Chapter 88: Make A Choice, Dumbledore!
Dumbledore was a very intelligent person, and this intelligence was not limited to his mind or knowledge, but also included his experience and insight.
When Dumbledore spoke to test him, Vaughn knew that Old Dumbledore, based on his rapidly developing cooperation with Crouch, had guessed something.
In fact, as long as a person has enough information, coupled with a rich and bold imagination, it is not too difficult to guess why Crouch was willing to help Vaughn—
For someone whose family was broken, who was disheartened, and who could even give up his political future, what else could revive him?
Of course, it was his family!
Vaughn hadn’t intended to be secretive. He wanted to win over Crouch precisely to use Crouch’s reputation and connections, so there was naturally no need to be timid.
Even Crouch himself didn’t care—he just wanted to fulfill the wish of himself and his wife, to win back his son; beyond that, he could ignore everything else!
Dumbledore heard the subtext in Vaughn’s words.
He was silent for a moment, then said, weighing his words: “Have you considered that people who fall due to Dark Arts are not entirely because of the corrupting influence of Dark Arts? In a sense, we can also think that power has no right or wrong. Just like a Muggle’s gun, it doesn’t run into your hand and force you to use it… Magic, like firearms, is just a tool without a mind!”
“Every wizard who falls and becomes addicted to Dark Arts, in the beginning, it was their own hearts that first harbored evil. Dark Arts were merely a tool for them to carry out their evil. You can’t blame everything on the tool just because it influenced the user… Do you think people like that are still worth turning around or saving?”
Vaughn smiled: “You shouldn’t say such things to me. I’m just a… sort of doctor? I have a fair transaction with my patients’ families. He helps me, and I help him. As for whether the patient is guilty, that’s the business of law enforcers and their families. It has nothing to do with me, a doctor!”
Old Dumbledore sighed, speechless.
He knew that his attempt to influence Vaughn with morality had failed again. This was also what made him feel most powerless about Vaughn. Vaughn was only 12 years old, yet his worldview was mature to an outrageous degree.
He had his own logic and methods for dealing with things, and they were usually very reasonable—even if they were sophistry, they were quite persuasive.
And more importantly, Dumbledore discovered it too late!
Dumbledore only learned this afternoon that Crouch had sent over 20 letters endorsing Vaughn, and only then did he realize that Crouch’s support for Vaughn far exceeded normal bounds.
So, before coming to the Ministry of Magic, he visited the Crouch family cemetery in Godric’s Hollow, where Mrs. Crouch and Barty Crouch Jr. were buried together.
And his magic only detected one body in the two graves…
If he were to act purely on his conscience, Dumbledore knew he should immediately notify the Ministry of Magic and have Barty Crouch arrested.
What made his decision difficult now was this—once Crouch was arrested, the establishment of the Werewolf Affairs Committee would likely face considerable obstacles.
No… not likely, but certain!
Everyone knew now that Crouch was also a supporter of Vaughn, and for this, he had even written over 20 letters this afternoon.
Fudge, as his opponent, was clearly even more aware of this!
If Crouch had problems at this moment, not only would the Wizengamot members who voted in favor be caught off guard and lose morale, but Fudge would also seize this as an excuse to obstruct or delay the resolution to establish the Werewolf Affairs Committee!
Barty Crouch Jr. was undoubtedly a cruel and irredeemable Death Eater.
But if, because of him alone, the future of over a thousand wandering werewolves was sacrificed…
Dumbledore was in agony. If he had understood Muggles better, he would have known that his current dilemma was somewhat similar to a classic Muggle thought experiment—the trolley problem.
He was now like the poor driver in the trolley problem, caught in a moral dilemma: should he sacrifice thousands of innocent people to punish one evildoer, or should he let the evildoer go for the sake of thousands of innocent people?
“Hoo—”
Dumbledore sighed and looked at Vaughn with a hint of weariness: “Vaughn, you deliberately let me discover this, didn’t you?”
“I only just figured it out. You asked Crouch to suddenly contact old friends on the last day, deliberately at this highly scrutinized moment, to make everyone notice your unusually close cooperation… especially me. You know I would definitely investigate exactly why Crouch would cooperate with you so much!”
“The reason is that you intend to make Crouch your spokesperson. In the future, he will have more and more contact with me and Amelia. Sooner or later, we will notice that something is unusual between you two. Since that’s the case, concealing it is meaningless, and you never waste time on meaningless things…”
Saying this, he gave a wry smile: “Sometimes, I really want to pry open your head and see what’s inside.”
Vaughn neither admitted nor denied it.
He simply replied with a smile: “My academic performance can guarantee that what’s in my head isn’t Murtlap essence or slug slime, you can rest assured of that.”
“Ha… a classic Potioneer’s analogy!”
“Thank you, I learned that from my professor. I find it quite interesting.”
The smile on Vaughn’s face grew more pronounced.
Of course, he was happy. Dumbledore’s harmonious conversation with him was enough to indicate what choice Old Dumbledore had made.
Clearly, between the future of a thousand people and the sins of one person, Dumbledore, as expected, leaned towards the majority.
This was the choice most people facing a moral dilemma would likely make.
Seeing the unconcealed joy on Vaughn’s face, Dumbledore felt a little displeased and deliberately asked: “Actually, there’s a question I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time. Crouch’s secret, Horcruxes… where exactly did you get this information?”
Vaughn was a bit uninterested in his deliberate probing: “What do you think?”
Dumbledore thought for a moment and said something startling: “I suspect you have the bloodline of a Seer!”
“Oh… if you say so, then it is!” Vaughn replied perfunctorily, his expression not very good.
Dumbledore paid him no mind and asked with a chuckle: “Then, my dear Seer, can you tell me what my future holds?”
“You will die!”
Vaughn also said something startling, retorting with a cold laugh: “You will die horribly, falling from the Hogwarts Observatory, your whole body smashed into a pulp, and after death, your grave will be dug up. It will be a truly miserable end!”
Dumbledore: “Oh—now I’m sure that Aurora’s blue Astronomy Professor’s blue statement that you lack spirituality in Divination is probably true!”
Amelia, who had just walked in and accidentally overheard their conversation: “…”
Amelia looked at Vaughn with a malicious grin and then at Dumbledore, who was acting playfully. She suddenly felt that these two people, who were hurting each other, were, in some ways, really alike!
For example, they were both a bit childish…
At night, Whitehall Street on the ground level was brightly lit and resplendent.
The Ministry of Magic underground was no less impressive, bustling with people. On the second basement level, the usually quiet Wizengamot Chamber had become lively again today.
Unlike last time when the room was filled with crimson robes, this time, in the huge tiered hall, only about a dozen Wizengamot members were scattered around the main rostrum.
On the other sides sat Ministry of Magic officials, reporters, and wizarding citizens who were free and came to join the fun after seeing the notice this afternoon.
The entire scene was therefore very noisy.
As Vaughn and Dumbledore followed Amelia into the grand hall, the first greeting they received was the flash of cameras from the front row.
The smoke rising from the burning magnesium strips carried a faint smell of potions.
Then, a short, stout man with a receding hairline, surrounded by a crowd, walked over quickly and gave him a firm hug:
“Son, long time no see. Father missed you so much… Everyone, this is my son, Vaughn Weasley. Look how handsome he is, he’s as tall as I am!”
Only Arthur could speak to Vaughn like this.
Vaughn was speechless. In fact, he had seen his father half a month ago, as he had been at the Ministry of Magic during that time.
Arthur led his son, proudly showing him off to his colleagues, especially Amos—Cedric’s father.
“Amos, after today, my son’s name will be known throughout the wizarding world. He will become a great figure…”
Arthur, with effort, put his arm around Vaughn’s shoulder and bragged extensively to the grim-faced Amos Diggory. Amos finally couldn’t stand it and walked away.
Arthur laughed heartily twice before whispering to Vaughn: “In the future, associate less with the Diggory family. You have no idea how petty Amos is. Son, to belittle you in front of me, he even spoke up for Fudge… that scoundrel!”
“Actually, Cedric is quite a decent person,” Vaughn replied fairly.
“Oh… yes, yes, Cedric is a good kid. He’s just unlucky to have an unreliable father…”
As they were talking, Amelia, who was already seated at the main rostrum, placed her wand to her throat:
“Quiet!”
The booming voice, amplified by the spell, drowned out all the noise.
Amelia’s stern gaze swept around: “The Wizengamot vote is about to begin. Please take your seats and refrain from making noise!”
Vaughn quickly separated from his father and returned to his Wizengamot seat.
Arthur and other Ministry of Magic officials, according to the usual rules, sat opposite the Wizengamot, with wizarding citizens and reporters on both sides.
Accompanied by the renewed flashes of cameras and smoke, Amelia, who had control of the situation, announced:
“This full Wizengamot vote is to decide whether the Werewolf Affairs Committee will be established!”
She then turned to look behind her: “Esteemed Wizengamot members, do you have any objections to the subject of this vote?”
No one spoke.
Amelia again looked at the seats of the Ministry of Magic officials, the wizarding citizens, and the reporters, asking them one by one. This was a tradition inherited by the Wizengamot from ancient Muggle kingdoms, with the four groups corresponding to the executive, legislative, public, and academic bodies.
Although it was merely a formality by the time it trickled down to the present.
Naturally, no one expressed any objections.
Amelia completed the procedure without delay and directly waved her wand.
Envelopes folded into birds flew down from the top of the grand hall. Amelia tapped the empty space in front of the main rostrum with her wand.
The granite floor, which had been empty, suddenly slid open, revealing a pit from which a blaze of fire erupted. However, those around felt no warmth, as if it were burning in another world.
“In the 16th century, when the first modern statute was enacted, the entire wizarding world cast a spell on this Immortal Fire. It will, as it has for centuries past, bear witness to the Wizengamot fulfilling its sacred duty bestowed by magical law. Here, votes will be tallied, and each vote’s result will stem from the voter’s own will, without persecution or fraud…”
As everyone watched in silence, Amelia read out words akin to an oath.
Then, she picked up a folded envelope shaped like a bird and threw it into the fire—
Boom—
After the so-called Immortal Fire consumed the envelope, it rapidly expanded, emitting a loud noise. A ball of red fire shot out and flew into the air, exploding into a magnificent display of colors!
Then, those colors “solidified” in the air.
Amelia, who had been watching with her head held high, announced loudly: “Aye vote!”
Behind her, Vaughn looked at the “Immortal Fire” with great interest and quietly asked Dumbledore: “Is that ancient magic?”
Old Dumbledore nodded: “Yes, a very ancient magic, completely different from the modern spellcasting system. I actually think it’s more like alchemy.”
“What is this magic called?”
“It’s called ‘Immortal Fire.’ This type of Immortal Fire usually has no destructive power but possesses some special functions. For example, the Goblet of Fire is eternal, while this ‘Immortal Fire’ is fueled by honesty and oaths!”
“Interesting…”
While they were talking quietly, Amelia’s vote tallying continued, and red fireballs shot out from the Immortal Fire one after another.
Colorful displays flickered continuously in the grand hall.
After more than ten letters, when a new envelope was put in, everyone saw that the fire ball this time was green.
The sickly green color, resembling poison, made Amelia pause. She examined it carefully again before withdrawing her stern gaze:
“Nay vote!”
Fortunately, when all the votes were cast into the fire one by one, the proportion of green nay votes was not high. Out of more than 50 envelopes, it hardly caused any delay.
When Amelia announced the result of the last letter, the crowd couldn’t help but stir.
Especially the reporters, they came to witness the proceedings precisely to get firsthand news, and now, the news was within reach.
“Quiet!”
Amelia commanded authoritatively. She lightly tapped the table of the main rostrum with her wand. Under the effect of magic, even such a light sound was like thunder.
When the crowd gradually calmed down, she looked up at the smoke and fireworks that had exploded and solidified in mid-air.
“Under the sacred magical law and the witness of the Immortal Fire, regarding the establishment of the Werewolf Affairs Committee, the Wizengamot members have cast the following votes:”
“36 votes in favor, 18 votes against—”
“Hereby, I declare that starting today, the Werewolf Affairs Committee shall be established as a new institution in England!”
Another morning arrived.
When Lupin woke up in the cellar, the sky in the east had just turned pale white.
He tore off his ragged clothes and, by the light filtering through the small window, saw that the dark, low cellar, simply dug out without any decoration, was littered with long wolf hairs.
On the damp earthen walls around, faint, weak scratch marks remained, recent ones.
In the corner of the cellar were two sets of wrought-iron shackles, but they seemed to have not been used for a while and had rusted.
Lupin leaned against the wall, his weakened body making it difficult to even stand straight, his face pale.
This was a side effect of transforming during the full moon. The transformation process was very painful and consumed a lot of energy.
“Huff—huff—”
Lupin panted heavily for a while before finally managing to muster a trace of strength.
Forcing down the weakness and emptiness within him, he stumbled out of the cellar to the kitchen, found the pre-prepared food, and with cold water, tore and chewed with his sore teeth.
The transformation consumed not only physical strength but also magic. He couldn’t even cast the simplest trick at the moment.
After eating two sandwiches with difficulty but quickly, Lupin finally felt that the terrible emptiness within him had eased slightly.
He let out a sigh of relief, feeling a sense of having survived a disaster.
Ever since he was scratched by Greyback at a very young age, he had lived like this for nearly thirty years, yet he still couldn’t get used to it, nor did he want to.
Thinking this, he gave a weak, self-deprecating laugh: “At least it’s much better than before. In the past, I was constantly worried every time I transformed, afraid that my restraint methods would fail, afraid I would break out and hurt someone. Now, at least I can spend every full moon night with my sanity intact…”
Thinking of the excruciating pain during his transformation last night, Lupin’s face, which had finally regained some color, turned pale again.
In the past, during transformations, he had lost his senses and had almost no perception of pain.
But now, with the Wolfsbane Potion helping him stay lucid, each transformation meant personally experiencing the excruciating pain of his bones and muscles being as if crushed and reshaped.
This was a problem Vaughn had not anticipated.
Lupin had reported this to Vaughn over a month ago, and Vaughn had replied that he would fix it in the next version.
Thinking of Vaughn, Lupin calculated the time. The Wizengamot’s vote resolution should be over by now!
He looked out the window. It was probably too early, as he didn’t see the newspaper owl.
Whether the Werewolf Affairs Committee would be established was something that every werewolf, including himself, cared about.
But like everyone else, he could do nothing but subscribe to the purple Daily Prophet to hope to see progress in the newspaper.
He had learned about the upcoming Wizengamot vote when reading the newspaper last night. Vaughn hadn’t contacted them for some time.
With a heart full of trepidation, anticipation, anxiety, and other emotions, he thought idly for a long time until the sun shone on the window frame. Feeling that his strength had recovered considerably, Lupin walked out.
The place where he lived now was Newham, in the London metropolitan area. This was the most famous slum around London, inhabited by a large number of bankrupt individuals, dockworkers, and factory workers.
After the economic transformation in the 1990s, workers in England had returned to the bottom of society.
Earning the meagerest wages and living in the worst, most chaotic places.
Wearing a patched coat that made him look destitute, Lupin walked here without any sense of incongruity.
Passing countless Muggles who looked as down-and-out as him, Lupin arrived at the edge of Newham, a secluded warehouse rarely frequented by people.
This place had long been rented by werewolves as a refuge for women and children on full moon nights.
Adult men and young women, for the past two months, had found jobs one after another and lived outside, just like Lupin.
The perimeter of the warehouse had been enchanted by Lupin and a few wizard werewolves to ensure that no Muggles would trespass.
When Lupin arrived, over 200 pale women and children, who had just recovered with the help of other werewolves who arrived earlier, were moving around outside the warehouse.
“Remus, how were you yesterday?”
Hearing someone call him, Lupin looked over. It was young Barnaby.
He was helping the ladies prepare breakfast. Although he was still very weak after the ordeal of yesterday’s full moon, he seemed to be in good spirits.
“I’m alright, Barnaby. Everything going smoothly here too?”
Young Barnaby shrugged: “Some of the younger children couldn’t bear the pain and made a commotion that alerted the gatekeeper, but luckily, the spell you cast worked. His mind was muddled.”
Following Barnaby’s gesture, Lupin saw from a distance a middle-aged man squatting by the gatekeeper’s office, looking dazed.
Lupin frowned slightly, feeling anxious.
The inconvenience of werewolves living in Muggle society became increasingly apparent as time went on, especially since they had to choose to live together in Muggle society to care for women and children who were temporarily unable to work.
In Lupin’s opinion, this was very dangerous—not that the werewolves were dangerous, but that the werewolves’ activities were likely to expose the wizarding world.
The purple International Statute of Secrecy had long been ingrained in the bones of wizards!
Lupin had mentioned these concerns to Vaughn before, but Vaughn didn’t seem to care. At least, after two months, Vaughn hadn’t made any new arrangements for the werewolves, only telling Lupin to wait until the Werewolf Affairs Committee was established.
Lupin also knew that Vaughn had already helped the werewolves a great deal. So far, the Wolfsbane Potion consumed during the past two full moons for hundreds of werewolves had been sponsored by Vaughn and Dumbledore.
The fact that they could return to living in Muggle communities was also thanks to the tens of thousands of pounds Vaughn had provided.
Logically, he shouldn’t demand too much, but the reality was that Lupin didn’t know who else could help the werewolves besides Vaughn.
Compared to his anxiety, young Barnaby felt little. He was not a wizard, after all, and had no reverence for the purple Statute of Secrecy.
In Barnaby’s eyes, things were slowly getting better. Although he grew up in the wilderness, he disliked the savage life.
He yearned to return to human society, liked cities, liked television, and apart from liking to eat raw meat due to lycanthropy, he was no different from ordinary teenage Muggles.
Half a month ago, young Barnaby found a job as a waiter in a dockside pub. He received his first weekly wage of only 90 pounds.
He used that money to buy a fountain pen, and the rest he used to buy candy for the children.
He called Lupin because he wanted him to do him a favor—
After a few pleasantries, ignoring Lupin’s distraction, young Barnaby pulled Lupin into a secluded corner, hesitantly took out the fountain pen, and stammered, “Remus, can you… can you help me deliver this to Master?”
Lupin paused, “You…”
As soon as he finished speaking, he saw James Brown waving a newspaper and excitedly rushing over: “Remus, Barnaby, Master succeeded! He succeeded!”
