The room seemed brightly lit compared to the round room. Around the room were strewn bodies, alive, but bound up in strands of something that looked like camera film. The film-like strands all originated from brains that had attached themselves to the bodies. Albus then noticed that on most of the bodies, the strands of film had branched off and started to take root and expand under their hosts’ skin, giving the figures a gnarled, bloated appearance. A tank at the end of the room kept more of the brains in a greenish solution.
“Potter, these are the heretics; that is, those who practice magic, yet spread false ideas about the magical world. As a punishment for using their brains to try to alter reality, now their brains shall be . . .” Snape paused in satisfaction, “. . .altered.”
Albus approached a large man wearing a Ministry robe. “What do they call you?” he asked sternly.
The man’s face, which looked as though it had once been friendly and amicable, now expressed great pain, misery, and bitterness. He seemed to be having a great physical struggle because of the brain, though he clearly had no power over it. “Cornelius--Fudge,” he mustered with great effort, “former--Minister--Magic.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you in school. You were the one who sent the whole country into denial about Voldemort’s return. The one who discredited Professor Dumbledore, and my father.”
Fudge’s eyes widened. “Your--father?” A pleading look came into his face. “Please--have mercy--thought tendrils--consuming my brain!”
Paying no heed, Albus approached another figure; this time, it was a centaur. Unlike many of the others, the centaur stood tall, though it was obvious that he was still in a great deal of pain. As Albus approached, the centaur looked him squarely in the eye.
“Human, my mind no longer knows of the world or the stars. What news can you bring me?”
Albus considered him for a moment. “What is your name, and how long have you been here?”
“I am called Bane. I was once a prominent member of a herd hidden in what you humans call the Forbidden Forest. My last day there, a great evil fell from power.”
“You mean the day Voldemort was defeated?”
Bane stared at Albus, then looked off distantly. “That night, Mars disappeared from sight to make room for Venus and Jupiter.” He looked back, wincing slightly. “But what of the world now?”
“Er . . . it’s a great deal better off than when you left it. It has been freed from much darkness. The Ministry of Magic fell, and a new Ministry was built elsewhere.” Curious, Albus asked, “Sir, how did you come to be here?”
The centaur stiffened. “Centaurs were never meant to be ruled by wizards, nor do we readily help them. We do not stoop to that level unless it is a great emergency. We live on our own and guard our own. And if one of our own leaves us, we forget him. We see no need to associate ourselves with inferior beings, especially those as invasive as wizards.” With that, Bane was clearly finished talking. Taken aback, Albus looked at Snape questioningly.
“Ah yes, Potter. You will recall from your studies, I hope, that most centaurs see themselves as superior to all others. They are an ancient race; for that they are insufferably racist and proud.”
“But it doesn’t really make a difference, does it? There isn’t one race that is greater than others.”
Snape searched Albus’ face curiously. “No, there isn’t.”
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