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Chapter 485: The Fidelius Charm
🕑 Added 2025-02-12 23:05:00 +0000 UTCFortunately, Diana’s gaze did not linger on Kyle. She turned her attention directly to Peter Pettigrew.
“Is that him?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” Dumbledore replied, nodding. “From here, I leave it to you, Diana. I trust you’ll reveal the truth, if indeed he is the one who betrayed Lily and James.”
“I’ll do my best… if he truly is the traitor,” Diana said softly. “But I need one more component… Ah, there it is.”
She looked toward the doorway, where two more Unspeakables entered, both wearing black robes similar to hers. They were guiding a large, floating tank filled with an ink-green liquid. Although the tank seemed no bigger than a small suitcase, the two Unspeakables handling it were visibly struggling, sweat beading on their foreheads and hands trembling as they held their wands.
A few younger wizards exchanged puzzled glances, wondering why such seasoned Unspeakables appeared exhausted by a task that seemed trivial. If only they understood the weight of the object.
The two men approached Peter Pettigrew and carefully set the tank down with a heavy, echoing thud, revealing the true density of the object within.
“That was tough,” one of them panted, wiping sweat from his brow. “You have thirty minutes of use. That should be enough.”
“More than enough,” Diana assured him. “Thank you, Bode, Croaker.”
“Happy to help,” replied Croaker, a blonde-haired wizard, waving a hand dismissively. “Truthfully, I graduated from Gryffindor a year behind Lily. She was remarkable… a great person, gone too soon.”
With a heavy sigh, he stepped back, leaving Diana to proceed.
Diana wasted no time. She drew her wand and tapped it lightly against the surface of the tank. Immediately, ripples formed on the surface of the dark green liquid, as if something was rising up from the depths.
Kyle leaned forward, watching intently. Gradually, a pale white object emerged, suspended in the liquid. It looked like a brain, but with long, delicate tendrils extending from it—a jellyfish-like structure that seemed alive.
“This… this is from the Brain Room in the Department of Mysteries!” someone whispered. “I saw it once when I was there to deliver documents…”
Crouch looked as if he were about to protest, but Dumbledore stepped forward before he could speak.
“I believe we all wish to know the truth, and this is our most reliable means of uncovering it,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm yet resolute. “Memories can be manipulated, but not the soul itself. I give you my word as a recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.”
The courtroom fell into complete silence.
After what felt like an eternity, Fudge finally regained his composure, tapping his gavel on the table. “I, too, give my word on this matter.”
“And I,” Madam Bones added solemnly.
Anyone at the Ministry holding a director-level position or higher knew something of the Department of Mysteries and its secrets, although these mysteries were bound by powerful, unbreakable constraints against full disclosure. The nature and purpose of the Department of Mysteries could be hinted at, but never fully explained.
“Now, let’s vote,” Fudge announced, tapping his gavel again. “Do you agree to allow the Unspeakables to examine Peter Pettigrew’s soul?”
“I agree,” Fudge said, raising his own hand. Madam Bones followed suit, and, one by one, more wizards raised their hands in agreement. Within moments, the number in favor exceeded the halfway mark, quickly solidifying the majority needed to proceed.
Many of those who had initially supported sending Pettigrew to St. Mungo’s had only done so out of a desire to confirm the integrity of his memory and uncover the truth. Now that a more direct and authoritative option was available, they offered no objections. Those like Crouch and Bizzetta sat in tense silence, unable to alter the outcome.
“Sixty-seven in favor,” Madam Bones declared. “Then let us begin.”
Diana nodded. With a deft flick of her wand, the jellyfish-like brain rose from the tank and hovered over Peter Pettigrew’s head.
The entire room fell silent, each person holding their breath and watching her movements with rapt attention. Even within the Ministry, few had ever seen an Unspeakable perform magic involving the soul, and the rarity of this sight filled the crowd with an uneasy curiosity.
As Diana prepared to proceed, a dense, dark blue mist suddenly materialized around her, enveloping both her and Peter and obscuring them from view.
“What’s going on…?” whispered several voices, while others rose in alarm. A few even drew their wands, ready to dispel the mist.
“Calm down, everyone,” Croaker said firmly. “This is a protective measure. When dealing with matters of the soul, it’s crucial to guard against magical interference or unintended effects. The mist ensures precision and safety for the spell.”
“But how are we supposed to know what’s happening in there?” someone demanded, their voice laced with suspicion.
“There’s no need to worry,” Croaker assured them, gesturing toward the tank. “All you need to do is watch here.”
At that moment, a long, translucent tentacle extended from the fog and connected to the tank, causing the dark green liquid within to shift and swirl. The liquid turned a pale, sky-blue color, resembling an oversized, cloudy crystal ball.
All eyes were on the tank as the mist within it slowly coalesced, and after a few tense moments, an image began to form in the ethereal blue haze.
Peter Pettigrew appeared in the image, looking younger and far healthier than his present state, kneeling with an expression of reverence. Then, another figure materialized beside him, sending a chill through the room. Though twelve years had passed, everyone recognized the figure immediately—Voldemort, his pale face and snake-like, scarlet eyes unmistakable.
A collective gasp rippled through the audience as they watched. But just as suddenly as it appeared, the image of Voldemort dissolved, as though someone had stirred the fog with an invisible wand. The mist reformed, displaying a new image—this time, a shimmering golden inscription.
It read:
“I, Peter Pettigrew, voluntarily conceal Potter’s residence at Number 17, Godric’s Hollow, within my soul… and vow to keep it secret… to never speak of it again.”
