Harry Potter: Returning from Hogwarts Legacy Chapter 253

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After lunch, Harry was summoned by Dumbledore to attend the trial of Peter Pettigrew at the Ministry of Magic.

The two of them Apparated, arriving beside a telephone booth.

“This is it,” Dumbledore said softly. “See that telephone booth? You go in first.”

It was a dilapidated telephone booth, its glass panes missing, looking as though it hadn’t been maintained in years. Yet, the Muggle passersby instinctively avoided it, their gazes never lingering in its direction.

A Muggle-Repelling Charm.

As Harry stepped inside, Dumbledore followed. He picked up the receiver and dialed a few numbers on the worn-out dial.

As the dial whirred back to its original position, a cold, detached female voice echoed through the booth. It didn’t co from the receiver in Dumbledore’s hand but rang out clearly, as if an invisible woman stood right beside them.

“Welco to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your na and purpose of visit.”

“Albus Dumbledore,” Dumbledore said quietly, “accompanying Harry Potter to the Ministry for the trial of Peter Pettigrew.”

“Thank you,” the cold voice replied. “Visitors, please take your badges and pin them to the front of your clothing.”

A clinking, rattling sound followed, like that of a cash register. Harry saw sothing slide out of the tal chute typically used for dispensing coins.

He picked it up: a square silver badge inscribed with Harry Potter, Juror.

He pinned the badge to the front of his school uniform shirt, and the woman’s voice spoke again.

“Visitors to the Ministry of Magic, you are required to undergo a security check and register your wands at the security desk, located at the far end of the Atrium.”

The floor of the telephone booth suddenly trembled, as if they were in an elevator slowly descending underground.

The pavent outside the booth’s glass windows rose higher and higher until darkness enveloped them overhead.

After about a minute, a thin beam of golden light fell upon Harry’s feet, gradually widening to encompass his body and finally shining directly on his face.

“I think the Ministry’s entry process could use so improvent,” Harry said to Dumbledore. “At least it wasn’t this complicated back then.”

“I believe you’re right, Harry,” Dumbledore agreed.

As he spoke, the woman’s voice sounded again.

“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day.”

The telephone booth door abruptly swung open, and Harry followed Dumbledore out.

They stood at one end of a long, resplendent hall with a polished, gleaming dark wood floor.

The peacock-blue ceiling was inlaid with shimring golden symbols that moved and shifted, like an enormous overhead noticeboard.

The walls were paneled with glossy black wood, embedded with nurous gilded fireplaces.

Every few seconds, with a soft whoosh, a witch or wizard would erge from one of the fireplaces on the left. On the right, queues ford in front of each fireplace as people waited to depart.

In the center of the hall stood a fountain, a circular pool adorned with a group of golden statues larger than life.

The tallest was a dignified wizard, holding his wand aloft, pointing to the sky.

Surrounding him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf.

The centaur, goblin, and house-elf gazed up at the two wizards with boundless admiration.

Jets of sparkling water sprayed from the tips of the wizards’ wands, the centaur’s arrow, the goblin’s hat, and both ears of the house-elf.

“It looks harmonious, doesn’t it?” Harry said to Dumbledore, referring to the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

“A re illusion,” Dumbledore replied softly, not bothering to lower his voice, as if unconcerned about being overheard. “I’ve never believed a statue could represent the wizarding world. You know, centaurs and goblins consider themselves far superior to wizards. Why would they gaze adoringly at them?”

“Really?” Harry gave a noncommittal smirk. Goblins certainly seed to look up to him.

Perhaps he hadn’t dealt with enough of them.

Having experienced the Goblin Rebellion, Harry harbored deep wariness toward non-human races. He had seen too many villages razed to the ground by goblin raids…

“Co, let’s go through the procedure,” Dumbledore said to Harry.

They approached a desk on the left, marked with a sign reading Security Check. Behind it sat a wizard in a peacock-blue robe, his beard poorly shaved.

As they neared, he looked up, setting aside his copy of The Daily Prophet. “Headmaster Dumbledore,” the wizard said. “Welco.”

“I’ve brought a guest to serve as a juror for Peter Pettigrew’s trial,” Dumbledore said. “This is Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter?”

The wizard, previously drowsy, snapped his eyes wide open at the na.

“Harry Potter?” he repeated, nodding. “Alright—you can go through.”

“No security check?” Harry asked curiously.

“I don’t think a third-year student needs much checking,” the wizard said to him. “Go on—you’re clear.”

“Thank you, Eric,” Dumbledore said with a nod and a smile.

As Harry walked away, the wizard rubbed his eyes.

“Poor kid…”

The news of Peter Pettigrew had spread throughout the Ministry. Of course, he knew about it—everyone in the Ministry did.

Thanks to Fudge’s relentless publicity and theatrical performances, it was as if he feared the world wouldn’t know the Savior was grateful to him.

Harry followed Dumbledore to an elevator, which was empty until it started moving, carrying only the two of them.

Soon, the elevator clattered to life, its chains rattling, and the cold female voice from the telephone booth echoed again.

“Level Seven, Departnt of Magical Gas and Sports, including the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office.”

Gobstones, a ga popular among wizarding children, used special stones and was similar to the Muggle ga of marbles. The main difference was that when a player lost a point, the stones sprayed a foul-slling liquid at their face.

The ga was fairly niche in the wizarding world and didn’t have a “cool” reputation, much to the chagrin of its enthusiasts.

“Gobstones…” Harry said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “rlin, I rember in first year when Gareth dragged into playing Gobstones. He loved it… Co to think of it, he later beca captain of the Gobstones team.”

Indeed, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had its own Gobstones Club and team.

“You may not know this,” Dumbledore said, winking at Harry, “but Severus’s mother, Eileen Prince, was once the captain of Hogwarts’ Gobstones team.”

“Really?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“Of course,” Dumbledore chuckled. “Though Gobstones is rather niche and not exactly a popular pasti.”

Harry shrugged. He didn’t particularly care for Gobstones. If it weren’t for Gareth’s enthusiasm, he’d never have tried it—getting sprayed in the face with foul liquid was hardly pleasant.

The elevator opened, and two hurried wizards stepped in, greeting Dumbledore before standing aside to wait.

“Level Six, Departnt of Magical Transportation, including the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre.”

The elevator doors opened again, and the two wizards quickly exited.

No one else entered, and the elevator continued until it reached the second level.

“Level Two, Departnt of Magical Law Enforcent, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”

“We should get off here, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “The courtroom is this way. Follow .”

They stepped out of the elevator and continued down the corridor, passing a window where rain fell steadily outside.

“You should know, we’re still underground,” Dumbledore told Harry. “The Magical Maintenance Departnt decides the Ministry’s weather each day. If they’re in a bad mood, it rains outside—like now, a dreary drizzle ans they’re not in the best spirits, but it’s not too bad. If it were, we’d be seeing hurricanes or thunderstorms.”

As they passed a door, Harry caught sight of Mr. Weasley inside.

A sign above the door read Improper Use of Muggle Artefacts Office.

Harry knew Mr,weasley was the head of the Improper Use of Muggle Artefacts Office.

“Mr. Weasley,” Harry called out in greeting.

Mr. Weasley looked up, saw Harry and Dumbledore, and stood with a smile.

“Professor Dumbledore, Harry,” he greeted. “You’re here already? Well, well, I’m shocked it turned out like this, but I’m thrilled Sirius has been cleared—Fudge told us the whole truth. I’m so glad, so glad Sirius isn’t a villain, but—”

His expression darkened.

“I never imagined Peter would turn into a rat and live in my house for twelve years!” he said angrily. “That traitor… rlin’s beard…”

“You’ve been caught up in this too, haven’t you?” Dumbledore asked with concern.

“Oh, it’s nothing—” Mr. Weasley sighed, tugging at his suit jacket and putting his hands on his hips. “rlin, it’s my fault too. I never suspected that rat was Peter Pettigrew…”

“It’s hard to imagine, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said with a sigh. “Who’d think a person could turn into a rat? He was too cunning. It’s not your fault—no one could’ve known. He even fooled Dumbledore.”

That was pointed enough. Even at school, Dumbledore hadn’t seen through it.

Mr. Weasley’s expression lightened a bit.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Good lad, always so understanding… Well.”

He glanced at his watch and said to them, “Right, the trial’s about to start—I think we should head to the courtroom…”

anwhile, in the Forbidden Forest.

Sirius, in his Animagus form, was happily wagging his tail as he munched on food stolen by Poppy from a tent. His tail thumped the ground like a propeller.

He was imnsely grateful to have befriended a unicorn who could sohow procure such delicious treats.

Thirteen years!

Thirteen years!

In Azkaban, there was no such food. Even after escaping, he’d been surviving on dead rats or large spiders. When had he ever eaten anything like this?

He should introduce her to Harry, Sirius thought. But suddenly, a chill ran down his spine.

He barked and spun around, only to find the Slytherin girl who had once cradled Harry’s head by the Black Lake standing behind him.

For a split second, Sirius’s instincts scread danger.

Vile Slytherin witch! What are you up to?

Without warning, a dizzying sensation overwheld him, and he collapsed to the ground.

Stupefy…

It was his last conscious thought.

Before blacking out, he saw the pretty girl holding a small sack, seemingly preparing to stuff him inside.

What was she planning?

With that thought, Sirius lost consciousness.

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