章節 127: The Silver Griffin
Scrimgeour's gaze shifted between Harry, Sirius, and the surrounding professors and students. His hand moved toward his robe pocket as his eyes locked onto Sirius Black. He hesitated, carefully choosing his words.
"Potter, I'm saying that perhaps there were hidden truths about what happened back then. But Black could also be someone skilled in manipulating people…"
"He doesn't have the brains for that," Harry interrupted flatly. "Now, let's head to Dumbledore's office, and you should bring Minister Fudge as well."
"That's doable," Scrimgeour replied with a nod. "But Black must first—"
Harry frowned. "I'm not in the mood for further arguments, Mr. Scrimgeour. He's here and not going anywhere."
"He needs to be in the custody of the Ministry," Scrimgeour insisted stubbornly.
Harry fixed him with a cold stare and turned to lead the group toward the castle without another word.
Scrimgeour moved to block his path.
The Dementors encircled the group, their cold and despair-inducing aura pressing down on everyone. Sirius turned pale, and even Hermione and Ron looked unwell.
"Step aside," Harry commanded, his tone icy.
Scrimgeour raised his hand. "Arrest Black!"
Harry raised his wand, aiming directly at Scrimgeour.
The Aurors hesitated, clearly unwilling to step forward. Fighting Harry was one thing, but doing so in Hogwarts, under the watchful eyes of Dumbledore, was another entirely.
Scrimgeour scowled at his subordinates, then spat on the ground in frustration before turning his attention back to Sirius.
"Harry, I know you're powerful and that you can cast the Patronus Charm," Scrimgeour said, his voice laced with a mix of respect and frustration. "I apologize for what happened at the Quidditch pitch, but even you must realize your Patronus won't be enough against this many Dementors."
"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he added.
Harry didn't respond. Instead, he made a series of hand gestures, summoning a golden shield of protection around himself.
Scrimgeour lifted his wand, signaling the Dementors.
The dark creatures stirred, excitedly moving toward the group.
"Do not harm the students. Just capture the filth among them!" Scrimgeour barked.
Harry's eyes turned sharp and cat-like, the glint in them as cutting as a blade.
The simmering frustration and anger left unresolved with Peter Pettigrew boiled over in his chest.
This is the Ministry of Magic? he thought bitterly.
The very institution that would prioritize its reputation over truth, over justice—even for just a few hours.
"Scrimgeour," Harry growled through gritted teeth, "this time, you've gone too far!"
Magic began to surge around him, growing more potent with every second.
Scrimgeour turned his face aside, speaking as if to a younger version of himself. "Potter, you're young now. Someday, when you're older, a Head Auror or even a Department Head, you'll understand why this is necessary."
The Dementors pressed forward, their shadows shifting and twisting like a gathering storm, their coldness seeping into everything.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Harry shouted the incantation.
The wand in his hand—Hermione's vinewood wand with its dragon heartstring core—responded immediately, resonating with Harry's overwhelming emotions. The resulting magic erupted like a volcano.
A brilliant silver light burst forth.
Scrimgeour, despite his experience, couldn't help but marvel. A third-year student casting such a powerful Patronus was an extraordinary feat.
Only about a third of Aurors could manage it, after all.
But then the light shifted.
From the radiant silver glow emerged not the form of a lion, but something even more awe-inspiring.
An eagle's head broke through the light first, followed by the muscular body of a lion and the spread of two magnificent wings.
Scrimgeour's jaw dropped in astonishment.
The Aurors were equally dumbfounded.
Lupin and Sirius, on the other hand, gazed at the silver griffin with pride and wonder in their eyes.
Harry's Patronus had changed. Like Dumbledore's, it had transformed from an ordinary creature into a magical beast. From a lion, it had become a griffin.
The griffin spread its wings, generating a powerful gust of wind.
The Dementors were swept away as if they weighed nothing.
With a single swipe of its talons, it tore through the cold, oppressive darkness.
Lupin raised his wand, summoning his own Patronus—a silver wolf, noble and handsome, though more dog-like in its demeanor than feral.
Hermione followed suit.
Her cedarwood wand vibrated in harmony with her magic, gentle and smooth like a thawing stream in spring.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A dense, silvery mist gathered and, influenced by the griffin, coalesced into a partially corporeal form—a lioness.
It pounced on the nearest Dementor.
Sirius and Ron raised their wands as well, though only thick silver mist emerged from theirs.
The griffin swept through the battlefield, scattering the Dementors in panic. In mere moments, the dark creatures fled.
Only the Aurors remained.
The griffin returned, striding to Harry's side. It folded its wings and lay down, its hawk-like eyes fixed intently on Scrimgeour.
"Now then, Mr. Scrimgeour," Harry said calmly, his tone as still as the windless snow. "Shall we proceed to see Dumbledore?"
Scrimgeour took an uneasy step back, inhaling deeply before nodding. "Of course, Mr. Potter."
"Good."
Harry sheathed his wand and slid the Sword of Gryffindor back into the Sorting Hat.
Walking up to Scrimgeour, Harry suddenly delivered a swift punch to the man's gut.
Scrimgeour doubled over, clutching his stomach as he sank to the ground, his eyes watering from the pain.
The Aurors tensed, but none dared to intervene.
"That was for making me angry," Harry said, helping Scrimgeour back to his feet. His face was stern.
Scrimgeour grimaced, his voice strained. "Mr. Potter, I understand you're upset, but could you have gone a bit easier?"
"If I'd used more force, you wouldn't be standing," Harry replied evenly.
Scrimgeour's face turned a shade greener.
After several moments, he straightened himself with effort and followed Harry toward the castle. The Aurors pretended not to notice, whistling nonchalantly as they "patrolled" the area.
They entered the Headmaster's office, where Dumbledore greeted them with a raised eyebrow.
"Sirius Black?" Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, clearly surprised. "Harry, is this what you and Lupin have been keeping secret all this time?"
"You should have told me," he continued. "He's still rather dangerous—"
"He's perfectly safe," Harry interrupted. "You were his Headmaster. You should know that. Well, at least you've still got your wits about you, unlike my dear godfather…"
Sirius nearly barked indignantly. "Hey, Harry! I was in the top ten of my year!"
The room fell silent, everyone staring blankly at Sirius.
"Top ten is nothing to boast about," Lupin said, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "Everyone here was consistently in the top five."
Sirius glanced around, his eyes settling on Ron.
"I was fifth in first year and third in second year," Ron said, offering a shy smile.
Sirius gawked at him, utterly flabbergasted.
Impossible! He looks so... ordinary!
"If you've ever fallen to eighth or ninth, or heaven forbid, out of the top ten," Lupin added, "it's best not to argue." He conjured a chair for Sirius. "Sit down and rest; you've been through a lot."
Sirius slumped into the chair, thoroughly defeated. Crookshanks leapt into his lap, curling up for a nap.
Dumbledore observed the scene thoughtfully.
Harry waved his wand, and the sack he'd been carrying fell to the floor.
"Actually, Professor, my godfather isn't the secret Lupin and I were keeping. This is."
With a flick of his wand, the sack's bindings unraveled.
A severed head rolled out, followed by a headless, diminutive body.
Scrimgeour stared at the grisly sight, his eyes wide. "Potter, is that…?"
"Peter Pettigrew?" Dumbledore asked, equally astonished.
"Pettigrew?" Scrimgeour's voice wavered. "The hero Pettigrew?"
Harry nodded.
"But… he died thirteen years ago," Scrimgeour stammered. "In that explosion, leaving only…"
"One finger," Dumbledore interjected, stroking his beard. "Yes, that's what we all thought. But clearly, this tells a different story. Harry, would you care to explain?"
Dumbledore conjured chairs for everyone, inviting them to sit. With a wave of his wand, he served drinks—syrup for himself and butterbeer for Harry.
"Thirteen years ago, the Secret-Keeper for my parents' home wasn't my godfather," Harry began calmly. "It was Pettigrew."
"He betrayed my parents, and my godfather chased him down. Pettigrew used a blasting curse to fake his death."
Harry paused, then added dryly, "And my godfather, whose brain isn't always his strongest asset, decided to take the blame."
"Harry!" Sirius protested weakly.
Harry sighed. "Fine. For reasons we all understand, he blamed himself for my parents' deaths. He didn't defend himself and was imprisoned in Azkaban, bearing the guilt for thirteen years."
Sirius drained his glass of whiskey and looked expectantly at Dumbledore, who refilled it with a flick of his wand.
"Pettigrew, meanwhile," Harry continued, "hid in the Weasley family, living as their pet rat. He lived with them for thirteen years, moving from Bill to Percy to Ron."
Ron buried his face in his hands.
"Earlier this year, when Fudge brought a newspaper to Azkaban, Sirius saw a photo of the Weasley family on the front page. That's when he saw Pettigrew—their pet rat—and broke out of Azkaban."
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