"So, Sirius Black sneaked into Hogsmeade to break into Hogwarts and kill Harry?" Rosmerta's voice shattered the tense silence, snapping Harry back to reality.
"But that's not the worst of it," Alan Mitchell added quietly. He'd always stayed in the background, but now his words carried weight. "We suspect Black's reaching out to former Death Eaters. Many from pure-blood families. If he pulls them in..."
He trailed off, but the implication hung heavy. Everyone frowned. They all knew the old excuse: "I was under the Imperius Curse." Most were just cowards, not as devoted as those rotting in Azkaban. If Black swayed a few, they might betray Voldemort entirely, making the Ministry's hunt far messier.
"Alan's spot on," Fudge said, uncorking a bottle of red wine and pouring himself a glass. "Hogwarts professors have classes to teach, and Hogsmeade's too vast. Aurors alone won't cut it—we're stretched thin."
He turned to Argus. "That's why I need your help, Mr. Filch. The acolytes have better intel networks and broader reach than the Ministry."
"It's our duty as part of the British wizarding world," Argus replied smoothly. Fudge had already cut the deal with Abernathy before Argus arrived. This was just for show, aimed at Dumbledore and McGonagall.
The two professors stayed silent, but Rosmerta shot Argus a confused glance. Clearly, she hadn't expected him to speak for the acolytes.
"Isn't Harry safe inside Hogwarts Castle?" she pressed. "What if Black gets in?"
Dumbledore glanced at Argus. "Harry's protection isn't an issue. Mr. Filch will handle it."
Amid the bewildered stares, Argus shrugged. "It's not the first time. I've been watching over him since he started here." He paused, a wry edge to his voice. "Though he doesn't exactly thank me for it."
The others chalked it up to mild bitterness—Harry ungrateful for Argus's vigilance. But to Harry, hidden and listening, it hit like a Bludger. Argus's words echoed: "I've been protecting him... protecting him all along."
Memories flooded back: Quirrell's possession in first year, the Basilisk and Lockhart's betrayal in the Chamber last term. He'd wondered if some unseen guardian lurked, but dismissed it. No evidence, and his "Boy Who Lived" status made him feel invincible. Untouchable.
Yet Argus's confession upended everything. How could he face the man? Argus had shielded him at every turn—while Harry had been oblivious, even suspicious.
Only Dumbledore caught the deeper meaning, though he didn't know Harry was eavesdropping. "I'll keep a close eye on his safety," the headmaster assured.
Argus nodded. "Good. Harry's whole life—from cradle to now—has been under your careful planning, Headmaster. With your word, I can ease off a bit."
The casual remark crushed Harry like a curse. "Planned by Dumbledore? My entire life?" The trials, the dangers— all orchestrated? Impossible. Dumbledore was his idol, the wizarding world's beacon. But if Argus was right, the headmaster had been pulling strings, hiding truths, controlling his path.
Harry's thoughts spun into chaos. He couldn't process it—just needed to bolt, find solitude.
No one else picked up on the subtext. Rosmerta assumed Argus was complimenting Dumbledore's foresight. McGonagall leaned in kindly. "You've done brilliantly, Mr. Filch. Harry's just young and stubborn. One day, he'll realize your sacrifices and thank you properly."
Fudge chimed in with forced cheer. "Minerva's right—what friends don't bicker?"
"Friends..." Argus echoed, his smile bitter.
That word shattered Harry further. Regret burned hot; tears welled unbidden. He'd spurned Argus's aid when he first arrived, repaying kindness with doubt. He wanted to hex himself.
Dumbledore approached, clapping Argus on the shoulder. "Don't fret. Harry's a good lad at heart—he just needs time. When the fog clears, he'll see what you've given up for him."
The meeting dragged on. Argus huddled with McGonagall and Alan, mapping a Sirius search that he knew was pointless—he feigned focus anyway. Fudge, emboldened, sparred with Dumbledore and Rosmerta over the Dementors. Their Quidditch pitch assault had crossed every line, harming Harry and terrorizing students. Dumbledore's patience frayed, but Fudge pushed back harder than before, no longer the spineless minister of old.
Harry tuned it out. His world was unraveling; he craved escape. When the door finally creaked open and the group emerged, he slipped away, desperate for quiet.
---
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