The ceremony of mutual glorification had not officially ended, but the reporters' owls were already flying toward their newspapers like raindrops.
The headlines included, but were not limited to:
"Setting the record straight: the ceremony to clear Sirius's name"
Hmm, this one seemed to be from the serious camp.
"To retreat is betrayal: a sword drawn for an old friend becomes a blade of frost"
Uh, this one seemed to be from the literary camp.
"That night thirteen years ago: I never thought you would hurt me most"
Ah, wait.
...Something seemed a little off.
It felt as though they had been possessed by those mischievous little sugar sculptures sold at Honeydukes, the ones that sprayed sickly sweet, pink, heart-shaped smoke at people—not just people, actually. They would even spray a passing fly.
"From the Order of Merlin medal to the Fudge Award: the new Minister for Magic reaches out to ordinary citizens and warms their hearts."
This one seemed to have been possessed by Fudge.
Still, none of this had much to do with them for the moment—if anything inappropriate appeared, Fudge would charge straight into battle himself.
He had seen the light now. Whether he actually did anything was one matter, and whether he did it well was another. But whether anyone dragged him down while he was promoting himself—that was something else entirely.
And it was the most important, most crucial matter of all!
Fudge watched like a hawk.
His little eyes were actively scanning everywhere.
Fudge was watching everyone.
Perhaps after these next few days, his eyes would grow a size larger.
And you really could not say this tactic was completely useless. Take the present moment: the meeting had barely ended, and one inexperienced young comrade had already been sweet-talked into tears.
Ron clutched the