Realizing the time for hesitation had passed, Harry's face hardened. The crowd was growing more agitated, their protests becoming louder. He began to mount the stairs to the stage, his hair tousled when Delphi held him back momentarily, fixing his hair with a quick spell. He gave her a grateful smile before joining Percival on the stage.

"Harry," Percival said, a note of expectancy in his voice.

Harry walked swiftly to the front of the stage, the last wayward strands of hair falling into place. He surveyed the crowd and raised his hand for silence. Instantly, the room quieted. He was surprised at how little effort it took. One of the younger witches genuflected.

Looking directly at Percival, deeply annoyed, Harry began. "Yes, Voldemort's former allies — former — have been showing a pattern of synchronized movement for a few months now. We've followed trolls making their way across Europe, giants starting to cross the seas, and the werewolves — well, I'm distressed to say we lost sight of them some weeks ago. We don't know where they're going or who's encouraged them to move — but we are aware they are moving — and we are concerned what it might mean. Your Minister is being... overly cautious by revealing something he believes to be accurate... for the benefit of transparency."

"But what do you believe?" an unknown wizard called out.

"Should we be worried, Harry?" asked a witch.

"No," Harry replied firmly. "Having just heard as you did, my opinion is that the Minister's statement is impossible. In the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, we pride ourselves on upholding the truth and seeking out answers through traditional, evidentiary means. We have no proof that Voldemort has returned. I know you have concerns. I'm willing to answer any of your questions, so let's begin." He changed his stance, in an effort to alleviate the tension. "Preferably nothing about George Weasley's missing ear, as it is a sensitive subject and the hunt is ongoing."

Laughter rippled through the room, the mood easing just as he had hoped.

"If you could raise a wand, we will hear everyone speak. First question," Harry invited.

"Voldemort... learned how to cheat death?" an unknown witch asked.

"Yes. Second question," Harry confirmed.

"Did he separate his soul?" an unknown wizard inquired.

"He did. That is how he was able to return after many years had passed. Third question," Harry continued.

"So, he's dead for good?" another witch asked.

"Easy question, easy answer: Yes," Harry stated confidently.

"How do you know for sure?" pressed another witch.

Harry looked thoughtfully at her. "Voldemort was always seeking to increase his power. One way to do so, he believed, was through extending his life, even making himself immortal. Like when he tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone created by Nicolas Flamel. But success — true success — came in the form of..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "During the second rise of Lord Voldemort, Albus Dumbledore learned that, as a boy, he had experimented with advanced Dark magic while attending Hogwarts. His pursuit of immortality succeeded in the creation of something that has been called the wickedest of all magical inventions — an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul — so that even if their body is destroyed, they cannot die. As a young student, Voldemort learned how to create...a Horcrux."

A gasp reverberated through the crowd. They hung on his every word. Harry glanced at Delphi, who nodded encouragingly.

"Voldemort was able to return the first time because part of his soul remained earthbound. Undamaged. The reason I know for sure that he has not returned once more is because I helped to discover and destroy his Horcruxes — prior to and during the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry explained.

"Wait, he had more than one? How do you know you got them all?" challenged an unknown wizard.

"Voldemort separated his soul into many parts, in fact. There was a total of..." Harry looked at Hermione, who subtly shook her head. "Six. Six Horcruxes."

"Why six?" someone asked skeptically.

"Seven is the most magical number. Voldemort would know that," a witch pointed out.

"Well... er... a portion of Voldemort's original soul remained in him as well. So, that's seven parts, isn't it?" Harry said nervously, attempting to hide the lie.

This was something he'd never said before; it resonated in his mind as the crowd regarded him with disbelief.

"Would an example help?" he offered, met with murmurs of incredulity. "You may recall Voldemort's trusted pet snake, Nagini, that was killed during the battle of Hogwarts. It was the final Horcrux, slain by Neville Longbottom, now a Hogwarts professor, using the sword of Godric Gryffindor. This brave act left Voldemort truly vulnerable to death for the first time."

"What were the other five?" an unknown witch pressed.

"Three were items belonging to Hogwarts founders: the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. The Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and a locket belonging to Salazar Slytherin, which had been substituted with a counterfeit Horcrux by another unsung hero, Regulus Black. The final two were items close to Voldemort during his time as a student when he went by the name Tom Riddle — the ring of Marvolo Gaunt and an inconspicuous diary," Harry listed.

"So, Nagini was the only living Horcrux?" asked another witch.

"Yes," Harry confirmed.

He touched his scar. It was burning. 

Harry looked out over the crowd, unsure. Hermione and Ron were open-mouthed, exchanging uneasy glances.

"Hang on... diary of Tom Riddle? That belonged to Lucius Malfoy, as I recall," an unknown wizard called out. "What do you know about this Draco?" 

"Malfoy, you have a Dark Mark... have you felt anything? Even a twinge?" another wizard pressed.

Draco Malfoy stepped forward from within the crowd, his robes immaculate, his blond hair perfectly styled — without the aid of magic, unlike Harry. He stood beside George, Ron, and Hermione, his expression cold.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Draco began loudly, addressing the crowd. "Isn't it obvious? They're trying to confuse you, and the objective is unmistakable. Potter and Clearwater are using your fears of the Dark Lord to gain approval for a new and controversial undertaking."

"What undertaking?" someone demanded.

"An increase in raids," Draco declared. "Why... there was just a raid last night, I hear! This is nothing more than discrimination against reformed Dark Markers and the harassment of connoisseurs like myself who have an appreciation of historical wizarding artifacts." He cast a skeptical glance at Harry. "The return of the Dark Lord..." Draco laughed derisively. "Ha! Next thing you know, they'll say your Aunt Millie's hairpin holds some residue of Lord Voldemort's soul and use that as justification to ransack your property and remove items they deem to be... un-law-ful." 

Turning directly to Harry, Draco added, "Back to being prejudiced against those with a Dark Mark, are we, Potter? Relying on your famous name?" Facing the crowd once more, he concluded, "Well, I, for one, think this meeting a sham. I am not going to stand by and listen to it a moment longer. I'm leaving."

"I agree with Draco," an unknown wizard announced.

"We want answers, Potter," demanded a witch.

"He's given you answers!" protested another. "It's Malfoy that's wrong

"Who is the source, Clearwater?" someone else shouted.

"Are raids increasing?" another voice called out.

"Why are they doing this to us?" an anxious wizard questioned. "Is Voldemort dead or not?

"We believe you, Harry!" another witch called out earnestly.

"If we can't trust the Ministry, who can we trust?" a witch despaired.

Harry turned toward Percival, who stood at a distance, appearing poised and merely observing the unfolding chaos. From the thinning crowd, Draco glanced back at Harry briefly before turning away and disappearing into the mass of swirling cloaks. Harry felt himself frowning, frustration etched on every new wrinkle, as the stage around him began to clear and the assembled witches and wizards scattered into clusters of heated debates.

Harry stood alone on the stage, witnessing that side of authority for the first time, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon him. Old questions lingered in the air, and the path forward seemed more uncertain than ever.