Chapter 91: The Old Man Who Feared Prison
"Graves... he was, without a doubt, a hero," Dumbledore said, deftly sidestepping the implication.
"Right, right, of course," Ryan replied, playing along. "Well, Headmaster, perhaps you should go to the Great Lakes and see if you can find any clues. It would be good for all of us to have a clearer picture of what happened. You could also take the opportunity to educate those incompetent fools at MACUSA." With that, he set down the newspaper and dove back into his mountain of books. He didn't bother wishing the Headmaster a safe journey; for a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber, such pleasantries were an insult. Dumbledore in danger? The only ones in danger were MACUSA.
Unless, of course, Dumbledore were to be ambushed by the remnants of Grindelwald's Acolytes, knocked out with a Muggle sleeping draught, and thrown into Nurmengard. In that unlikely scenario, Ryan wouldn't dare to get involved. How a wizard of Dumbledore's power could be taken down by a simple potion was a mystery he had no desire to solve.
"Albus, I believe you must go to the Great Lakes region," Nicolas Flamel said, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic tension. "You must see the situation for yourself."
The headquarters of the Magical Congress of the United States of America was a grand and imposing structure, all gleaming gold and polished jade. Witches and wizards in fine robes hurried through its halls, their faces set with purpose. Alongside them, various other magical creatures—goblins, house-elves, and others—went about their work.
"I told you this would happen! And now the whole world knows our business!" A young, slender witch kicked open the door to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's office and slammed copies of the Daily Prophet and the Gargoyle's Roar onto his desk.
"Out, Miss Wilkinson. This is not the place for you," the middle-aged department head said, pointing a stern finger at the door.
"This is a legitimate question, a legitimate concern!" the young witch retorted, her voice surprisingly powerful for her slight frame. Her shouting drew the attention of several passing MACUSA employees, who craned their necks to see what was happening.
"This does not concern you, Miss Wilkinson," the department head said, his face darkening as he struggled to control his anger. "And do not forget, you failed your Auror examination."
"A fine thing to say, Mr. Wilkinson," she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your ancestors would be ashamed." She left the newspapers on his desk, turned on her heel, and stalked out of the office, her high heels clicking sharply on the marble floor.
The gawking employees began to whisper. "Miss Julia is at it with the Head again."
"Such a strained father-daughter relationship."
"Have they ever gotten along?"
"They're just too different."
"That's because our Head is the problem. The Wilkinson family descends from Charity Wilkinson, one of the original twelve Aurors. According to the official records, she was a kind and gentle soul—"
"Don't you all have work to do?!" Head Wilkinson roared, slamming his fist on the desk. "Go and deal with the public relations fallout from this! And remember, if you won't do it, there are plenty of others who will!"
The employees scattered like startled Fwoopers. "Right away, sir!" "Getting right on it!"
Once the office was quiet again, Benjamin Wilkinson picked up the two newspapers his daughter had left behind, massaging his temples with his free hand. "This British wizard has some nerve. Doesn't the British Ministry teach its people how to keep their mouths shut?" he grumbled. "Or perhaps that old fool Dumbledore, the self-proclaimed protector of Muggles and wizards, is pulling the strings?"
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. With a sweep of his arm, he sent everything on his desk crashing to the floor. Still not satisfied, he picked up a pen holder and hurled it against the wall.
In the grand lobby of MACUSA, Julia Wilkinson stormed across the floor, her heels striking the ground with a force that seemed to suggest a deep-seated grudge against the very concept of flooring. Giants and goblins alike took a hasty step back as she passed.
"To think that a man like that is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement!" she fumed. She had vehemently opposed the cover-up from the beginning, but her father had dismissed her concerns, citing her failure to pass the Auror exam as proof of her incompetence. "He refuses to investigate, and he forbids me from investigating! Well, we'll see about that. I'll uncover the truth, with or without his permission."
She pushed open the main doors and strode out onto the street. Across the road, she saw a kindly-looking, white-haired old man with a beard that reached his chest, smiling at her. Julia prided herself on her observational skills. She noted the man's nose, which looked as if it had been broken and improperly set at some point, the half-moon spectacles perched upon it, and the well-tailored but slightly worn wizarding robes he wore. He had the air of a learned and experienced wizard.
"Excuse me, sir," she said, her professional instincts taking over. "This is the Magical Congress. Are you in need of assistance?"
"Oh, what a kind young lady," the old man said, his eyes twinkling. "And who might you be?"
"Julia Wilkinson. You can call me Julia."
The old man's expression didn't change at the mention of the famous name. "A pleasure, Miss Julia," he said. "I've come from Britain. I have some friends in the wizarding settlements in the Great Lakes region, and I heard there was some trouble. I was hoping to check on them."
"If that's the case, you don't want to go in there," Julia said, a look of disgust on her face that was somehow still quite fetching.
"And why is that, Miss Julia?"
"Thanks to the brilliant leadership of a certain shameless department head, the official policy of MACUSA is that the Great Lakes massacre never happened. If you go in there and ask questions, especially now that the story has broken, the most likely outcome is that you'll be arrested on some trumped-up charge and thrown in prison."
"Oh, that sounds dreadful!" the old wizard said, shaking his head with what looked like genuine alarm. "I've lived a very long life, and I've never been to prison. I certainly don't wish to spend the rest of my days in a MACUSA cell."
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