121: The Case of the Missing Dementors and Jealousy

121: The Case of the Missing Dementors and Jealousy

"Cornelius, I've told you, I haven't done anything to the Dementors."

Inside the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore looked rather weary as he faced the rotund Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

Fudge, wearing his trademark bowler hat, raised his voice a bit, demanding, "Then who? I mean, apart from you, who else could possibly make three Dementors vanish into thin air?"

The moment the Dementors went missing, the Ministry's first suspect was, naturally, Dumbledore.

After all, the headmaster had made his disdain for Dementors known on more than one occasion. And besides Dumbledore, Fudge couldn't think of anyone else capable of pulling off such a feat.

Strictly speaking, the Dementors of Azkaban weren't directly subordinate to the Ministry of Magic.

They had a cooperative relationship—the Ministry supplied prisoners for the Dementors to feed on, while the Dementors fulfilled their duty of guarding the prisoners.

So, when Fudge found out about the missing Dementors, he stormed straight to Dumbledore.

If this issue wasn't handled properly, the Dementors might go on strike, and that could lead to mass prison breaks at Azkaban.

Under no circumstances could Azkaban fall apart, especially not while Fudge was Minister. The Dementors could not be allowed to fail.

Dumbledore sighed, waving a hand tiredly. "Cornelius, aside from me, there may be others capable of such a thing. Besides the Patronus Charm, it's possible there are other spells that can kill Dementors."

Fudge suddenly thought of a possibility, a terrifying and self-deluding one. He shouted, "Impossible! We all know he—he can't come back!"

The first figure to appear in his mind was that man. Then, another thought struck him, and he spoke with conviction, as if to reassure himself, "I know now! It's Sirius Black, it must be him!"

Fudge's eyes lit up, his body swaying with excitement.

"It has to be him! He's hiding nearby and killed the Dementors!"

His voice grew louder, as if convincing himself, until he was nearly shouting. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Dumbledore watched him leave, sighing quietly to himself. 'Everything has changed.'

Fudge hadn't always been like this. Back then, Dumbledore had lent him his own influence to help him become Minister of Magic. It was power and comfort that had turned him into this fearful man.

At the time, there were better candidates for Minister, but Dumbledore had believed that stability was what the wizarding world needed most.

In hindsight, it might have been the wrong choice.

Fudge had been running from the truth that Voldemort could return. Even if Dumbledore himself told him, he wouldn't believe it.

"Power... should never be used as a personal tool."

If Dumbledore wanted it, all he had to do was show the slightest interest. His old friends, his former students, the Ministry, the Wizengamot, and even the entire wizarding world would gladly make him Minister of Magic without hesitation.

But Dumbledore knew his own heart.

He was pure, strong, brave, and righteous—but he could never touch power. It was a fatal poison, one that would cause him to lose himself.

The younger version of himself had once been with that man, who would go on to become the first Dark Lord after the breaking of the Statute of Secrecy.

And Dumbledore knew—it was his own ideas that had influenced him.

So, even in the darkest times under both Dark Lords, Dumbledore had never sought power. In fact, he avoided it at all costs.

On the desk lay a small golden hourglass. He gently touched it with his fingertips, as if speaking to himself, or perhaps to someone else.

"I hope you won't become like that."

In his mind's eye, two figures appeared. One was a young, vibrant man full of ambition; the other, a student in a Hogwarts uniform, equally handsome but hiding behind a mask.

Their images overlapped, and a third figure began to take shape.

Dumbledore tried to see it more clearly, but his old eyes failed him. All he could make out was the back of that person.

Despite her nervousness, she managed to stutter, "J-John, what do you want to show me?"

She pretended to be nonchalant, remembering what her mother had told her—that women who were too forward were not cherished.

John gazed directly into her pale gray-blue eyes, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. Daphne's heartbeat seemed to skip for a moment.

"I know you've always cared, and I understand what you've been feeling..."

Perhaps it was the intensity of John's gaze that made Daphne instinctively look away.

Seeing her shy and expectant demeanor, John's smile grew even more pronounced—he knew he had guessed correctly!

Raising his hand, he snapped his fingers.

Out of nowhere, music began to play, catching Daphne off guard.

Eh?

"Watch closely! To apologize, Tom has specially trained for this—watch our Tom eat dog food upside down!"

John's voice brimmed with pride and excitement as he pointed to his begrudgingly performing dog.

Tom trotted over with her bowl in her mouth, tore open a bag of dog food, and dumped it into the bowl. With a forceful push of her front paws and a loud grunt, she lifted her hind legs into the air, balancing perfectly on her front legs. Her floppy ears dangled down as she enthusiastically devoured the food.

The atmosphere grew eerily quiet, with John still enthusiastically cheering Tom on from the side.

"Come on, Tom! Keep eating!"

"You got this, Tom! Believe in yourself!"

"Go for it! You're going to be the king—ehm*—Queen of all dogs!"

John's motivational shouts echoed in Daphne's ears, transforming her previously shy expression into one of cold indifference.

She stared at the hard-working Tom, and the corners of her mouth curled into a sarcastic smirk, letting out two cold chuckles.

"How was that? Impressive, right?"

John looked at Tom with satisfaction as the dog had polished off every bit of food.

"Heh."

Daphne let out a cold laugh, once again using that sarcastic, high-pitched tone as she said, "Thank you, John—!"

Why did that sound so off?

John scratched his head, feeling something strange, and cautiously offered, "Actually, Tom can also do a one-pawed handstand while eating dog food."

"Thank you, John!!"

It was the same sentence again. After saying it, Daphne turned and walked away, not giving John a chance to understand what was happening.

John glanced down at Tom, who was happily wagging her tail at his feet. With a raised eyebrow, John shouted, "Something's wrong with you!"

Daphne's footsteps paused—was he finally realizing it? But soon, she realized she was overthinking it.

John was pulling on Tom's face, scolding, "You've been eating double the dog food these days, so how come you haven't put on any weight?!"

Tom's fawning expression froze, and she lowered his head guiltily.

"Hmph!" Meanwhile, Daphne stomped harder as she walked away, as if the floor were John under her feet.

This idiot notices how much dog food Tom eats but can't figure out why I'm upset!

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