More than ten days had passed, and as the next full moon approached, the personnel responsible for escorting Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew to the Ministry for trial finally arrived at Hogwarts.
This case—one where the Ministry might have rendered a catastrophically wrong judgment twelve years prior—had directly alarmed Minister Cornelius Fudge himself. He personally oversaw the covert handover of the two individuals connected to that long-buried incident, demonstrating the gravity with which he regarded this explosive matter.
Whether this gravity stemmed from genuine desire for justice or merely desperate face-saving for the Ministry remained frustratingly unclear.
Minister Fudge's clandestine meeting with Dumbledore was scheduled for the Headmaster's office. During his journey through the castle corridors, the Christmas holidays provided perfect cover—with most students departed, his presence went entirely unnoticed.
Unnoticed, that is, except by Hermione, who had returned to Hogwarts after spending precious time with her sprawling family during the break. She now perched in Snape's office, eyes bright with anticipation as she monitored a surveillance terminal, accompanied by Glenn, who had deliberately remained at the school to orchestrate certain... preparations.
Since their surveillance couldn't capture external audio, and Hermione burned with curiosity about the impending conversation between Dumbledore and Fudge, she had specifically commissioned Glenn to provide real-time lip-reading translation.
Commissioned—the currency being one sweet kiss from the brilliant young witch.
Glenn harbored absolutely no objections to this delightful arrangement, though he'd strategically chosen Snape's office as their observation post for one crucial reason.
During recent weeks, after considerable internal warfare, Professor Snape had finally capitulated to cooperation with Glenn, agreeing to employ his own methods to extract Peter Pettigrew from Ministry custody.
This decision came after Snape's stubborn attempts to master the sniper rifle Glenn had provided proved utterly futile. The weapon remained as foreign and uncontrollable as ancient runes, leaving him with nothing but persistent shoulder aches and wounded pride.
Unable to devise superior alternatives within their narrow timeframe, and finding Glenn's proposal disturbingly feasible, Snape had reluctantly convinced himself to participate.
"Professor Snape, are your preparations complete?" Glenn inquired, his voice carrying an oddly mechanical quality.
Dumbledore and Fudge's conversation had commenced on screen. Seated beside Hermione, Glenn expertly divided his attention between relaying the two men's exchange and monitoring operational readiness. The success of their plan—avoiding any contact with Ministry escort personnel—hinged entirely on Snape's contributions.
Glenn spoke through an ingenious device encircling his neck, an alchemical apparatus Hermione had commissioned him to create. The device detected vocal cord vibrations and other speech-related muscular movements through magical resonance, converting them into audible sound.
Glenn's current device represented merely a crude prototype. The sophisticated voice-producing apparatus adorning Hermione's neck had achieved near-perfection—the young witch could speak without parting her lips, the device's output perfectly mimicking her natural voice. This miraculous invention had restored her classroom dominance and liberated her from months of suffocating silence.
"Naturally. Your impatience is hardly necessary," Snape replied coolly, folding his arms as he claimed the seat on Hermione's opposite side, his obsidian gaze fixed on the monitoring terminal.
He had methodically completed all required preparations hours earlier and now conserved energy for the approaching operation.
With time to spare, observing Dumbledore navigate Fudge's predictable bureaucratic anxiety seemed reasonably entertaining.
"...Albus, you're absolutely certain your account is completely accurate? Without irrefutable evidence, I'm afraid this petition might encounter... significant obstacles..."
On screen, Fudge perched nervously on the sofa, regarding Sirius with barely concealed terror, his posture suggesting imminent flight.
"Cornelius, irrefutable evidence certainly exists, and I personally guarantee its authenticity. For instance, we've successfully located the supposedly deceased Peter Pettigrew—"
Dumbledore gestured toward the rat cage positioned on his desk. Within its confines, Peter Pettigrew remained unconscious, having endured numerous Stunning Spells from Dumbledore, Sirius, or Lupin throughout his captivity.
Understanding Fudge's legendary obstinacy, Dumbledore eschewed lengthy explanations. Instead, he raised his hand, magically unsealed the cage, extracted the unconscious rat, and aimed his wand with practiced precision.
"Rennervate."
The surveillance feed captured the rat's dramatic transformation as white light enveloped it. The creature immediately began expanding, morphing the slumbering Peter Pettigrew back into his pathetic human form.
"Sweet Merlin's ghost, this is..."
"Pfft"
Hearing Glenn's emotionless, robotic narration, Hermione couldn't suppress her laughter. Confronted by Glenn's abrupt silence and his perfectly neutral expression as he turned toward her, the young witch pressed her hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with mirth, then waved frantically for him to continue.
"You're welcome to verify I've employed no additional enchantments."
On screen, Dumbledore gestured magnanimously for Fudge to proceed. The Minister remained frozen in contemplative silence before nodding with visible reluctance, beginning to cast various counter-spells upon the unconscious Peter Pettigrew sprawled across the coffee table.
The efforts proved entirely futile—Dumbledore had simply reversed Peter Pettigrew's Animagus transformation, nothing more.
"Very well, I've completed my examination. This individual... does indeed appear to be Peter Pettigrew. Merlin's beard, it's nearly impossible to comprehend... But Albus, you must understand that even under these extraordinary circumstances, we cannot reach definitive conclusions. We must still escort both Peter Pettigrew and... Sirius to the Ministry for proper judicial proceedings."
"Hmph."
"Where exactly did that 'hmph' originate?"
Hermione arched one eyebrow, Glenn's inexplicable snort having captured her complete attention.
She'd never witnessed Glenn express such disdain before.
"Sirius Black," Glenn explained, indicating Sirius, who had pointedly averted his gaze beside Dumbledore.
"...Ah, right. Understood."
Hermione's lips twitched with amusement before she refocused on the monitoring terminal.
"They should emerge shortly. Time for my performance?"
Observing Dumbledore magically restraining Peter Pettigrew once more, the young witch posed her question with barely contained excitement.
"Proceed to the second-floor staircase landing. Create a convincing chance encounter, then trust your instincts."
The remaining conversation contained no crucial intelligence, so Glenn abandoned his translation duties. Rising first, he began systematically organizing his specialized equipment.
"Perfect, I'm off then. Remember to execute your part swiftly, and Glenn—don't forget our evening appointment."
Hermione nodded briskly, secured the monitoring terminal, retrieved a woolen scarf from her robes, and wound it carefully around her neck to conceal the alchemical device. She departed Snape's office with purposeful strides.
The brilliant young witch navigated to Hogwarts Castle's second floor, where she extracted several hefty tomes from her protective charm, cradled them convincingly in her arms, and positioned herself strategically at the staircase corner, awaiting her cue.
Approximately ten minutes elapsed before Dumbledore's procession materialized on the third-floor staircase. Spotting her targets, Hermione launched into action.
Clutching her books with apparent urgency, she hurried upstairs with calculated haste. Precisely as she approached Dumbledore, Fudge, and their escort, she executed a perfectly timed stumble, her left foot catching her right ankle.
"Oh no!"
Hermione's startled cry accompanied her books' dramatic flight from her grasp as she pitched forward, seemingly destined for an ungraceful collision with the stone floor.
Invisible magical force materialized around Hermione's falling form, gently arresting her descent and gracefully restoring her balance.
"Please exercise greater caution, Miss Granger."
Dumbledore regarded Hermione with grandfatherly kindness, though his penetrating blue eyes held unmistakable curiosity.
"...Oh, Professor Dumbledore! Thank you so very much for your assistance!"
Hermione radiated grateful astonishment, offering a perfectly polite smile in response.
Throughout her effusive gratitude, Hermione's lips barely parted, maintaining the illusion of normal speech while ensuring the precious mandrake leaf concealed within her mouth remained secure.
Dumbledore's eye twitched almost imperceptibly. He could now be virtually certain that Miss Granger was orchestrating something decidedly clandestine.
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