Chapter 88: Power Storm

Malfoy’s accusation against Ginny has some merit, but Tom has clearly provided no evidence. Harry believed Tom had said everything he could, for the expression on his smoke-like face showed fear of him—he wouldn’t be hiding anything.

Moreover, Ginny’s attacks on the first three victims were at least plausible, but deliberately targeting her own brother’s girlfriend on the day of the Gryffindor Quidditch final? That was not something Ginny would ever do.

By now, Harry had stopped trying to figure out who the true culprit behind the Chamber attacks was. False and unverifiable clues kept piling up before him; the truth held too many possibilities, and the entire affair was utterly bewildering.

He had once carelessly followed Malfoy’s lead in suspecting Ginny, but now neither the eight-person group nor the diary seemed suspicious. He decided to stop playing Malfoy’s guessing game and instead return to his original conclusion from the night of the first attack: stop wondering what the truth was, and focus on what he could do.

Harry’s principle was to follow Dumbledore’s will and support his plan. Dumbledore had repeatedly emphasized that Donald could be trusted, and together they had set up the Avalon sanctuary. In other words, Dumbledore was trying to strengthen his own combat power—and this clearly signaled his intention to confront the monster in the Chamber himself.

As for the Chamber’s location, Harry no longer cared to puzzle over it. Whether starting from the diary Donald trusted or from the conclusions drawn fifty years ago, Harry chose to believe the monster in the Forbidden Forest was a spider. Rather than continue aimlessly searching the castle for a basilisk that might not even exist, he decided to clear out the spiders and declare the Chamber incident resolved.

“Let’s go, Ron, Neville,” Harry told his two companions. “We’re going back to scout the spiders in the Forbidden Forest. We need a plan—any plan—to eliminate these monsters. We must bring this series of attacks to an end.”

“My grandmother once said, those who know the truth are never fooled by illusions,” Neville said. “I’ll keep investigating the basilisk and uncover the truth behind opening the Chamber.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said, pulling out his invisibility cloak. “Same as before—we split up. Cover every angle.”

The nights were no longer like before. The corridors were packed—teachers, prefects, even ghosts patrolled every passage. The invisibility cloak didn’t muffle sound, so Harry and Ron moved slowly, terrified of making even the faintest noise.

Just as they left the castle and reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry noticed Hagrid’s hut was lit up.

“We should go ask Hagrid what’s going on,” Harry said. “After all, these spiders probably belong to him.”

“That makes sense,” Ron said. “If he doesn’t want us clearing the spiders, maybe he could hand over one or two corpses and pretend we’ve already dealt with them.”

Seconds after they knocked, Hagrid yanked the door open, holding a crossbow. Fang barked loudly behind them.

“Oh.” Hagrid lowered his weapon and stared at them. “What are you two doing here?”

“It’s serious, Hagrid,” Harry said gravely. “I need to know about those spiders in the Forbidden Forest...”

Hagrid spilled water from his kettle onto the fire, nearly extinguishing it. His large hand trembled nervously, crushing the teapot.

“Are you all right, Hagrid?” Harry asked, concerned.

“I heard about the fourth attack,” Hagrid’s voice cracked slightly. “But it wasn’t Aragog—he said he didn’t do it.”

Harry was about to ask who Aragog was when a sharp knock interrupted him. Ron quickly pulled the invisibility cloak over Harry, and they retreated into the corner.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” Dumbledore entered, his face grim. Behind him came another man.

The stranger had slightly grayed silver hair, a balanced build, a square face, and a faint, elusive smile. He wore a gray suit, light blue shirt, and striped tie—impeccably formal.

“That’s Dad’s boss!” Ron whispered. “Humphrey Appby, Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry lightly nudged Ron to stay quiet.

Hagrid turned pale, sweating profusely. He sank into a chair, his gaze shifting from Dumbledore to Humphrey.

“I regret to say,” Humphrey said in a clear, emotionless tone, “that the situation has worsened beyond my expectations, Mr. Hagrid. Given that three students have already been victims in four attacks, I’m afraid you’ll need to cooperate with our investigation.”

“I never—” Hagrid turned to Dumbledore, his eyes pleading. “You know it wasn’t me, Professor Dumbledore—this—”

“I trust Hagrid completely, Humphrey,” Dumbledore said, frowning.

“Albus, I certainly believe Headmaster Dippet may have erred in judgment, eager to resolve the matter quickly. But his preliminary findings remain a valid precedent in today’s Ministry,” Humphrey spoke rapidly. “Duty compels us to consider less extreme yet potentially effective measures—even if you insist they won’t meaningfully improve the situation. The Ministry must conduct investigations to appear actively engaged with the Chamber issue.”

“But, Humphrey, I see no need to remove Hagrid,” Dumbledore’s blue eyes burned with a fire Harry had never seen before.

“In my view, taking Hagrid in for questioning is the more appropriate course,” Humphrey said. “I once strongly opposed Ministry interference in Hogwarts affairs. But when such horrifying attacks occur, inviting one or two officials to assist in gathering information is safer—it avoids misunderstanding from you or other governors.”

He spoke politely, but Harry sensed an undercurrent of threat.

“Take me?” Hagrid trembled. “Where to?”

“Merely for questioning,” Humphrey said, locking eyes with Hagrid. “Once we’ve gathered the facts, Hagrid, you may return at any time.”

“Not Azkaban?” Hagrid asked uncertainly.

Another knock came before Humphrey could answer.

Dumbledore opened the door. Lucius Malfoy strode in, wrapped in a long black traveling cloak, his face wearing a cold, satisfied smile.

“You’re already here, Sir Humphrey,” he said approvingly. “Good.”

“What are you doing here?” Hagrid snarled. “Get out of my house.”

“My dear,” Lucius sneered, glancing around the hut, “believe me, I have no interest in staying in your—ah—what do you call this place? I’m only here to see the headmaster.”

“What brings you here, Lucius?” Dumbledore asked politely, yet the fire still burned in his blue eyes.

“A terrible matter, Dumbledore,” Lucius said lazily, producing a long scroll of parchment. “The Board of Governors believes you must step down. Here is your suspension order—twelve signatures are listed. We feel you may be too aged; attacks keep happening, and you’ve done nothing to stop them.”

“Oh, I think it hasn’t come to such a regrettable point,” Humphrey smiled. “I suggest you reconvene, reconsider this decision, and draft a proposal to submit to the Ministry...”

“The appointment or removal of the headmaster is the Board’s own affair, Sir Humphrey,” Lucius interrupted. “Since Dumbledore has failed to prevent these attacks...”

“But, Lucius,” Humphrey sounded impatient now, “have you considered who will stop the next attack if Dumbledore leaves?”

“Time will tell,” Lucius replied, a malicious edge to his smile. “But since the Board has already decided...”

“You can’t drive out Dumbledore!” Hagrid shouted, making Fang cower into his basket, whimpering. “Take him away, and Muggle-borns will have no chance! Massacre will follow!”

“Calm down, Hagrid,” Dumbledore reprimanded, turning to Lucius. “If the Board wishes to remove me, I will accept it.”

“But in truth, I don’t believe this will help the situation,” Humphrey urged. “You should reconsider.”

“No,” Hagrid growled.

Dumbledore never took his bright blue eyes from Lucius’s cold gray ones.

“But you will find,” he said slowly, clearly, every word audible, “that I truly leave this school only when no one here remains loyal to me. You will also find that in Hogwarts, anyone in need will always find help.”

For a second, Harry was certain Dumbledore’s eyes had flickered toward their hiding spot.

“An admirable sentiment,” Lucius sneered. “We may miss your highly personalized way of managing affairs, Dumbledore. We only hope your successor can prevent—ah—‘massacres.’”

“If so,” Humphrey tilted his head, as if glancing toward Harry’s hiding place, “then Dumbledore’s reinstatement cannot be entirely ruled out. Should the successor actually stop the subsequent attacks and claim it was due to Dumbledore’s clever arrangements, the Board may find it difficult to deny the value of such a personal management style—whether from rational consideration or overwhelming pressure from staff and students. Thus, this suspension order would remain, for now, merely nominal.”

While everyone was still bewildered by his long sentence, Humphrey stepped toward Hagrid. “Come with me now, Mr. Hagrid. The things you fear will not happen.”

Hagrid muttered, “Someone has to feed Fang,” then obediently followed them out.

The door slammed shut. Harry yanked off the invisibility cloak.

“My guess was right,” he said calmly. “Dumbledore’s plan has reached its critical phase. We must resolve the Chamber incident—or he may never return.”