Harry nodded, his face pale but attentive.
Dudley lay nearby, his complexion still ashen. He remained silent, unnoticed by the room's focus on Harry, which suited him fine—he needed rest.
"Oh, this is dreadful, utterly dreadful!" a flustered voice cried from outside, accompanied by hurried footsteps.
The others recognized the voice and parted to clear a path, their eyes turning toward the door.
A middle-aged man bustled in, clad in a dark green fedora and a pinstriped suit, trailed by a large entourage.
"Minister," the wizards greeted, inclining their heads.
It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.
"Dumbledore, you're here," Fudge said, striding directly to Dumbledore. "Has the questioning begun?"
"Not yet," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Your timing is perfect. We can proceed together."
"Very well," Fudge said, gesturing to his aides. "Record everything."
All eyes shifted back to Harry, who shrank slightly under the scrutiny, unaccustomed to such attention. He fumbled for words, overwhelmed.
"Don't be nervous, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, his voice soothing, almost magical in its calming effect. "I'll ask a few questions, and you just answer as best you can."
Harry's tension eased, and he nodded.
"Excellent," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "The cloaked figure who attacked you—did you see his face clearly?"
Dumbledore began with a simple question to steady Harry's nerves, avoiding the incident's core for now.
"No," Harry said, his voice soft. "As soon as he attacked, a green light flashed, and the goblin collapsed. I… I've seen that green light before, in my nightmares."
His voice trailed off, barely audible by the end.
"Oh, Merlin," someone murmured. "We shouldn't have asked that."
Harry's tragic past was no secret, and the question had unwittingly stirred painful memories.
Fudge glanced at Dumbledore, hesitant to press further, but Dumbledore, after a thoughtful pause, continued. "What about the black phantom? I heard it appeared and stopped the cloaked figure. Is that correct?"
Harry nodded. "There was a black phantom. I don't know where it came from. The cloaked figure was flying toward me, and I thought I was done for. But then I heard a voice, and I felt… I don't know how to describe it…"
He frowned, searching for the right words.
"A sense of majesty?" Dumbledore offered.
"Yes, exactly!" Harry said eagerly. "It was so majestic, like you couldn't help but want to bow just looking at it."
Dumbledore and Fudge exchanged a glance, while the other wizards' eyes flickered with intrigue.
"Did you hear what the phantom said?" Fudge asked, leaning forward. This was the crux of the matter.
"I couldn't understand it," Harry replied. "It wasn't English—just this ancient, mysterious language. When the phantom spoke, it felt… authoritative, commanding."
"An ancient language?" The wizards looked puzzled.
Fudge turned to Dumbledore. "Could it be an old magical incantation?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "With only this, I can't say for certain."
The others murmured, uncertain.
"Could it be a foreign language?" John suggested. "Something obscure, like Arabic or Chinese?"
Harry hesitated, then shook his head. "It didn't sound like those."
The room fell silent, the question unresolved.
Dumbledore pressed on. "After the phantom spoke, did you notice any specific effects?"
Since the language was unclear, they turned to the spell's outcome.
Harry thought for a moment. "I didn't feel anything change, and there was no light. But the cloaked figure, who was about to kill me, suddenly fell from the air to the ground."
"Oh?" The wizards exchanged confused glances.
They'd never heard of a spell with such an effect.
Fudge looked to Dumbledore, but Dumbledore's expression remained neutral, suggesting even he was uncertain.
It sounded like the phantom had disrupted the cloaked figure's levitation spell, but the details eluded them.
"And then?" Dumbledore prompted.
"Later, the phantom spoke twice more," Harry recalled. "The first time, the cloaked figure screamed, and his spell was cut off. The second time, when the cloaked figure tried to escape, the phantom's words seemed to trap him. But then the cloaked figure cast a spell, broke free, and vanished."
"That matches what we saw as we arrived," John confirmed. "The cloaked figure was confined briefly before he escaped."
"He called himself the Night Emperor," John added. "I checked our records—there's no mention of such a name."
"And we noticed the phantom cast spells without a wand," John continued. "Though that might be because it wasn't a physical form."
"What wizard casts such powerful spells without a wand?" Fudge wondered aloud. Wandless magic was possible for simple charms, but the phantom's feats were far beyond that.
"There's another possibility," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "The phantom could be a projection, a decoy, with the true spell-caster nearby, hidden."
His words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
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