The Fall of Dumbledore: The White King

Truth and Lies

The Ministry atrium was chaos incarnate. Officials rushed in from every direction, their morning routines shattered by the scene of destruction before them. Water from the ruined fountain seeped across the polished floors, reflecting the emergency lights that now blazed overhead.

"Minister!" A breathless witch grabbed Fudge's arm as he emerged from a fireplace. "It's true – You-Know-Who – he was here! Hundreds saw him!"

Cornelius Fudge stood frozen, his lime-green bowler hat askew, face pale as he surveyed the devastation. His eyes locked on Hades, who remained carefully positioned in Draco's protective embrace, the perfect picture of a traumatized student.

"Dumbledore," Fudge stammered. "How... what..."

"As I have been telling you for a year, Cornelius," Dumbledore said quietly. "Lord Voldemort has returned. You have seen the proof with your own eyes now."

The gathering crowd pressed closer, whispers rising like a tide. "Hades Snape..." "Harry Potter..." "You-Know-Who, here in the Ministry..." "The Boy Who Lived..."

Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Hades's shoulder. "Perhaps we should move somewhere more private," he suggested, his blue eyes grave behind their half-moon spectacles. "The boy has been through quite enough tonight."

But before they could move, Percy Weasley pushed through the crowd, clutching a handful of parchments. "Minister! We found these in the Department of Mysteries – recordings from the prophecy room. There's something you need to hear—"

"I'm afraid," Dumbledore interrupted smoothly, "that any prophecies heard tonight must be treated with extreme caution. Lord Voldemort is a master of deception. He could easily have planted false prophecies, designed to sow confusion and doubt."

Hades allowed his hands to tremble slightly. "But sir," he whispered, his voice carrying just far enough for the nearest officials to hear. "We heard it clearly. About the White King—"

"My dear boy," Dumbledore cut in, his grandfatherly tone carrying an edge of steel. "You have been through a terrible ordeal. Seeing your godfather fall... it's understandable that your memories of these events might be... confused."

"There's nothing confused about what we heard," Draco said sharply, his arm tightening around Hades. Several heads turned at his tone, interest sparking in their eyes.

Dumbledore's expression remained gentle, but his voice grew firmer. "Mr. Malfoy, I understand your desire to protect your friend, but we must be cautious. Voldemort is cunning. He would not hesitate to use false prophecies to manipulate us all."

More Ministry officials were arriving by the second. Aurors began cordoning off areas, cataloging damage, and taking statements from the early-morning workers who had witnessed the duel. Through it all, Hades maintained his facade of shell-shocked grief, letting tears slip down his cheeks at carefully timed intervals.

"Minister," Dumbledore pressed, "we must act quickly. The prophecy Voldemort planted must not be allowed to circulate. It would only serve his purposes, creating doubt and division when we most need unity."

Fudge, still reeling from the night's revelations, nodded numbly. "Yes... yes, of course. Weasley, seal those recordings. Classified under Ministry decree..."

But it was too late. Whispers were already spreading through the growing crowd. Fragments of the prophecy, passed from ear to ear, growing with each retelling. The White King's lies... the infant marked for death... vengeance promised...

"Come," Dumbledore said firmly, steering Hades toward the fireplaces. "You need rest and care. The school nurse should examine you both."

Hades allowed himself to be led, still leaning heavily on Draco. Behind them, he could hear the rising tide of speculation, of questions that would not be so easily suppressed. Dumbledore might try to discredit the prophecy, but its words had been heard. The seeds of doubt were planted.

As they reached the nearest fireplace, Hades caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished walls. A tear-stained face looked back at him, the perfect mask of grief and confusion. Only Draco, pressed close against his side, could feel the slight tremor of satisfaction that ran through him.

Let Dumbledore try to hide the truth. Let him spin his webs of deception and control. The prophecy had been heard, and no amount of damage control could fully suppress it now. Tom's plan had worked perfectly.

The green flames of the Floo network engulfed them, whisking them back to Hogwarts, leaving behind a Ministry in turmoil and a wizarding world on the brink of change.