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Patrë-on/Se7enX
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In the face of my defiant question, Fudge's arrogant and stern expression crumbled almost instantly.
"W-well... I-I..." he opened his mouth to try to argue, but all that ca out were trembling, incoherent stamrs.
Confronted with the facts I had laid before him, Fudge knew, deep down, that he had no way to refute my accusations.
The evidence was there, exposed on the ground for all to see: undeniable proof that I was right — the Death Eaters had indeed begun to gather once again.
And he realized there was no way to deny or disprove it without looking like a hypocrite, a liar, or a coward — which, let's be honest, everyone already knew he was.
Still staring at , his face twisted into a bitter scowl. 'Damn you, Night!' he cursed silently.
I could feel his angry emotions directed at , which gave a slight twinge of satisfaction and smugness.
Of all the figures in the wizarding world I disliked, Cornelius Fudge was undoubtedly the one who most deserved my contempt and anger — setting aside, of course, dark wizards and criminals.
The truth was that the entire Second Blood War had unfolded the way it did — with so many deaths, so much destruction and tragedy — precisely because of him and his incompetence.
And now, watching him drowning in denial, directing such negativity at , I realized I could finally begin to act against him.
'Just one more year... You will be able to stay in your position for just one more year,' I thought with a cold stare. 'But don't worry, Cornelius... I'll make sure every single day is a living hell for you.'
Fudge, oblivious to the dreadful fate awaiting him, felt only a sense of foreboding and a chill down his spine.
Uneasy, he took off his ugly green hat, clutching it tightly in both hands. He began to crumple it nervously — a habit of his that betrayed just how shaken he was.
Unfortunately for the British Minister, he didn't realize that his silence and his frown at my question were already answers in themselves.
Now, everyone was even more certain that what I said was true.
And the knowledge that the vile Death Eaters — thought to be locked away in Azkaban — were gathering again spread a wave of fear through the crowd.
But beyond that fear, many — especially those who despised dark wizards and everything tied to dark magic — began to wonder who exactly the Death Eaters were that Harry and I had seen in the graveyard.
Of course, a good number of those present already had a clear idea of who they were.
They were among the few who had not been deceived — or bribed — by arrogant purebloods during those trials.
They had always known that the claims of being under the Imperius Curse were utter nonsense. These witches and wizards committed their atrocities simply because they were despicable and cruel human beings.
'Perfect. Now if... or rather, when the situation in the future reaches a critical point, the one the people will distrust will be Fudge — not Harry, not the Headmaster, and not ,' I thought, noting the shift in the crowd's emotions.
Apparently, Fudge noticed it as well, as he regained part of his composure — enough to argue back at .
"Look, I don't know how Macnair ended up in that graveyard, but his presence there — which is the only one you can prove aside from Pettigrew's — is not strong enough evidence to make us believe that the Death Eaters are gathering again."
He pursed his lips before adding, "After all, he was never truly a Death Eater... He was controlled by You-Know-Who, and the Ministry already cleared him of that."
Fudge then glared at , his eyes full of obvious disdain.
"And besides, this is only your word. We cannot fully believe what a boy says as if it were truth... Who knows, maybe you're just embellishing your story to seem more heroic or sothing like that."
Hearing this, I didn't get angry or indignant. In fact, I realized imdiately that this was the answer of a desperate man.
He knew he couldn't beat in a serious discussion, so he resorted to trying to undermine my honesty and credibility.
'He must have realized he's screwed... otherwise, he wouldn't be stooping so low, and so hastily,' I analyzed, raising an eyebrow.
But while I wasn't offended by his accusation, the sa couldn't be said of my family.
"This fat little stupid son of a—" my mom began, stepping forward threateningly, with every intention of punching Fudge.
But before she could do sothing that would likely land her in a Ministry cell for the night, I raised my hand to stop her.
I turned to her with a calm smile, showing that his words hadn't affected .
"Don't worry, I've got this under control," I murmured softly, but loud enough for her to hear.
My mom hesitated for a mont, but my words seed to calm her slightly. She took a deep breath before nodding at .
Reluctantly, she stepped back to my dad's side — though not without throwing Fudge a murderous glare.
'Thank your lucky stars for my son, you pompous fool, because if not for him I'd have made you swallow that stupid hat of yours... and not through your mouth.'
With the situation under control, I turned my attention back to Fudge, who now looked at with an irritatingly smug expression.
Then, without saying a word, I waved my hand — and the severed arm lying on the ground flew to .
Catching the severed limb, I didn't even blink, completely indifferent — unlike those around , who recoiled in horror and disgust.
"Here. Take it." I tossed the arm at Fudge, who caught it reflexively.
"Wha—" he began, before his mind processed what he was holding.
"Aaah!" letting out a decidedly unmanly scream, he dropped the limb at once. His face turned deathly pale, stricken with panic and disgust.
Before the generous gift Nott had left could hit the ground, I summoned it back to .
"Minister, why so afraid? It's just an arm, stained with a bit of blood... nothing more," I said with a mischievous glint in my eye.
"H-how dare you?!" he exploded furiously, his face turning an alarming shade of red. "Do you think this is so kind of joke!?"
"Oh no, quite the opposite. I was simply trying to show you sothing," I replied, before levitating Nott's arm above .
"As you can see, this arm bears a strange tattoo on its wrist. Macabre, yes... but surely familiar to so of you," I said, slowly rotating the limb so everyone could see.
And just as I said, there it was for all to see: the image of a snake entwined around a skull, etched into the severed wrist.
"Look, I may not know as much about Death Eaters as the Ministry does, but I was at the Quidditch World Cup Final when that riot happened. I saw the terrifying mark they cast into the sky."
"And that mark and this tattoo are not rely similar... they are identical."
"Both are Dark Marks — the unique and unmistakable symbol of the cruel and despicable dark wizards known as Death Eaters."
I paused, letting my words sink in, while my gaze swept across the field, noting the fixed stares of journalists, influential wizards, and Ministry officials.
It was a mark nearly everyone knew and feared, and seeing it again filled them with dread and unease.
Knowing my goal had been partially achieved, I smiled coldly, deciding to press further.
"Now, to show that this arm belongs to soone other than Pettigrew or Macnair — which would prove that there were at least three dark wizards in that graveyard — could soone here cast a blood-analysis spell on them?" I asked, looking around.
"Yes, I can," ca a firm voice from the back of the crowd.
The people on the Quidditch pitch parted, and an elderly woman in a nurse's uniform marched forward with a resolute look.
"Madam Pomfrey," I nodded at her as she stopped in front of , handing her the arm.
"Night," she said, giving a sharp look, as if assessing my condition.
Seeing that I appeared well and uninjured, she gave a small nod to herself.
The matron then turned her attention to the arm, and without hesitation or disgust, she took the severed limb.
Without delay, she raised her wand and cast a dark blue spell on it. Then she cast the sa spell on Macnair's head and Pettigrew's body lying on the ground.
End.
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