Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0468 Explanations

"Training progress?"

Hermione was also wondering why Sirius had suddenly joined the Ministry of Magic, especially since their previous conversations had made it clear that Sirius didn't particularly appreciate Cornelius Fudge as the Minister. She reflexively echoed the question back, then quickly caught herself.

"Oh, right, training progress!"

As she faced Professor Watson, whose piercing gaze seemed to look right through her, Hermione felt a familiar tension creep into her shoulders. In the span of a heartbeat, she mentally cataloged everyone's performance during their recent training sessions. The recollection, however, did little to ease her nerves. If anything, it intensified the slight shame that colored her cheeks a faint pink.

"No one has managed to reach the finish line while under attack from the Dungbombs, Professor—" Hermione began, her voice trailing off as she braced herself for the harsh criticism she was sure would follow.

To her surprise, Professor Watson's response was not the sharp rebuke she had anticipated. Instead, he merely nodded slightly, his expression inscrutable as he continued to look at her with those intense eyes.

Encouraged by the lack of immediate disappointment, Hermione took a deep, steadying breath. The scent of old parchment and magical herbs that permeated the office helped to calm her racing heart. With renewed composure, she launched into a detailed report of her classmates' progress.

The best performer was no longer Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff; in fact, he only ranked third. Luna had come closest to the finish line without being hit by Dungbombs, while Neville ranked second. Of course, she and Harry's performances were also among the top.

Bryan wasn't particularly surprised by this result, just slightly disappointed as he clicked his tongue.

"I had originally planned to end your training by mid-term, but now it seems we might need to extend the time—"

Noticing Hermione's crestfallen expression as she lowered her head, her gaze fixing on the intricately carved coffee table before her, Bryan's tone softened. Hermione's hands, now clenched into tight fists resting on her lap, dispalyed the guilt she felt at what she perceived as their collective failure.

"There's no need to feel guilty, Hermione," Bryan reassured her, his voice gentle yet firm. "I'm not blaming you or anyone else. This was never going to be an easy task, which is precisely why I selected who I considered to be the most talented young wizards to join. Moving forward, this class will have new content to challenge and push you all even further."

At these words, both Harry and Hermione perked up visibly. The mention of Professor Watson's class brought back vivid memories of how it had already benefited them. Without this specialized training, who knows what terrible situation might have befallen them on that night of the Quidditch final!

Neither of them took Professor Watson's class lightly. When they heard there would be new content, Harry immediately stopped his train of thought and looked at Professor Watson expectantly.

"I'll divulge the details on Wednesday evening," Bryan said with his enigmatic smile, clearly enjoying the suspense he was creating. "For now, you can return to your other pursuits—"

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, Harry rose to his feet. Hermione followed suit, smoothing out her robes as she stood. They made their way towards the heavy oak door, But as Harry's fingers closed around the cool doorknob, a nagging thought tugged at his mind. This was a rare opportunity – a chance to get answers from the one person who seemed to know everything that was going on. If he didn't ask now, who knew when he'd get another chance to clear up the confusion that had been plaguing him?

"Professor Watson—" Harry turned, his voice soft. His eyes found Professor Watson by the fireplace, where he was carefully pouring a stream of green tea into a delicate porcelain cup. "May I ask you some questions?"

Bryan looked up, the firelight dancing in his eyes as a smile appeared across his lips. "Helping students resolve their confusion is a professor's duty. I don't see why not—" He gently blew on the floating leaves in his teacup, creating tiny ripples across the surface of the steaming liquid.

Hermione immediately realized that Harry's questions wouldn't be about magical theory or spellwork. She knew he wanted to ask about what he had mentioned earlier in the Great Hall. While part of her wanted to urge caution, her own curiosity won out, and she remained silent, equally eager to hear the answers.

Harry took a deep breath, gathering his courage. The words tumbled out in a rush, as if he feared losing his nerve if he hesitated.

"Bertha Jorkins—" he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know she's already dead, don't you? Killed by Voldemort and that witch who's with him, the one you captured and imprisoned in Azkaban. She knows about this too, but the newspapers say the Ministry still believes Bertha Jorkins is missing—"

Bryan remained quiet for several long moments, his fingers tracing the rim of his teacup thoughtfully. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and leisurely.

"Surely that's not the only thing you're confused about," he said, a knowing glint in his eye. "Why don't you share all that's on your mind?"

Encouraged by this invitation, Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick glance before returning to the sofa. As they settled back into their seats, the leather creaking softly beneath them, Harry began to pour out all the questions that had been swirling in his mind.

His words came in a torrent, each question tumbling after the other in rapid succession.

When Harry finally fell silent, slightly out of breath from his rapid-fire questions, Bryan didn't immediately respond. Instead, he lowered his gaze, his fingertips caressing the hot rim of his teacup. His deep, light purple eyes seemed to be searching for answers in the swirling leaves floating in the golden-green liquid.

After a long while, Bryan spoke, his voice quiet but clear in the hushed office. "What do you think is the purpose of an organization like the Ministry of Magic?"

'The purpose of the Ministry of Magic?'

The question caught both Harry and Hermione off guard. Harry blinked in confusion, his green eyes widening behind his round glasses. He glanced at Hermione, hoping she might have some understanding into this seemingly unrelated enquiry.

Hermione, for her part, furrowed her brow in deep thought. Her mind raced through everything she had read about magical governance and bureaucracy. After a moment of contemplation, her expression cleared, and she relaxed her furrowed brow.

"The Ministry of Magic is an organization responsible for managing wizards, Professor," she began, her voice taking on the familiar tone she often used when answering questions in class. "I think the purpose of its existence is to maintain order within the magical community."

Bryan's face lit up with approval. "If this were a class, I would definitely award Gryffindor five points, Hermione—" he said, his admiration for the bright young witch evident in his voice. "Yes, that's exactly right. The primary purpose of the Ministry of Magic is to maintain order in wizarding society, or perhaps more accurately, to maintain stability."

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "And all of your questions, varied as they may seem, point to one central issue - Voldemort."

At the mention of the name, Hermione instinctively tensed, her shoulders contracting slightly.

Harry, however, still struggled to see the connection. "But what does that matter—" he pressed; his frustration evident in his voice. "He's still alive, and many people know that fact."

"Knowing doesn't always equate to willingness to face the truth, Harry," Bryan said calmly. "The majority of the Ministry Officials believe that although Voldemort isn't dead, you've thoroughly defeated him. They picture him hiding in some dark corner abroad, never daring to return to this country."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked with Harry's. "But if they were to learn that Voldemort isn't as weakened as they imagine, that there's a real possibility he might regain his powers and once again become active in Britain... Well, the public would panic. And it's crucial to understand that the Ministry is also made up of ordinary wizards, many of whom are equally unprepared to accept this reality."

Bryan's gaze softened as he observed the young wizards before him. "I think you must know how deeply afraid most wizards are of that man, with only a limited few exceptions?"

Harry fell into a contemplative silence. How could he not know?

The memory of that summer night on his eleventh birthday came flooding back. He could almost feel the salty sea air and hear the howling wind as Hagrid found him in that desolate shack on the rock. That night, when Hagrid was forced to mention the name 'Voldemort', his fearful reaction was unforgettable.

"You might think that lying to the public is shameful, But consider the consequences of telling the factual truth. The resulting panic could lead to a complete collapse of social order, which would be far more catastrophic."

Bryan understood that young wizards at this age often held idealistic views, coupled with a strong sense of moral purity. It was a natural and even admirable trait, but one that sometimes-needed tempering with the harsh realities of the world.

"Lies are not always shameful—" he explained patiently, his eyes moving between Harry and Hermione. But his next statement left both of them puzzled: "Not until it's absolutely necessary to accept it all—"

As they left Professor Watson's office, Harry's mind was buzzing with all the new information and questions that had arisen from their conversation. He was eager to return to the Gryffindor common room and discuss the answers to tonight's questions with Ron.

However, Hermione had other plans. With characteristic determination, she insisted on dragging Harry to the Quidditch pitch to complete their daily training run. By the time they finished their grueling workout and returned to the castle, sweaty and breathless, the Great Hall was deserted.

As they entered the entrance hall, their footsteps echoing in the empty space, a gruff voice called out to them from the shadows.

"If I were you, I wouldn't wander around the field in pitch darkness—"

Harry and Hermione turned to see Moody emerging from a darkened corridor, his magical eye swiveling wildly in its socket. Despite his earlier defeat at the hands of Professor Watson in front of the students, Moody didn't seem angry or embarrassed. In fact, his mood appeared more stable than usual, though the constant movement of his mismatched eyes was as unsettling as ever.

"Someone might be watching you in the dark, ready to steal your livers!" Moody continued, his voice a mix of warning and dark humor.

Harry looked a bit awkward, unsure if Professor Moody was joking with them.

"This is something we have to do every day, Professor Moody—" Hermione explained timidly, her voice smaller than usual in the presence of the intimidating DADA teacher. Mad-Eye Moody's intense demeanor was a bit too much for her, especially after the long day they'd had. "We were planning to do it earlier, but Professor Watson called us to his office—"

Hermione's voice trailed off abruptly as she realized her mistake. Mentioning Professor Watson to Moody, given their recent exchange, suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. She glanced nervously at Harry, silently pleading for help.

"Ah, Watson!" Moody's interest was piqued, his magical eye fixing disturbingly on Harry while his normal eye remained focused on Hermione. "What did he talk to you about, eh?"

Even without Hermione's subtle reminder, Harry wouldn't reveal the contents of his conversation with Professor Watson. He braced himself for Moody's displeasure, but to his surprise, Moody nodded with what appeared to be satisfaction.

"That's right, Potter," Moody growled approvingly. "Secrets should be kept in your heart! Never know who might be listening, do you?"

With that cryptic remark, Moody turned to leave, his wooden leg clunking heavily on the stone floor as he made his way towards the grand staircase. Just as he was about to ascend the first step, he suddenly whirled around, causing both Harry and Hermione to jump.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody roared, his voice echoing through the empty entrance hall. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the flickering torchlight.

"It's no wonder he's called Mad-Eye Moody, is it?" Harry said, his heart still racing from Moody's sudden outburst. "He does seem a bit... crazy."

Hermione, however, wasn't paying attention to Harry's comment. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she stared at the spot where Moody had been standing moments before.

"Professor Moody just came from the Forbidden Forest—" she said thoughtfully, her head tilted slightly as she pieced together the clues.

"How could you possibly know that?" Harry asked, surprised by Hermione's assertion.

"Didn't you see, Harry? There were leaves stuck to the soles of his shoes—" Hermione said in a 'it's obvious' tone. "Those particular leaves are only found in the Forbidden Forest!"

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