry said, his memory becoming clearer. "The first time, the robed man let out a scream, as if he was in terrible pain, and the spell he was casting was interrupted. The second time, the robed man was trying to escape, and after the phantom spoke, the man seemed to be trapped, frozen in place. But then he cast some other spell, all fire and darkness, and he broke free and vanished."

"That matches what we saw when we arrived," John confirmed. "He was confined, then he broke free." He paused. "The phantom called himself 'Night Emperor.' I've run a check. There's no record of any such wizard or entity." He hesitated before adding, "We also noticed that the phantom cast its spells without a wand. Though, that might be because it had no physical form to hold one."

"Wandless magic of that power level?" Fudge scoffed, bewildered. "That's unheard of."

"To achieve such an effect," Dumbledore said suddenly, his voice soft but carrying a profound weight that silenced the room, "there is another possibility." His gaze drifted meaningfully toward the other sofa, where Dudley lay still, pretending to be asleep.

"The phantom could have been a diversion. A projection. The one truly casting the spells could have been someone else entirely, standing very close by."

***

(End of Chapter)

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