After breakfast, the professors made their way toward Hogsmeade, fastening their sleeves, ready for multiple Apparitions.
"If time weren't so tight, Minerva would have definitely opted for a broom," Professor Sprout whispered to Anthony. "She and Albus share a similar… dislike for Apparition."
Professor McGonagall led the group, her head bowed as she spoke with Professor Flitwick. Anthony could only see the tight knot of her hair.
"Minerva flies well, does she?" Anthony asked.
"Exceptionally well," Professor Sprout said. "In the years when Gryffindor's Quidditch team was desperate for players, I half-worried she'd try out for Seeker herself. If it weren't for the rule against Head of House participation, I mean."
Anthony nodded, giving Professor Sprout a curious look.
"I fly terribly," Professor Sprout declared. "Filius is a bit better. I'm a bit better than Severus. That's precisely why we've always upheld the 'no Head of House' rule for Quidditch."
Anthony shrugged. "A shame."
…
After a moment of unpleasant squeezing, Anthony stood before the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. His colleagues popped into existence one by one, each carrying their own prepared materials. Ministry employees stared, wide-eyed, as a whole crowd of professors marched into the atrium. They exchanged furtive glances, clueless about the event, and could only watch as the group stepped into a lift.
The lift was occupied by a few other workers. They seemed pleased to see their old professors, but unaccustomed to standing so close. They pressed themselves against the lift's walls. Anthony offered the man beside him a smile and shifted over, surrendering more wall space.
Professor Flitwick cheerfully struck up conversation, asking about their lives. Professor Sprout added a few curious questions of her own.
Professor McGonagall offered some commentary and advice. Snape simply watched, cold and silent, making the person unfortunate enough to be next to him even more uncomfortable—a young man who had to stand on tiptoe to see past Snape's head to answer Sprout's questions. Snape seemed to be studying his teeth with detached interest. When the lift stopped at the man's office floor, he squeezed past Snape with an expression of relief, almost happy to start his workday.
The lift groaned downward. Two more people got on, then off again.
Down—further down—until with a heavy CLANG, the carriage stopped. The grille rattled open. Anthony followed the others out. The hearing was scheduled for Courtroom Ten, buried so deep the lifts didn't go all the way.
They walked down an empty corridor, their footsteps echoing. Anthony felt a strange, prickling discomfort. He didn't like this place.
It was deathly quiet, a world away from the bustling atrium above. "Department of Mysteries," Professor Flitwick informed Anthony in a hushed tone. At the corridor's end, a staircase spiraled further down. Anthony glanced back. The hallway was still empty, yet the feeling of being watched persisted.
The torches lining the stairwell flickered weakly. A chill seeped from the rough stone walls. This didn't feel like the path to a courtroom. It felt like the stairs to a dungeon.
The deeper they went, the quieter the professors became. McGonagall strode ahead, face stern. Sprout and Flitwick examined the walls in silence. In the shaky, cold torchlight, their shadows loomed large and distorted on the stone. Snape, expressionless, brought up the rear behind Anthony.
Finally, they reached the bottom. Even Anthony could feel the cold now. Before them stretched another corridor, smelling of damp, mildew, old wood, and iron. The smell of a cell block.
At the far end of the corridor, a warm, beautiful glow of gold and crimson shone. Fawkes was perched on Dumbledore's shoulder, preening his feathers. The sight of Dumbledore's silver hair and beard seemed to release the tension from everyone's shoulders.
"You're not going in, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked, quickening her pace.
Dumbledore smiled warmly at them. "No, Minerva. I am usually the last to arrive… I believe I am early today, so I decided to use the time to greet my staff."
"I'll be right here by the door," Professor Flitwick piped up. "Just call if you need anything."
"Of course, Filius," McGonagall said.
As "uninvolved parties," they were typically barred from the courtroom itself. But McGonagall and Anthony, as direct witnesses to Pettigrew's confession, were almost certain to be called.
"The Dementor's Kiss, Minerva," Professor Sprout said firmly, patting McGonagall's arm before the heavy black door of the courtroom.
Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly. Snape asked softly, "Does your distaste for Dementors gnaw at your merciful heart once more, Headmaster?"
"I have never cared for Dementors," Dumbledore said calmly. "But if that is truly the Wizengamot's judgment, I will not stand against it."
Snape made a skeptical sound, but his attention was quickly captured by another figure hurrying down the corridor. Hatred burned in his eyes.
Lupin looked thinner than the last time Anthony had seen him. Pale. Lips tinged with blue. His hair was neatly combed, his robes were faded but free of patches, and his eyes held a frightening intensity.
"Apologies for my lateness, Professor Dumbledore," he said, his voice slightly breathless. "The security check in the atrium took longer than expected. Given my… condition."
"You are not late, Remus," Dumbledore said. "In fact, your timing is perfect. We were just about to enter."
"Excellent," Lupin said. He slid his wand back into his belt and straightened his shoulders. In that moment, the weariness of "Mr. Lupin," the exhausted man, vanished.
Dumbledore swept a set of plum-colored robes over his shoulders and pushed the door open. Fawkes vanished in a sudden burst of flame.
It was like someone had hit a pause button. The low buzz of conversation from the witches and wizards inside the room cut off abruptly. Heads turned.
Professor Burbage, speaking with a severe-looking elderly witch at the edge of the spectator benches, raised her arm high and waved, beaming. "I was starting to think you'd be late!"
"Never," Dumbledore said calmly, striding toward the highest chair.
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