"What you said is not without reason," Dumbledore said with a small nod. "I will consider your suggestion carefully. But as we said before, the most important thing is to respect the child's own choice. The doors of Hogwarts are always open to all peace-loving witches and wizards."
Lucius Malfoy stared at him for a moment, his pale eyes sharp with displeasure. Then he smoothed his expression with practiced ease and gave a courteous smile. "You are right, of course. As a graduate of Hogwarts, the House of Malfoy would be willing to contribute to this matter through our publication, Wizard Warfare."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, and he considered the offer for a brief moment. "Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Now, let us go and see Minister Fudge together. After all, the most urgent matter is getting the child out of Azkaban."
Dumbledore knew the first ripples of this scandal had only just begun. The pure-blood families, with the Malfoys at the front, would never let such a useful chance pass quietly by. They had lost influence during the war, and now the Ministry had handed them a blade wrapped in newspaper ink.
When Dumbledore entered the Minister's office, his brows drew together at the ruined furniture and scattered papers. "Reparo," he said, and with one clean sweep of magic, chairs straightened, broken objects mended, and the room put itself back into a shape fit for government.
"Albus, you're here." Minister Fudge let out a deep breath of relief when he saw him. His shoulders loosened, and some of the panic drained from his round face, though not nearly enough to make him look comfortable.
"Fudge, the most important thing now is not deciding whose responsibility this is," Dumbledore said gently. "It is rescuing the child from Azkaban. By every account we have, he is innocent."
"Albus, what if the report is false?" Fudge asked, clinging stubbornly to his last scrap of hope. If the Ministry admitted Rita Skeeter's story was true, he would be the first person to suffer. The whole wizarding world would condemn him, and the office he had fought so hard to keep might slip through his fingers overnight.
"Even if there is only a one-in-ten-thousand chance that an innocent child is imprisoned in such a dreadful place, we cannot ignore it." Dumbledore's voice remained calm, but it carried a firmness no one in the room could mistake. "Trust me, launching an investigation immediately is the wise choice."
He looked from Fudge to the others in the room. "If the report is true, we can correct a tragic mistake before further harm is done. If it is false, then a proper investigation will calm unnecessary anger and fear. The key is action, not avoidance."
Fudge sank into thought, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk. Just then, an Auror hurried into the room and reported loudly, "Minister, new development. We received a reply from the Azkaban administrator, and he confirms the boy is alive."
Fudge's face changed at once. The last flicker of hope in him went out as cleanly as a snuffed candle. For a long moment, he said nothing, then released a heavy sigh that seemed to age him several years.
"Very well, Albus," Fudge said at last. "It seems we must act. I will arrange a team to leave for Azkaban immediately. If the child is alive, he will be transferred to St. Mungo's at once, and we will conduct a full investigation into how this injustice happened."
A faint smile of relief appeared on Dumbledore's face. "We should go ourselves. This concerns a child's life."
"You're right," Fudge said quickly. "I'll prepare the Floo Powder now."
He gave his special assistant, Albert, a meaningful glance. Since the situation could no longer be avoided, he might as well turn the rescue into a public display and salvage whatever remained of his image. A Minister arriving personally at Azkaban looked far better than a Minister hiding behind paperwork.
Soon after, Dumbledore, Fudge, Malfoy, and the others arrived at Azkaban. Rita had not yet left. She watched the group appear with keen interest, then raised her camera and took several photographs of their arrival against the prison's grim stone walls.
"Madam Skeeter, thank you for your report." Fudge walked toward her quickly, his face arranged into its warmest public smile. "Your article saved a child, corrected a mistake, and demonstrated the professionalism a journalist should have. Your courage and contribution deserve an Order of Merlin."
Rita's eyes widened in genuine surprise. An Order of Merlin was one of the wizarding world's highest honors, awarded according to a witch or wizard's contribution to society. She had dreamed of many things in her career, but hearing the Minister offer that medal aloud still sent a thrill through her.
Then she understood. Fudge was offering more than praise; he was offering a bargain. If she adjusted the tone of her reporting, softened the sharpest edges, and allowed the Ministry to look like the rescuer rather than the offender, her name could appear on the honors list.
"Minister Fudge, this is only what I should do," Rita said, her smile bright and perfectly controlled. "There may be darkness in the wizarding world, but justice will prevail. Justice may sometimes be delayed, but it will ultimately overcome the dark."
"You are quite right, Madam Skeeter." Fudge kept smiling, though inside he winced at the word delayed. "Leave the rest to the Ministry. We will conduct a thorough investigation and release the results as soon as possible."
Justice delayed, Fudge thought bitterly. What a sharp little needle to hide inside a compliment.
Out loud, he said warmly, "When that time comes, I hope Madam Skeeter will agree to an exclusive interview."
"Rest assured, Minister," Rita replied. "I will write a proper exclusive report about this matter."
The deal was made in plain sight, and everyone present understood it without anyone needing to say so. No one broke the polite silence around it. They listened as Paul retold the story of Jessica and her son, making himself sound as kind, helpless, and underappreciated as possible, and then they entered the prison together.
Inside Cell C2, Jessica heard the commotion drawing closer. She turned to Roger with a serious expression, her thin hands holding his shoulders. "Roger, they're here. Do you remember what Mum taught you?"
"Mum, I want to take you out with me," Roger said.
If this had been only about himself, he could have waited another ten years to find a way out of Azkaban. But Jessica's body was too weak, worn down by damp stone, poor food, and years beneath Dementors' shadows. If she stayed here, the prison would eventually finish what the war had begun.
"Listen to me and go to school properly," Jessica said, shaking her head. Her best hope was that her son could get out of Azkaban. As for herself, she had long stopped expecting mercy from the world beyond the cell door.
"No," Roger said, turning his head stubbornly.
The panel before his eyes showed that his magic had recovered.
Roger WilliamsMagic: 2.3 / 2.3Mental Power: 12Talents: Dark Affinity, Strong Will, Night VisionSkills: Wandless Casting, Lumos Lv3 (36 / 50), Expecto Patronum Lv2 (0 / 10)
Roger looked at the Life Simulation button and sighed inwardly. His magic was too limited. If he used the simulation now, he would lose the strength needed to carry out his plan.
At this point, he could only gamble. For himself and for his mother, he was willing to stake everything without hesitation.
Roger stood up and reached for the most beautiful memories he could find. Some came from his previous life, faint and distant, while others were dreams he had built in the dark: sunlight on Jessica's face, clean clothes, warm food, and a home where no locks stood between them. The darkness around him shifted, and joy rose from him like heat.
That joy was a burning light in the depths of Azkaban. The Dementors felt it at once, and the prison seemed to stir with them. They rushed toward the source, desperate to smother it, to drink away the happiness and leave only emptiness behind.
"Roger, what are you doing?" Jessica cried in terror. "Stop it."
"Trust me." Roger held her hand tightly and faced the Dementors as they poured toward the cell. His voice was steady, filled with a strength that allowed no refusal. "Expecto Patronum."
Silver light burst into being before him. It was pale and almost ethereal, yet it stood like an unbreakable wall, holding the attacking Dementors back from the cell.
Farther down the corridor, Minister Fudge and Dumbledore both changed expression at once. The Dementors were rioting. Rita noticed the shift faster than most and immediately lifted her camera, capturing every movement with hungry precision.
Dumbledore looked seriously at Lucius. Lucius raised his brows and quickly said, "Albus, I have no reason to interfere. When it comes to rescuing Roger, our interests are the same."
Dumbledore gave a slight nod, then swept his gaze toward Minister Fudge and Barty Crouch, who were already casting spells to hold back the Dementors. Neither of them had a reason to stage this, either. Something was happening inside the prison, and it was not anyone's performance.
"Expecto Patronum," Dumbledore said, drawing his wand.
A great silver-white phoenix soared from the tip. It spread its wings in the dark corridor, beautiful and majestic, and its cry rang out with warmth and hope. The sound washed through Azkaban, driving back the frenzied Dementors and cutting through the prison's cold like sunrise through fog.
Dumbledore pushed open the cell door. The silver-white light in front of Roger was still shining, fragile and stubborn at the same time. Everyone stared in shock, even Rita, who was seeing it for the second time, and only then did the others truly believe the magical photograph had been real: an eleven-year-old child could cast wandless magic and even summon a Patronus.