The situation seemed to have returned to a fragile equilibrium. The crowd was calmer, though it was evident that the presses of The Daily Prophet would be burning the next day with wild headlines. However, that calm was what allowed us to pick up the thread of the primary conflict.
Once again, it became clear to me how absurd the wizarding world's system was. Perhaps due to the small population, the lack of entertainment, or the weight of a culture anchored in the past, but this matter—which should have been a private, rigorous investigation behind closed doors—had been transformed into a circus act. My confrontation, the honor of my family against that of the Malfoys, would be decided before an audience of onlookers. And, to be honest, it was exactly what I wanted.
Lucius Malfoy was not going to go down without a fight. What had happened was devastating for his image; if even the slightest link was established between him and that notebook, his future would look bleak. Therefore, as soon as the questions began to rain down, he decided to use the very challenge I had initiated to play the card of public opinion instead of facing the facts.
"I have no connection whatsoever to such a vile object... but seeing it in action, does this not all seem suspicious to you?" Lucius asked, projecting his voice with an elegance that reached even the last spectator in the galleries. "That object was laden with a malice capable of subjugating veteran Aurors and adult wizards in seconds... So, what of the one who presented it? The one who claims to have found and handled it without suffering the slightest influence from its dark magic?" He tilted his head, casting a look at me heavy with poisonous suspicion. "It is not typical for a victim to emerge unscathed from contact with an artifact of this caliber."
The murmur grew, and then... all eyes turned toward me.
Until that moment, many had not questioned it. Perhaps they assumed that, having presented it wrapped in magical protection, I hadn't been exposed. But now they were thinking. I had been the one who "found" the diary, the one who "rescued" my sister, and even if I hadn't written in it... it had already been proven that the diary could transfer its influence to new victims.
I nodded in silence, acknowledging the validity of Lucius's argument. It was a shrewd move. His words were enough to sow doubt: that I might have orchestrated everything... or, at the very least, had been manipulated by the diary itself.
My family watched me with unease. I could see the fear in their faces—not toward me, but toward what that object might have done to me.
I took a step forward, separating myself from my kin, occupying the space between the two families.
"A good lie, Lucius. I must admit your logic is impeccable... but false," I said, stepping past my guards' security cord. I stood in the empty space, right in the center of the stage, between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. "I won't lie to you: yes, the diary tried to ensnare me. It attacked my mind with the same ferocity as those Aurors... but it was not strong enough."
"Oh! So we are to believe that a second-year student is more powerful than trained Ministry officials?" Lucius let out a dry laugh, laden with incredulity. "Forgive me for doubting, boy, but I find that hard to swallow. And if you truly possess such power... I have even more doubts about the nature of these accusations."
"No, perhaps it's not that I am so powerful," I nodded, agreeing with a smile that made him visibly nervous; Lucius already saw me as an unpredictable threat. "The secret doesn't reside in my power, Lucius... but in this."
I raised my wand high, letting the light of the Atrium bathe the exotic wood, making it the absolute focus of every gaze.
All eyes locked onto my wand. Under my mental command, the Jarjacha wood stopped hiding its nature; the vile, predatory aura it emanated began to seep out.
"Yes, I must confess. This wand is a cursed object," I said, letting the gravity of my words reach those present. "It is an instrument of a perversity that perhaps rivals that of that book. But I don't care! Because it was thanks to its own evil that I was able to confront the corruption of the diary. It was its malice that allowed me to repel the magic that was devouring my sister."
I paused, letting the silence fill with the tension of the room.
"It is an object that seeks to consume me, that whispers horrible things in my ear every time I wield it. But if I had to choose a thousand times, a thousand times I would take it up again. Because I would rather sell my soul to a wooden demon than allow my family to be destroyed by the gifts of Lucius Malfoy."
Perhaps I overdid the theatrics. My wand, sensing my intent, let out a dry, shrill laugh—the unmistakable sound of the Jarjacha—that made the hair stand up on everyone who heard it. I reined it in before it revealed too much; it wasn't the time yet.
There were some present who knew a bit about it, whether from extensive knowledge in wandlore or because they had grown curious after my first visit, and the murmurs quickly followed.
"Its core is Jarjacha hair! A cursed creature from the Andes!"
"They say all its bearers died!"
"Its owners always end up becoming Dark wizards!"
"It corrupts the mind of the one who uses it!"
"It forces you to do horrible things and then leads you to suicide!"
"If you abuse it, you end up turned into a llama!"
The theories flew, ranging from accurate data to absurd myths. It's possible only I knew the true magnitude of these wands, despite still having my own doubts about their origins, but the spectacle was serving its purpose.
I looked at my parents. The horror on their faces was gut-wrenching; they had felt the malignant aura when I approached, and now, hearing my "confession" of sacrifice, tears welled in my mother's eyes. The image of her son, the boy who went to Brazil and returned a dark martyr willing to damn himself to save Ginny, destroyed them. Ginny herself looked at me with a certain emotion, moved by the lie I had turned into truth.
Lucius, however, saw an opportunity and wasted no time driving in his venom.
"A cursed wand... one that corrupts the mind," he murmured, raising his voice to regain control. "Evil is always evil, boy. It doesn't matter how noble the words are that you use to disguise it."
He turned to the crowd, spreading his arms like an impartial judge.
"Who is it that truly speaks before us? Is it the son of the Weasleys, or is it the voice of that demonic wand?" he asked with feigned but effective indignation. "It isn't hard to imagine: young Weasley, thirsty for power, finds this object. The wand amplifies his darkest desires, his inherited grudges against my family. And, blinded by that darkness, he decides that putting his own sister in danger is an acceptable price to pay to manufacture an excuse to destroy me."
Lucius's words weren't necessarily believable, but they didn't have to be. The simple fact of possessing a cursed object was enough to sow doubt; magical history was plagued with brilliant minds corrupted by the Dark Arts, and what had happened with the diary minutes before was living proof of that fragility. The scales had balanced at a stalemate where no one was innocent, and that was exactly what I was looking for.
"SILENCE, EVERYONE!" Amelia Bones ordered, her voice cutting through the crowd's murmurs like a scythe. "This requires an exhaustive investigation. No further statements will be taken until the evidence speaks for itself."
"I'm afraid that will be difficult, Madam Bones," I intervened, not to defy her authority, but to force the next move. "My greatest piece of evidence has just been reduced to ashes by Headmaster Dumbledore," I pointed to where the notebook had been charred.
"I am of the same opinion," Lucius declared suddenly. "I will not withdraw my previous statement. I have never seen such an artifact, and to have its origin forced upon me is an insult." He crossed his arms with cold elegance. "I will not accept being blamed for something for which no real evidence even exists. My family will not be incriminated on mere suspicion."
"Certainly... this could take time," Dumbledore intervened as he approached slowly. "But I trust that the truth will eventually come to light."
His gaze oscillated between Lucius and me, scrutinizing us.
He knew things. Enough not to rule out that the diary could have reached Ginny's hands through Lucius, especially considering what was happening at Hogwarts.
But he also doubted me. Because of what Tonks had told him, and because he himself knew perfectly well that Ginny hadn't suffered the slightest mishap the entire time she was at Hogwarts.
The Headmaster knew I was lying, and he needed time to discover why while he continued to move his pieces so that Potter would fulfill his destiny.
But I wouldn't give him that time.
"I'm not going to stand idly by waiting for an investigation that could last years!" My voice began to rise in pitch, laden with a rage that vibrated in the air. "I will not allow this criminal to escape through political tricks or lack of physical evidence!" I pointed an accusing finger at Lucius.
The entire Atrium seemed to tense with every word.
"I demand...!" I roared, letting the power of my voice resonate.
The crowd held its breath. Rita Skeeter, to one side, was writing feverishly on her parchment. The entire Atrium seemed to lean forward, waiting for the final explosion.
"...AN AGNI KAI!"
Absolute silence.
Dozens of people stared at me with their heads slightly tilted, completely confused.
I blinked. I realized my mistake; my subconscious had betrayed me.
"I mean... a Duel of Honor," I corrected myself, now without the same dramatic momentum.
Collective gasps of shock.
"Red!" my father shouted, his face pale with terror.
"You dare?" Malfoy uttered, somewhere between incredulous and fascinated by the opportunity presenting itself.
Amelia, Fudge, Dumbledore—they all looked at me with a mixture of bewilderment and doubt. A Duel of Honor was no simple fight; it was a magical blood contract with definitive legal and social consequences. For a second-year student to propose it was stupid, reckless... deeply Gryffindor. Though only Dumbledore might suspect that my arrogance was not unfounded.
"It is inevitable. I have already sent the formal acts of challenge. Even if I wanted to stop it, it has already begun and I cannot retract it," I said with iron seriousness, looking at my parents so they would understand there was no turning back. "It must be done! Otherwise, what use are our traditions? I proposed it, and I will take responsibility. If a wizard can go back on his word, what do we have left? We are wizards! We have honor, pride, and responsibility!"
My words fired up the oldest members of the Wizengamot and the traditionalists in the galleries. For them, modern laws were a nuisance compared to ancient rites. Those purists would defend my stance to the death; after all, it wasn't their families who would be risking their lives in the arena. The die was cast. Lucius Malfoy could not reject the duel without being a pariah, and I could not step back without being a coward.