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Chapter 612: The Truth
🕑 Added 2025-03-13 12:50:08 +0000 UTCKyle paused mid-step on the staircase as Harry’s voice echoed angrily.
“How could they say such a thing about Sirius?”
Turning toward the sound, Kyle spotted Harry confronting Professor McGonagall.
“Deliberately injuring a student? Suspected Death Eater? How is that even possible? He’s an Order of the...” Harry fumed, his words spilling out in frustration.
“Potter!” Professor McGonagall snapped, cutting him off. “This is a decision made by the Ministry of Magic, and we must cooperate.”
“But...” Harry faltered, knowing he was crossing a line but too upset to stop.
Sirius being taken away—once again accused of crimes linked to the Death Eaters—was too much for him to process.
“But, Professor, hasn’t he already been acquitted?”
Professor McGonagall’s lips tightened into a thin line. After a pause, she replied carefully, “I can only tell you that things are not as simple as you think. In any case, Headmaster Dumbledore will handle this. You, Potter, need to focus on preparing for your O.W.L.s this year.”
Harry opened his mouth to argue further, but McGonagall turned and walked away briskly, leaving him seething.
Frustrated, Harry slammed his fist against the stair railing, while Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks.
Kyle’s expression darkened. The incident surrounding Sirius’s sudden removal seemed to have layers of mystery. What could possibly have happened to tie Sirius to the Death Eaters again?
Driven by curiosity, Kyle decided to take his questions directly to Dumbledore.
That afternoon, after his last class, History of Magic, Kyle headed to the eighth floor, stopping in front of the Gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office.
“Tooth Splintering Strong Mints...” Nothing.
“Pepper Imp...” Still nothing.
“Cherry Syrup!”
At the third attempt, the statue leapt aside, revealing the hidden passage. Kyle smirked—getting the password right was always a matter of knowing Honeydukes’ inventory. Popular sweets were a reliable guess.
He climbed the spiraling staircase and pushed open the oak door to the headmaster’s office.
Dumbledore looked up from his desk, where he had been writing a letter. “I thought you might come to see me at lunchtime,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Kyle stepped forward, rubbing Fawkes’s neck as the phoenix preened under the attention. “Is this about Sirius?” Dumbledore prompted.
“Sort of,” Kyle admitted. “What’s really going on? There’s no way this is just about a student being injured during his dueling class.”
“There is some truth in that,” Dumbledore said. “Some parents wrote to me last year, complaining that his methods were extreme.”
Kyle frowned. “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”
Dumbledore hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I have received word that Peter Pettigrew is dead. At the time of his death, a large black dog was seen near Azkaban.”
Kyle blinked in disbelief. “Peter Pettigrew is dead? Could it be fake news?”
“No,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “I’ve confirmed it. It was indeed Peter.”
“When did this happen?” Kyle pressed.
“A week ago,” Dumbledore replied.
Kyle shook his head vehemently. “That definitely wasn’t Sirius. School had already started, and he’s been here the entire time. Sirius may have the strongest motive to kill Peter Pettigrew, but he’d never risk it with Harry around.”
“I believe the same,” Dumbledore agreed. “But the Ministry doesn’t share our certainty. They insist I’ve been helping Sirius hide.”
Dumbledore folded the parchment he’d been writing on and sealed it in an envelope.
“What about the Death Eaters?” Kyle asked. “I heard Sirius was taken because of them.”
“I can’t be certain,” Dumbledore admitted. “It’s possible Peter Pettigrew said something before his death that led the Ministry to draw the wrong conclusion.”
As Dumbledore placed the letter on his desk, Fawkes nudged Kyle gently before picking up the envelope in his beak and flying out the window.
Kyle watched the phoenix disappear into the sky, curiosity piqued. Few people warranted a message delivered by Fawkes.
Could it be for Nicolas Flamel? he wondered silently.
“Oh, yes, there is one more thing,” Dumbledore said, pausing Kyle just as he was about to leave. “Although your actions in the Great Hall were... gratifying, I must remind you that our new Professor Umbridge is not as forgiving as some of your other professors.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Professor McGonagall shares my concerns,” Dumbledore continued, “and she believes it would be wise for you to tread carefully and avoid being caught off guard.”
“That’s fine,” Kyle said casually, a faint smirk forming on his lips. “I’ve got my own way of dealing with her.”
His lack of concern brought a brief flicker of amusement to Dumbledore’s expression.
“But while we’re on the topic...” Kyle’s tone shifted slightly as he looked at the headmaster. “Professor, about what we discussed at The Hog’s Head... You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
Dumbledore’s fingers trembled faintly as he placed them together, his expression softening. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” he replied with a hint of weariness. “In fact, I’ve recently spoken with Amelia, Barty, Arthur, your father Chris, and even Dugald. I had a drink with him at the Leaky Cauldron just two days ago.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Kyle said confidently, turning to leave.
Just as he reached the door, another thought struck him, and he pivoted back.
“Professor, can you tell me your plan?”
“What plan?” Dumbledore asked, feigning confusion.
“The plan to get yourself expelled from the Wizengamot,” Kyle said pointedly, “to confuse both Fudge and You-Know-Who. I noticed the voting numbers were... odd."
“Of course,” he added, “if it’s inconvenient to explain, that’s fine too.”
Dumbledore hesitated, his usual composure giving way to rare uncertainty. “There are certain things you may not fully understand,” he began carefully. “The Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards never have full attendance."
“For example, master potioners often cannot leave their cauldrons while brewing something delicate. Similarly, certain magical experiments require constant supervision, and their practitioners cannot attend.”
“So... you were actually expelled?” Kyle pressed, raising an eyebrow.
“Ahem, not exactly,” Dumbledore replied, fiddling with a piece of silverware on his desk. “There are advantages to this. My positions in the Wizengamot and the Confederation consumed a significant amount of my time. Now that I am relieved of those duties, I can focus on more pressing matters.”
Kyle studied Dumbledore for a moment before nodding. “Understood. Thank you, Professor. I’ll be going now.”
Dumbledore smiled faintly. “Next week’s password is Sherbet Lemon. You won’t need to guess if you decide to return. Good luck, Kyle.”
“You too, Professor.”
Leaving the headmaster’s office, Kyle made his way directly to the Great Hall, where dinner preparations were in full swing. The room was buzzing with conversation, and he spotted Kanna saving him a seat.
Sliding into place beside her, Kyle tuned into Cedric and Mikel’s animated discussion about Quidditch.
“Tryouts will be Saturday morning at 9 o’clock,” Cedric was saying. “Since we need three players this year, it’d be great if everyone could come. We need to see if the newcomers mesh well with the rest of the team.”
“I’m fine with that,” Mikel replied. “But it’d be great if we could get a senior Beater. The second-years are too young, and they don’t have the strength.”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t care, as long as they don’t hold us back.”
Cedric nodded optimistically. “It’ll work out. I just hope the Quidditch season starts soon. With Kyle’s Firebolt, we’ll be unbeatable—even with a few new players.”
