A man neither Voldemort nor Grindelwald could compare to.
Then...
Who exactly was the Dark Lord?
This doubt and unease were what the Minister for Magic feared most. Though Dumbledore saw it clearly, he had no intention of offering any psychological comfort.
His own feelings were, in truth, exceedingly complicated.
The next few hours were consumed by long, tedious reports, questioning, and record-keeping. With his usual patience and precision, Dumbledore repeated the details again and again.
He answered every repetitive or pointed question. Regarding the boy's identity, he could only truthfully say, "I don't know." As for why Grindelwald had been there, he could only explain that she had been "assisting with the investigation." Regarding Voldemort's strength, he admitted that the man had indeed broken through into the realm of legend, his power far beyond what it had once been. Yet when the word "legend" left Dumbledore's lips, the office's already grave atmosphere suddenly became somewhat strange. That piece of information...
The Ministry officials had actually heard it earlier from the Aurors. Almost no one had chosen to believe it, and even now, hearing it from Dumbledore himself, they still did not want to believe it.
Barty Crouch was the first to frown. The head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, famed for his harshness and pragmatism, fixed Dumbledore with an almost questioning gaze.
"Legend? Dumbledore, are you certain you want to use that word?" Barty Crouch's voice echoed through the office, carrying an almost piercing skepticism. The head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation had always been known for his rigor, and his sharply defined face was now filled with gloom. His expression was deeply complicated.
After all.
His son had been among the Death Eaters and had now been sent to Azkaban by Dumbledore. Though he