The next two days passed for Harry in a tense, monotonous rhythm.
He would wake up in the narrow but warm room at the Leaky Cauldron, go downstairs for a simple breakfast, then take a deep breath and head toward the brick wall leading into Diagon Alley.
The bustling Diagon Alley felt like an entirely different world.
He lingered for a while in front of the Quidditch supply shop, gazing at the gleaming Firebolt and imagining what it would feel like to fly it once he returned to Hogwarts.
He paused outside Flourish and Blotts, breathing in the scent of new books, and even worked up the courage to step into Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour to buy a generous chocolate ice cream.
The sunlight, laughter, and familiar magic there temporarily eased the gloom weighing on his heart.
The afternoon, however, was the true test.
As the sun began to sink and the noise of Diagon Alley gradually faded, Harry would turn toward the dark, narrow side street that marked the entrance to Knockturn Alley.
The moment he stepped onto the damp cobblestones, the temperature seemed to drop sharply.
Light was almost completely swallowed by the crooked, looming black shopfronts on either side, and the air reeked of sharp potions and the unpleasant smells of dubious creatures.
There was no laughter here, only malicious murmurs and unsettling displays in the shop windows: shrunken heads, massive black spider specimens, crystal balls glowing with eerie light, and greasy potion bottles marked with vague, ominous labels.
Everyone he passed was wrapped in a tattered cloak, hat brims pulled low, hurrying along with eyes gleaming in the shadows—openly wary and greedy.
More than once, Harry felt cold gazes slither over his back like snakes, making the hair on his neck prickle.
He saw shopkeepers with yellowed teeth and leering smiles. He saw Dark Wizards with hard, predatory eyes exchanging unknown items in shadowed corners. He even caught sight of some unspeakable creature's organ, suspended in a large glass jar in a shop window, its eyes snapping open to stare straight at him.
Noctis remained perched quietly on his shoulder, its dark eyes keenly surveying their surroundings like a silent watchtower.
Its presence brought Harry enormous comfort. He knew the Professor was nearby—or watching him through this magical raven.
He forced himself to straighten his back, trying not to look like a lost, easy target, though his heart thudded uncontrollably against his ribs.
On the first afternoon, after nearly two hours of wandering through that suffocating place, nothing happened beyond a few malicious stares that followed him.
Harry all but ran out of Knockturn Alley. By the time he returned to the Leaky Cauldron, his back was drenched in cold sweat.
Noctis circled silently among the pub's low beams a few times, as if confirming the surroundings were safe.
Harry had no desire to linger. He just wanted to get back to his room and breathe.
He pushed the door open.. And froze.
An unexpected figure was seated in the room's creaky old chair.
"Harry! I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic," Fudge said as he shot to his feet, his plump face flooding with relief. "Seeing you safe and sound at last—well, I can finally set my heart at ease!"
"Oh… hello, Minister." Harry was still a little dazed, unable to understand why the Minister for Magic was waiting for him here.
Fudge hurried forward and, without warning, seized Harry's arm. The alchemical prosthetic was hard and cold, astonishingly strong, clamping painfully against Harry's bones. Harry didn't dare pull away.
"Ah, Harry," Fudge sighed, dragging him over to the table and pressing him into a chair as if afraid he might bolt. "You really gave us quite a scare, you know! Running off from your aunt and uncle's house like that. I thought you might have—well—but you're safe now, and that's what matters most."
A flicker of barely concealed anxiety passed through his cloudy eyes.
Harry's gaze drifted involuntarily to Fudge's metal arm.
He vaguely remembered Ernie and the others mentioning that Fudge had claimed in The Daily Prophet that the injury was sustained while "protecting students" at Hogwarts—though exactly whom he had protected was never made clear.
The explanation now felt oddly unsettling.
"Where did you go?" Fudge demanded, picking up a cold piece of shortbread from the plate on the table. He finally released Harry's arm, though the reproach in his voice was unmistakable. "I've been waiting here all afternoon!"
"Uh, I—" Harry began, scrambling for an excuse, but Fudge didn't give him the chance.
"Care for one?" Fudge said, taking a bite of the biscuit, his words tumbling out quickly and indistinctly. "But before that, there's something you should know. The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad we sent to Privet Drive yesterday was completely at a loss over your Aunt Marge's condition. She was entirely unable to speak, and all her teeth had fallen out. In the end, we had no choice but to modify the family's memories. They don't remember any of it now. So… no major incident, all resolved."
He waved a hand, as though brushing aside a trivial inconvenience.
Harry opened his mouth, then swallowed whatever explanation he'd been about to give. Fudge clearly wasn't interested in hearing it anyway.
"You're a very clever boy, Harry," Fudge said, his tone softening into something patronizing. "Smart enough to hide yourself here. The Leaky Cauldron is quite safe—you can stay here without worry until… ah, matters are resolved."
He deliberately glossed over what those "matters" were.
"Has the Ministry of Magic caught Black?" Harry asked suddenly, his green eyes fixed steadily on Fudge.
The muscles in Fudge's face twitched visibly, and his smile stiffened at once.
"What? Oh—you… you've heard about that too?" He rubbed his plump hands together, his gaze flicking away. "Not yet… not yet. But it's only a matter of time! The Azkaban guards and the Aurors aren't merely decorative!"
He tried to sound confident, but the reassurance came out hollow.
At that moment, a dark shadow landed silently on the windowsill.
Noctis had returned.
The raven's cold eyes swept indifferently over Fudge, as though he were nothing more than an uninteresting piece of furniture, then drifted away without concern.
Fudge's reaction, however, could not have been more different.
He sucked in a sharp breath, as if struck by a venomous snake. His plump body stumbled several steps backward, colliding with the table behind him with a heavy thud, his face draining of color.
Almost at the same time, accompanied by a nearly inaudible sound, Sagres's figure seemed to flow out of the shadows themselves, materializing abruptly in the center of the room.
Harry noticed beads of cold sweat break out across Fudge's forehead almost instantly.
"Long time no see, Minister," Sagres said, his calm gaze settling on Fudge.
Fudge froze as if struck by Petrificus Totalus. He awkwardly tucked his ornate alchemical prosthetic behind his back, forcing an extremely strained, almost sycophantic smile onto his face as he stammered, "Ah, y-yes… quite so. Long time no see, Gre—Professor Greengrass."
His voice was tight and dry.
"I was just about to come looking for you," Sagres said as he casually conjured a high-backed chair and sat down at ease, as though he owned the room. "This saves me a great deal of effort."
"L-looking for… me?" Sweat trickled down Fudge's face. He reflexively wiped at it with his sleeve. "I-is there… something you need?"
The fear in his voice was nearly spilling over; he clearly remembered this man all too well.
Watching the exchange, Harry felt a strange sense of unease. It was obvious that Fudge was afraid of Professor Greengrass, but that in itself was baffling—the Minister for Magic was supposed to be one of the most powerful figures in the wizarding world.
Sagres did not answer at once. Instead, he drew a folded copy of The Daily Prophet from the inner pocket of his robes.
With a gentle flick of his finger, the newspaper seemed to come alive, unfolding clumsily as if sprouting wings, fluttering straight toward Fudge before landing with a soft thud in his trembling hands.
"I want to know how this newspaper ended up in Black's cell."
Fudge flinched as though the paper had burned him, his face draining of what little color it had left.
With trembling hands, he lifted the paper. After a single glance at the headline, Harry saw his already sickly complexion turn deathly pale.
"In… in Black's cell?" Fudge's voice rose sharply as he tried to feign surprise, as though hearing this for the first time. "Th-this… this is an important lead! I—I had no idea…"
"Is that so, Minister?" Sagres cut in calmly. "Unfortunately, my Legilimency indicates that you've just lied."
All the blood vanished from Fudge's face at once. His body swayed unsteadily.
He shot a terrified glance at Harry standing nearby, his lips quivering. At last, as if all his strength had drained away, Fudge's shoulders sagged and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
"Ah… y-yes… yes. I remember now."
He pretended to study the newspaper again, as though searching his memory. "I… I visited Azkaban some time ago, you see… and I happened to have this newspaper with me. Then… Sirius asked for it. He said—said he wanted to do the crossword to pass the time, so I… I gave it to him."
His voice grew quieter with every word, heavy with guilt.
Sagres sat in silence, his ice-grey eyes fixed on Fudge. A weighty, wordless pressure filled the small room.
After a suffocating few seconds, he spoke again. "So, not long after he obtained that newspaper… he escaped from prison. Is that correct?"
"Yes… yes…" Fudge's voice cracked, on the verge of breaking. "But—but I swear on my life! It was just an ordinary newspaper! It absolutely, absolutely could not have been the key to Black's escape! I swear!"
He shook his head frantically, desperate to distance himself from the matter.
Sagres said nothing, merely continuing to watch him. After a long pause, he finally spoke again. "Then, Minister, is there anything else you're withholding from us?"
Fudge swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as cold sweat soaked through his collar.
"I… I don't know what you already know," he muttered incoherently.
His eyes darted back and forth as though weighing his options. At last, some thought seemed to tip the balance. He sucked in a sharp breath and spoke rapidly.
"However… back then… after Black betrayed the Potters… Peter Pettigrew went after him. Ah—Peter Pettigrew was also a close friend of the Potters. But Black was clearly far stronger than Pettigrew… he blew him to pieces in front of everyone! We—we only ever found one of Peter's fingers in the end…"
He recounted the incident as though tossing out a bargaining chip, hoping to divert attention from himself.
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