Chapter 3
In the bustling heart of Diagon Alley, the air buzzed with an electric energy. The sun shone brightly, illuminating the smiles of witches and wizards as they reveled in the aftermath of Voldemort’s mysterious demise. Toby's Tavern was overflowing with joyous faces, laughter, and clinking mugs, celebrating their newfound freedom. The Marauders—James Potter, his fiancée Lily Evans, and their close friends Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew—sat clustered at one corner, their mugs foaming with butterbeer, laughter spilling freely into the air.
“Can you believe it?” James exclaimed, a broad grin plastered across his face. “That old snake finally bit the dust! And without a single battle! I mean, where’s the spectacle?”
“Maybe he finally slipped on one of his own curses!” Sirius quipped, causing the table to erupt in laughter.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Order of the Phoenix had gathered for the momentous occasion: Arthur and Molly Weasley, with their ever-expanding family, were mingling with Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who were indulging in rounds of drinks. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged cheerful banter with Dumbledore, who sat slightly apart, a look of profound contemplation etched into his features.
Dumbledore sipped thoughtfully from his glass, his mind wrestling with unanswered questions. “How did he die?” he murmured to himself. “How did it happen so suddenly and without warning?”
The festivities were soon interrupted by the arrival of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, who swept into the tavern with an air of agitation. His usual bravado was replaced with visible frustration, his brow creased with worry.
“Dumbledore!” he called out, cutting through the laughter. “We need to talk.”
The elder wizard raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What troubles you, Cornelius?”
“It’s the Lestrange clan,” Fudge huffed, pacing like a caged creature. “They’ve been bailed out! The cursed object the Aurors found? Apparently, it wasn’t enough to hold them!”
More than the revelry, Dumbledore’s concern deepened. The Lestranges had been a thorn in their side for too long. “We have a chance—their trial is still pending. Hope is not lost yet,” he assured Fudge.
Fudge clenched his fists. “You don’t understand. If only I could throw them in Azkaban for life! Reinhard Lestrange eliminated my family; it just isn’t right! I should have put an end to him ages ago.”
Dumbledore studied him, recognizing the history embedded in the Minister’s words. “And we both know that Reinhard would rather send his youngest son to Azkaban than face it himself,” he replied, his voice even.
Fudge nodded, his frustration palpable. “This entire family has eluded justice for too long! They need to pay!”
Dumbledore sighed deeply, his eyes glimmering with profound wisdom and sadness. “But, Cornelius, I don’t know the way to make them suffer.”
An idea suddenly flickered in Fudge’s eyes. He straightened up and a wicked grin spread across his face as he looked at Dumbledore. “You just gave me the best idea, Professor! I think I know how to taint the Lestrange bloodline!”
With that, Fudge abruptly paid his tab and strode away, a man possessed by ambition and a thirst for retribution. Dumbledore watched after him, an uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach. The revelry around him slowly resumed, laughter and joy once more filling the air. It felt strange; amidst the celebration, darkness still lingered in the hearts of men—an unseen battle brewing for those like the Lestranges, and perhaps now, a new war against those who sought vengeance above all else.
As laughter erupted again, Dumbledore knew that the Wizarding World was far from safe. The end of one conflict often gave rise to the next, and Cornelius Fudge’s dangerous plan was only beginning to unfurl. The echoes of joy were bittersweet; shadows loomed where hope flourished, and he feared the path they would cross next would be stained once more with blood.