Ch 118
"Today I have a piece of good news to announce," Dumbledore said brightly. "But the main character is not this old man—it is someone none of you would expect."
"Look, that's Connelly Fudge—my dad's boss," Ron whispered in surprise, pointing toward the stage.
"Why is he here?" Harry asked. He had never liked the Minister much. Between his stiff bureaucratic manner at the Leaky Cauldron and his decision to let Dementors guard the school, Harry found him hard to respect.
Honestly, Harry would rather face Sirius Black himself than those cold creatures that fed on despair. They always dragged him back to memories he wished would fade forever.
Fudge stepped onto the platform. He wore a pinstriped suit with a bright red tie, looking unusually formal. His purple boots and dark-green bowler hat made him appear slightly taller than usual.
"Students, hello," Fudge began.
"First, I must apologize to all of you." He bowed deeply, his expression solemn.
The hall erupted into murmurs.
"Has he taken the wrong potion?" Ron muttered. "Dad always says Fudge never cares about what others think."
Harry nodded. He remembered the Minister's condescending tone all too well.
"My mistakes brought you serious trouble," Fudge continued. "I trusted those guards far too much. Now I know they cannot be relied upon."
He hurried down the steps and walked straight to Gryffindor's table. Grasping Harry's hand, he declared loudly, "They almost harmed our hero, Harry Potter!"
"Are you well now, Harry?" he asked with exaggerated concern.
"I—I'm fine," Harry replied awkwardly, trying to free his hand.
"Excellent." Fudge returned to the stage and straightened his tie. "Thankfully, Headmaster Dumbledore helped resolve the situation."
The students remained unconvinced. A few polite claps sounded, but most faces were indifferent. The Dementors had terrified everyone; a few apologies could not erase that.
Fudge wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He remembered what young Malfoy had told him—politics was performance. Even if the audience looked bored, he had to keep acting.
Those Dementors had brought him nothing but disaster. Parents complained constantly, especially the pure-blood families whose support kept him in office. If their children failed exams, they blamed the guards he had placed at the gates.
He could not afford to lose these students' goodwill.
A clicking sound came from the doorway as a photographer snapped pictures, flashes lighting the hall.
"He'll actually print himself looking like that?" Ron whispered with a snort. "Watch—he'll do something ridiculous next."
Harry said nothing.
"Crookshanks, what's wrong?" Hermione suddenly whispered. The ginger cat beneath her feet had stiffened, fur bristling. It tried to leap toward the stage, but Hermione scooped it up quickly.
"Be good," she murmured, stroking him. "We're in a meeting."
The cat calmed slightly, though its eyes remained fixed on the platform.
"However!" Fudge raised his voice excitedly. "A few days ago we received unbelievable news."
"Our hero—recipient of the First Class Order of Merlin—Mr. Peter Pettigrew, did not die!"
"What?"
Lupin sprang to his feet.
A short man stepped out from behind Fudge, arms spread wide.
"Remus, my old friend!"
His small eyes shone with tears. Though bald on top, his remaining gray hair was neatly combed, and medals glittered on his black suit.
Lupin stared in shock. Joy and suspicion fought across his face.
"Where have you been these twelve years?" he asked at last.
"Please… don't make me speak of it." Pettigrew waved his hands painfully.
At that moment Moody hurried to the stage. His magical eye whirled as he examined the man.
"No Imperius Curse. No Polyjuice. No disguise magic," Moody rasped before returning to his seat.
"He is real," Lupin said firmly. "But he must explain himself."
"I was always near you," Pettigrew answered with a bitter smile.
Snape watched from the teachers' table, his lips curled in cold mockery.
Crookshanks growled again, trying to leap from Hermione's arms.
"Quiet!" she whispered desperately.
"Are you joking?" Lupin demanded, face pale.
"I would never lie like a traitor," Pettigrew replied.
"Do you remember where I died?" he asked.
"On that street—Sirius caused an explosion, killed you and twelve Muggles!" Lupin's voice shook. "Then tell me—how are you here?"
"Because my memory returned." Pettigrew forced an emotional expression.
"Memory?"
"You were always cleverer than me," Pettigrew said sadly. "If I had been stronger, I could have stopped him."
He described pain, betrayal, and desperate escape. Neville began to sob quietly, thinking of his parents.
"By some miracle I survived," Pettigrew continued. "I lost my memories and could only remain in my animal form. For years I wandered, until a kind family took me in."
"The Weasleys," he said softly, looking toward Gryffindor.
Ron stared at him in horror, as if turned to stone.