Fudge did not agree with Dumbledore's proposal.
If he suspended the Triwizard Tournament now, wouldn't that be announcing to the entire wizarding world that the Ministry of Magic under his leadership was weak and incompetent?
Even though—truth be told—the Ministry under Fudge really had been a mess lately.
Last summer, both the Ministry and Gringotts had been robbed in succession, and even the Quidditch World Cup had been plagued by constant incidents.
But precisely because of that, Fudge was determined to push the Triwizard Tournament through.
In his eyes, this was the perfect opportunity to prove that he was not an incapable Minister.
"Then all the more reason you shouldn't disappoint the wizarding world!"
That was "Moody" cutting in, his tone heated, sounding as though he stood firmly on Dumbledore's side.
In reality, he couldn't have been happier that Fudge opposed Dumbledore.
If the Triwizard Tournament were cancelled, his master's plan would be dead in the water.
Unfortunately for him, Fudge and Dumbledore were arguing too fiercely to spare him any attention.
Fudge said firmly, "The Triwizard Tournament absolutely cannot be cancelled. I refuse to be seen as a coward!"
Dumbledore countered calmly, "A truly wise leader is decisive and clear-headed, and does not concern himself with how others perceive him."
Fudge bristled, convinced Dumbledore was mocking him. "What did you say?!"
At that moment, "Moody" stepped forward to interrupt. "Pardon me, gentlemen, but it seems your conversation is no longer private."
As he spoke, "Moody" flicked his wand and opened the Headmaster's office door.
Harry and Arthur were standing right outside.
"Moody" turned his head—and when he saw Arthur, his pupils shrank slightly.
He had sensed Harry's presence earlier, but he hadn't realized Arthur was there too.
A flicker of unease rose in him. He decided that later he'd return to the scene of the incident to check whether he'd left behind any evidence.
As for an excuse? As a former elite Auror, he could always claim he was worried the current Aurors were a bit rusty and wanted to offer some guidance. Wasn't that reasonable?
Of course, Fudge knew nothing of what "Moody" was thinking.
The moment he saw Harry, Fudge's expression changed completely, the earlier tension with Dumbledore vanishing without a trace.
"Harry! So glad to see you again!" Fudge said brightly.
Anyone who didn't know better might have thought the two of them were old friends.
In truth, Fudge didn't like Harry at all. Harry's fame as the Boy Who Lived overshadowed even the Minister of Magic himself.
But that was Fudge for you. A seasoned politician—no matter how much he disliked someone, he would never show it on his face.
He hadn't held the Minister's seat for so long with no ability at all. At the very least, he was extremely skilled at social maneuvering.
Harry, however, ignored him completely. He stepped past Fudge and said to Dumbledore, "Sorry, Professor. We'll come back later."
"No need, Harry," Dumbledore said, stopping him. "The Minister and I have finished our discussion. I'll see him out and be right back."
Dumbledore had already seen how firm Fudge's stance was. No matter what he said, Fudge would not halt the Triwizard Tournament.
So he decisively moved to end the meeting.
Turning to Fudge, he said, "Minister, if you please."
He even thoughtfully picked up the hat from the side and handed it to him.
Fudge was just as happy to stop sparring with Dumbledore. He took the hat and turned to leave the office.
"Oh, and Harry," Dumbledore added, "if you get bored while you're waiting, feel free to have some licorice candy. Just be careful—it packs a bit of a punch."
He pointed to the head-sized metal container on his desk, filled with the licorice he mentioned.
They were black, stone-like little candies.
But to Arthur's eyes, their shape looked exactly like river snails—so much so that it made him crave a bowl of snail noodles.
Dumbledore and the others left the office, with "Moody" bringing up the rear.
As he closed the door, Arthur gave him a long, meaningful look—so meaningful that "Moody" almost thought he'd been exposed.
The problem was, Arthur wasn't like old Crouch.
Arthur was overwhelmingly powerful, and "Moody" had absolutely no confidence that he could defeat him.
Which meant he couldn't lay a hand on Arthur either.
Forcing himself to remain calm, "Moody" shut the door, silently warning himself to be even more cautious in his future actions.
While Arthur was pondering whether to go get a bowl of snail noodles for a late-night snack, Harry wandered over to the pile of licorice.
He scooped up a handful with his right hand and was just about to pinch one between his fingers to taste it.
The next second, the candy in his hand came alive.
The spiral, snail-like shapes straightened out, transforming into large black tadpoles—complete with sharp teeth.
They opened their gaping mouths and snapped at Harry's hand.
Fortunately, these were just magical novelty candies, not particularly dangerous.
Otherwise, Harry's hand would have been bitten bloody at the very least.
With a yelp, Harry flung the candies away. They hit the floor, and he bent down instinctively to pick them up—
Only for the candies to scatter in all directions, fleeing as though trying to escape Harry and avoid being eaten.
When they scurried into places Harry couldn't reach, he could only turn to Arthur with a pleading look.
Arthur waved a hand casually through the air.
Invisible strands seemed to snap taut, yanking the candies back toward him.
By the time they landed in Arthur's hand, they had reverted to their original snail-like forms.
Arthur barely glanced at them before tossing them back into the container.
He had no interest in those candies. Even if he wanted to try them, he certainly wouldn't choose ones that had just been on the floor.
As for whether Dumbledore might later eat something that wasn't exactly clean—that wasn't Arthur's concern.
Wasn't there an old saying? A little dirt never makes you sick.
Besides, with a wizard's constitution, eating a bit of dust wouldn't cause any problems.
Unless, of course, the Headmaster's office hadn't been cleaned in centuries and the dust was hundreds of years old.
…Actually, thinking about wizarding habits, that wasn't impossible.
Hogwarts had plenty of rooms that hadn't been cleaned for centuries. It wouldn't be surprising if the Headmaster's office had one or two such corners.
After that incident, Harry completely lost his appetite for candy.
He didn't know whether he'd accidentally triggered something while picking them up, but the display cabinet beside them slid open.
From behind it emerged a stone basin, about half a person tall.
Its rim was carved with runes and mysterious symbols. The liquid inside glimmered with a faint blue glow, radiating an enigmatic aura.
Harry asked curiously, "What's this?"
"A Pensieve," Arthur replied. "It can store thoughts and memories extracted from the mind. As long as you touch the silvery strands inside, you can view the corresponding memory."
As he spoke, Arthur leaned closer to examine it.
Looking at the basin, he sighed. "Seems like Dumbledore has quite a lot on his mind."
The Pensieve was filled with silver strands of varying lengths—a clear sign that Dumbledore used it frequently.
After hearing the explanation, Harry suddenly grew curious about what memories Dumbledore had stored inside.
He reached out and touched one of the strands.
The world spun violently.
In the next instant, he landed in what looked like a courtroom.
When Harry steadied himself, he saw Dumbledore standing beside him—much younger than he was now.
Harry immediately realized that he was inside one of Dumbledore's memories.
As he took in the surroundings, a cage suddenly rose from the center of the chamber.
Inside it stood a man Harry had encountered a few times before—the headmaster of Durmstrang, Igor Karkaroff.
Harry remembered Sirius telling him that Karkaroff had once been a Death Eater.
So this must be the Ministry's trial of Karkaroff.
"If your testimony proves to have sufficient value," a voice rang out, "this committee may consider ordering your immediate release."
The voice was painfully familiar.
Harry had spoken with its owner just earlier that day—and now that man was already dead.
That was right. The speaker was none other than old Barty Crouch.
He sat at the center seat, presiding over the trial.
Crouch asked, "Then what evidence do you wish to provide?"
"Names, sir," Karkaroff replied. "I can provide the names of Death Eaters."
Without waiting for further prompting, Karkaroff began rattling off a series of names.
But every name he gave belonged to someone who was either already dead or had already been captured and sent to Azkaban.
The only exception was Snape—who had been vouched for by Dumbledore.
Crouch summarized coldly, "If the witness cannot provide any substantive evidence to this committee, then this hearing will conclude, and you will be returned to Azkaban."
"No—no!" Karkaroff cried urgently. "I know another name!"
Crouch said, "Go on."
Karkaroff said: "…"
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