Chapter 260: The Truth
It took several days for Lisa to recover from her injuries, and during this time, Phineas did not leave the cabin.
He was still uncertain who was trying to kill him. Was it the Ministry of Magic, other pure-blood families, the Council of Elders—or all three?
So he could not show himself just yet. He needed to hide for a short period and let the wizarding world believe he was dead. Only in this way would the true masterminds lurking beneath the surface be forced into the open.
If this matter wasn't clarified before reappearing in the magical world, it might temporarily suppress certain troubles and unnecessary chaos—but it would also sow dangerous seeds for the future.
This time, they had dared to openly violate the laws of the Alley and attack Phineas outside the Silver Moon Potion Shop. Next time, they might strike at the gates of the Ministry or even break into Hogwarts.
After all, similar things had happened before.
Phineas needed to know who the true enemy was. Only then could he contain, resist, and eventually fight back.
Right now, the enemy was hidden in the shadows, while he remained exposed. The only choice was to disappear temporarily, to turn himself into a shadow as well, and force his enemies into the light. Only then could anything be done.
Because all other participants in the incident were either dead or driven mad—and the few surviving werewolf wizards had already been "dealt with" by the Auror team sent by the Ministry under a fabricated pretense.
Though Sirius had reacted quickly and saved a few, no one knew what had become of Phineas and Lisa.
Many questioned whether Phineas was truly dead.
It might even be said they were all hoping he was. Phineas Black, a thirteen-year-old boy, had placed immense pressure on the pure-blood families. They simply couldn't understand how a pure-blood dynasty that had ruled the magical world for a thousand years could be rendered helpless for a decade by a child.
Phineas's very existence had become a lingering psychological shadow in the hearts of many pure-blood elites.
Unlike them, Sirius never doubted Phineas was alive—only injured and recovering in hiding.
While he searched, he also began pressuring the Ministry of Magic.
Why had so many Dark wizards been able to attack Phineas so openly in Knocktutn Alley—right under the Ministry's nose? And why had the Ministry only arrived afterward—and even targeted those who had defended Phineas?
Sirius alone couldn't truly threaten the Ministry. He wasn't Phineas, who could incite a family war at any moment.
But just because Sirius couldn't do it alone didn't mean others couldn't.
The families allied with the Blacks—or more accurately, with Phineas—began working with Sirius to apply pressure.
These included the Weasley family, employees within the Ministry; the longbottoms; the Malfoys; aristocrats of the magical world; the Greengrasses, darlings of the Council; and neutral families such as the Ollivanders, who leaned toward the Blacks. All were making things difficult for the Ministry.
As time passed and Phineas remained absent, rumors of his death spread. The Black family only grew more aggressive.
Sirius demanded accountability from Ministry officials, especially the Minister of the Auror Department—who happened to be a member of the Ritchie family. This placed Minister Fudge in an impossible position: he couldn't afford to offend either the Ritchies or the Blacks.
Neutral wizarding families such as the Lovegoods, Bulstrodes, Macmillans, Slughorns, and others also began stepping forward.
Their motivations were not political but protective. They had underage children. If the Ritchie faction (as it appeared to many) could attack the Black heir so brazenly, what was to stop them from targeting their children in the future for simply refusing to align?
And the Ministry's inaction only served to signal tacit support for the Ritchies.
Yet in truth, the Ritchie clan had not orchestrated the attack. They had merely added fuel to the fire afterward, aiding the perpetrators behind the scenes.
Eventually, even families allied with the Ritchies—like the Lestranges and the Selwyns—began demanding answers from the Ministry.
This left Fudge floundering. His political instincts told him that darker forces were at play.
Had he realized this sooner, he might have remained neutral and thoroughly investigated. But now the Ritchie faction was collapsing as well.
He had no time left to act.
"Minister, perhaps you should come and see this for yourself," said a woman in his office.
She was plump and toad-like, clad in a fluffy pink cardigan, her broad, slack face framed by short curls topped with a velvet bow. Her voice was shrill and childlike.
Fudge winced.
"Dolores! Must I do everything myself? Why do I even keep you? Might as well hire a baboon in your place."
Dolores Umbridge replied in her usual cloying tone, "But Minister, this is truly something you must see with your own eyes."
Though he loathed her presence, Fudge trusted her judgment—her obsequiousness had its comforts.
He followed Umbridge to the holding cells outside the Silver Moon Potion Shop, where one of the captured attackers was imprisoned. An Auror handed him a test tube containing a golden memory strand.
Fudge approached the Pensieve in the corner, poured in the memory, and lowered his head into the swirling silver liquid.
In an instant, he was transported into the memory: a decrepit house where several black-robed wizards stood waiting.
From the creaking staircase descended a short, bald man with thinning grey hair.
Fudge gasped.
"Impossible!"
The man had a rodent-like face, a pointed nose, watery eyes, and a missing right index finger.
Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail.
Fudge recognized him immediately—Phineas had exposed him months ago, revealing his crimes and the flawed trial of Sirius Black. Pettigrew had supposedly received the Dementor's Kiss and been cast through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. He should have been a soulless corpse—or dead.
Yet here he was, alive in the memory.
Had he survived the Veil? That couldn't be. The Dementor's Kiss was irreversible—its victims were doomed to exist as living husks.
Yet there he stood.
Pettigrew addressed the gathered Death Eaters.
"The master has given the order. You must complete it—no matter the cost."
He rolled forward a pram.
Inside was a baby—or at least, something baby-sized. Pale as bone, noseless, with scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes.
Voldemort.
"Find him and kill him. Kill the boy who has betrayed me so many times—Phineas Black!"
And in that moment, all Fudge's doubts were resolved.
Dumbledore's unwavering support of Phineas, Hogwarts' defiance of the Ministry, the Ritchies' strange reactions—it all made sense.
Because the Dark Lord was alive.
"No!" Fudge shouted inside the memory. "It's fake! A planted memory! Voldemort is dead—he must be dead!"
But he was only lying to himself.
He emerged from the Pensieve, pale and shaking.
"Who knows about this?" he asked Umbridge.
"Only him," she replied, pointing at the Auror.
Without hesitation, Fudge raised his wand and cast the Killing Curse.
"Don't blame me. This must not get out. The Dark Lord is dead. He must be dead."
He was unraveling—driven mad by the thought of Voldemort's return during his administration. It would ruin his reputation. It would destroy his career.
The truth had to be buried—forever.
Umbridge, seemingly unsurprised, made no comment. Like Fudge, she cared only for power. Whether the Dark Lord returned or not was irrelevant—so long as they stayed in power, so long as he stayed dead.
Fudge's eyes darted, already scheming.
They needed scapegoats—ones the public would believe.
The Auror he just killed. The head of the Auror Office—someone from the Ritchie family. The heads of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Magical Transportation—someone from each.
Only then could they balance the political scales.
Only then could they buy off the Black faction with appointments and titles.
"Arthur Weasley works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, doesn't he?" Fudge asked.
Umbridge nodded. "Yes."
"Then promote him—Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. As for Lucius Malfoy… he might agree to serve as Honorary Head of Magical Law Enforcement."