Dorje squinted at the shimmering light door ahead. Moments later, three figures stepped through.
Leading them was a thin man with recently tamed hair. Dorje recognized him instantly—Sirius Blake, the wanted criminal.
Following him was a man in black robes, with a hooked nose and greasy hair: Severus Snape, former Death Eater and current Potions Master at Hogwarts. In his hands, he held a metal cage.
The third figure was a middle-aged man Dorje had met in the Order of the Phoenix—Remus John Lupin, who had once helped escort Peter Pettigrew.
Three men—and a mouse—had come through the light door.
Dumbledore raised his hand. The metal object flew back into his grasp, and the light door vanished.
Dorje exhaled. "No wonder you weren't worried."
"Fudge… he miscalculated badly," he added.
The Minister had mobilized most of the Aurors and Hit Wizards for an ambush. Dorje had been nervous at first. But clearly, there had been nothing to fear. Dumbledore hadn't even used the main entrance—they'd simply arrived inside.
"But… what was that thing? It could actually—"
Dumbledore smiled, tucking the item away. "Ephias, I know you're curious. But we must prioritize this matter first. Once it's resolved, I'll explain everything."
Dorje nodded. "You're right. But…" He glanced toward the empty bench. "Fudge isn't here yet."
Removing his glasses, Dumbledore began cleaning them. "Then someone must inform him."
Fudge, still in his office, hadn't even changed into his judicial robes. He was sipping coffee, reading the Daily Prophet, feeling triumphant.
He believed he had finally outmaneuvered Dumbledore.
So when Kingsley burst in, holding the purple Wizengamot robes and hat, Fudge was unconcerned.
"What's the hurry?"
"Mr. Minister, you need to dress. The trial is starting."
Fudge frowned. "What trial? The accused hasn't even appeared. Dorje must be confused."
"Actually… Sirius Blake and Peter Pettigrew are already in the Wizengamot courtroom."
Fudge choked, spraying coffee across his paper. "What?! That's impossible! How did they get in? I posted dozens of Aurors and Hit Wizards!"
"I don't think Dumbledore or Dorje would joke about this," Kingsley said calmly.
Fudge's face paled. Had Dumbledore infiltrated the Ministry through some hidden means? Or did he have sympathizers among the Aurors?
Even worse—was Scrimgeour himself loyal to Dumbledore?
His chest tightened. He had assumed his power base was secure. Now it felt riddled with holes.
Silently, he took the robes from Kingsley.
"I'll be right there."
Back in the courtroom, a flash of light revealed Peter Pettigrew, transformed back from his Animagus form. He fell to the floor with a yelp.
"It's really him! Peter Pettigrew!" someone gasped.
The courtroom erupted with murmurs.
Dumbledore had opened the cage and cast a powerful Revelatory Charm, exposing Peter's true identity.
At that moment, Fudge stormed in, face thunderous.
"Dumbledore! How dare you begin the trial without me!"
"Connelly, we haven't begun," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "We're merely organizing our evidence… and our witness."
His calm tone unsettled Fudge. Meeting Dumbledore's eyes, he felt a sudden wave of dread.
Why did Dumbledore's gaze feel so suffocating?
He turned away—only to lock eyes with Peter.
A man he believed dead was now alive and standing in court.
The case was already lost.
Regret flooded Fudge. Had he only played along with Dumbledore's plan from the start, he might have benefited.
But it was too late.
He would now be forced to concede, hand back favors, and face embarrassment.
With a face like stone, he read the verdict: "Therefore, I pronounce… that Sirius Blake is not guilty."
Sirius was exonerated, the warrants cancelled. The Ministry was ordered to pay restitution and clear his name in the Daily Prophet.
Peter Pettigrew, guilty of treachery and murder, was sentenced to a Dementor's Kiss—a death sentence.
Peter fainted on the spot.
Fudge didn't even glance at Dumbledore as he stormed out.
"I told you, Fudge was the wrong choice," Dorje muttered.
Dumbledore sighed. "My judgment failed me. He's not the leader we needed."
The courtroom had quieted, eyes now turning to the object Dumbledore had earlier used to summon Sirius.
"So, Albus," Dorje grinned, "are you finally going to tell us what that thing is?"
Dumbledore retrieved the device, reflecting on what had happened two mornings prior.
Blake and Professor Babbling had arrived in his office, bleary-eyed and excited. They brought with them alchemical blueprints and several small, finished devices.
Blake had explained: these were experimental "teleportation points"—devices that could transport people and objects between marked locations.
Dumbledore had been skeptical.
But it worked.
Unlike the Vanishing Cabinets, these teleporters didn't just work in pairs. As long as two locations were linked, they could be used like Floo powder—but with none of the soot.
Blake called them a prototype, limited in function and not as versatile as the dimensional door.
Yet even with limited capability, it was a breakthrough.
Best of all, the devices weren't complex to recreate. The blueprints were thorough, and the materials inexpensive—only thirty Galleons per unit.
Dumbledore knew why Blake had developed it so quickly.
With his imminent time-travel, and no guarantee of return, Blake had wanted to leave something behind—something practical for his friends.
Dragging Professor Babbling into it meant one more person understood the crafting process.
He wasn't just creating a device. He was leaving a legacy.
A gift to those who might one day need it.
Dumbledore's eyes misted over.
"Albus?" Dorje prompted.
"Oh… it's nothing."
"So? What is it?"
Dumbledore held the metal device up. "This is a teleportation point, made by a child."
He paused.
"Blake, Blake Dumbledore. My child."
Pride radiated from his voice.
—
In the Room of Requirement, Blake handed a small bag to Baker the house elf.
"Baker, I need you to guard this bag—and deliver its contents at the right time to the right people."
The elf's ears perked up. "When, Master Blake? To whom?"
"The items are labeled. If the day comes when I disappear from this world… that's when you'll know."
Baker's eyes widened. "Master Blake… won't disappear, right?"
Blake placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You already understand."
Tears welled in Baker's eyes. "But Baker—Baker will do it. Baker will keep it safe and follow instructions!"
"Good. And remember, this stays between us."
"Yes, sir!"
After the elf left, Blake turned to the now-barren ground of the Room of Requirement.
He had transplanted all his magical plants into a custom collection bag.
The room, once a garden, was now empty.
"Time for a change," he murmured.
The Room responded. The soil vanished, replaced by tiled floors. The scenery transformed.