Chapter 250
The wizard lowered the golden device and held out his hand to Harry.
"Your wand."
Harry handed it over. The wizard dropped it into a strange brass contraption, which immediately began to vibrate. A narrow strip of paper shot out from a slot at its base. He tore it off and read it.
"Eleven inches, phoenix feather core, in use for four years... correct?"
"N-Yes," Harry answered nervously.
The wizard pinned the slip onto a long brass spike.
"I'll keep this. You can have your wand back."
He held it out to Harry.
"Thank you."
"Wait..."
The wizard's eyes shifted from the visitor's badge on Harry's chest to the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Arthur Weasley placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and guided him away from the desk, back into the stream of witches and wizards passing through the golden gates.
"Thank you, Eric."
Pushing through the crowd, Harry followed Mr. Weasley into a small hall beyond the gates, where at least twenty lifts stood behind ornate golden grilles.
They joined the group waiting in front of one of the lifts. Nearby stood a huge, bearded wizard carrying a cardboard box that rattled noisily.
"Everything all right, Arthur?" the man asked with a nod.
Mr. Weasley glanced at the box.
"What have you got there, Bob?"
The wizard answered seriously,
"We're not entirely sure. We thought it was an ordinary chicken until it started breathing fire through its beak. Looks like a serious violation of the Ban on Experimental Breeding."
With a loud clatter, a lift arrived. The golden grille slid open, allowing Mr. Weasley, Harry, and the others to squeeze inside. Harry found himself pressed against the back wall.
Several witches and wizards looked at him curiously. Harry stared at his shoes to avoid their gazes, nervously straightening the edges of his robes.
The grille slammed shut, and the lift began to rise slowly with the clinking of chains.
The same cold female voice Harry had heard in the telephone box announced:
"Level Seven. Department of Magical Games and Sports, including the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, the Official Gobstones Club, and the Ludicrous Patents Office."
The doors opened briefly, revealing a dingy corridor lined with crooked Quidditch posters.
One wizard, struggling beneath several broomsticks, squeezed out before disappearing down the hallway.
The doors closed again.
"Level Six. Department of Magical Transportation, including the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre."
Several witches and wizards stepped out, while a flock of pale purple paper airplanes fluttered into the lift.
Harry looked up.
Each carried the seal of the Ministry of Magic on its wings.
Mr. Weasley explained quietly,
"Interdepartmental memos. We used to use owls, but the noise was unbelievable... not to mention what they left all over the desks."
As the lift continued upward, the memos circled lazily around the hanging lamp.
"Level Five. Department of International Magical Cooperation, including the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Law Office, and the British Seat of the International Confederation of Wizards."
More employees stepped out while new memos flew in, causing the light overhead to flicker.
"Level Four. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, including the Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and House-Elf Relocation Office."
The wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken muttered,
"Excuse me."
He left the lift, followed by a handful of memos.
The doors closed once more.
"Level Three. Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee."
Everyone left the lift except Mr. Weasley, Harry, and a witch reading an impossibly long scroll that dragged along the floor behind her.
The remaining memos continued circling the lamp.
Then the doors opened again.
"Level Two. Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, the Auror Headquarters, and the Wizengamot Administration Services."
Mr. Weasley stepped out after the witch.
"We get off here, Harry. My office is on the other side of the floor."
As they passed a window, Harry noticed bright sunlight shining through it.
"Mr. Weasley... are we still underground?"
"Yes. Those are enchanted windows. The Magical Maintenance Department chooses the weather every day. Last time they asked for a pay raise, we had two straight months of hurricanes."
He pointed ahead.
"This way."
They rounded a corner, passed two heavy oak doors, and entered a large open office divided into cubicles.
The place buzzed with laughter, conversations, and flying memos darting overhead like tiny rockets.
The nearest sign read:
Auror Headquarters
Harry glanced uneasily through the cubicles.
The Aurors' walls were covered with wanted posters, family photographs, Quidditch team banners, and Daily Prophet clippings.
One man in crimson robes, with a ponytail longer than Bill's, sat with his boots on the desk, dictating to a self-writing quill.
Nearby, a witch wearing an eyepatch leaned over her partition, talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt.
As Arthur and Harry approached, Kingsley said casually,
"Morning, Weasley. Need a word with you. Got a minute?"
"Certainly. If it's only a minute—I'm rather busy."
The two men behaved as though they barely knew each other.
Harry opened his mouth to greet Kingsley, but Arthur had already followed him to the last desk.
Harry froze.
Everywhere he looked, Sirius's face stared back at him.
Newspaper clippings. Photographs. Even the wedding picture of James and Lily Potter with Sirius standing proudly as best man.
The only empty section of the wall held a large map of the world covered in tiny red pins that sparkled like jewels.
---
Albert stood at the entrance to Level Three of the Ministry of Magic, calmly surveying his surroundings while the footsteps of passing employees echoed through the corridor.
He wore the same outfit he had worn when visiting Nicolas Flamel: a long black coat embroidered with silver patterns over a dark shirt fastened with gleaming buttons, making him stand out among the Ministry staff.
Whispers soon spread among the nearby witches and wizards.
Some regarded him curiously, assuming from his elegant attire that he might be a foreign wizard—perhaps French.
Others recognized him immediately.
They had seen him in the newspapers, in Rita Skeeter's articles that had featured him repeatedly in recent weeks.
Some whispered with admiration.
Others with suspicion.
Albert ignored them.
He walked steadily toward one of the narrower side corridors, avoiding unnecessary attention.
Turning right, he entered a dim passage where few people passed.
The atmosphere here was quieter, the walls carrying an air of mystery that only someone familiar with the Ministry would notice.
At the end of the corridor, he stopped before a door marked with the number 5.
He had arrived.
Albert quickly glanced left, then right, carefully checking that no one was watching.
With a smooth motion, he lifted a small wooden plaque mounted above the door.
From his pocket, he produced two tiny black spheres.
He placed one inside the hidden compartment behind the plaque and attached the other to the wall opposite the door.
Passing his hand lightly over them, he whispered several quiet incantations.
Both spheres vanished instantly beneath a powerful Concealment Charm.
No ordinary person would ever notice them.
Albert, however, could still sense their presence as though they were extensions of himself.
Taking a step back, he stared at the door for several seconds before quietly murmuring,
"Good... that's everything on my end."
He looked once more toward the dark corridor from which he had come.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"Now all that's left... is for them to arrive."
He reached for the handle.
Then he opened the door and stepped inside.
---
Kingsley pointed to a parchment in his hand.
"Take a look. I need everything you've got on flying Muggle vehicles spotted over the past twelve months. We've received information suggesting Black may still be using his old motorcycle."
He gave Harry a conspicuous wink and added in a whisper,
"Give him the magazine. He might find something useful."
Then, in a normal voice,
"And don't take too long, Weasley. The delay in submitting the report on weapons and pies held up our investigation for a whole month."
Arthur replied with perfect seriousness.
"If you'd actually read my report, you'd know the correct term is weapons and ammunition. As for the motorcycle information, you'll have to wait—we're extremely busy at the moment."
Lowering his voice, he added,
"If you can get off before seven, Molly's making meatballs tonight."
He motioned for Harry to follow.
They left Kingsley's office, passed through another oak door, turned left, then right into a dim, rather dirty corridor.
At the end stood two doors.
The one on the left was open, revealing a broom cupboard.
The brass plaque on the door to the right read:
Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office
Mr. Weasley's dim little office was only slightly larger than the broom cupboard.
It contained two desks with barely enough room to move between them.
The walls were lined with filing cabinets overflowing with documents, with even more files stacked on top.
The remaining wall space displayed Arthur's fascination with Muggle inventions.
There were car posters, an advertisement showing a car engine, illustrations of postboxes cut from a children's book, and a diagram explaining electrical wiring.
On a small table stood an old toaster that occasionally burped strangely, beside a pair of dancing leather gloves.
Next to them rested a family photograph of the Weasleys.
Harry noticed Percy had disappeared from the picture.
"Sorry we don't have a window," Mr. Weasley said apologetically as he removed his coat.
"We asked for one, but apparently they think we don't need it. Sit down, Harry. Looks like Perkins hasn't arrived yet."
Harry squeezed into the chair behind Perkins's desk while Mr. Weasley examined the roll of parchment Kingsley had handed him.
Smiling, he pulled a copy of The Quibbler from between the papers.
"Ah... excellent."
Flipping through it, he chuckled.
"Yes, Kingsley's right. Sirius will find this rather amusing... Dear me... what's this?"
A flying memo drifted through the open door and landed on the burping toaster.
Arthur unfolded it and read aloud:
"Third vomiting public toilet reported in Bethnal Green. Please investigate immediately."
He sighed.
"This is getting ridiculous. Another vomiting toilet."
Frowning, he continued,
"Muggle-baiters. There were two similar incidents last week—one in Wimbledon and another in Elephant and Castle. Whenever someone flushes, instead of everything disappearing... well... you know... it comes right back up. Then the poor Muggles call the... the..."
"The plumbers?"
"Exactly! But the trouble is, the toilets have been bewitched. I really hope we catch whoever's behind it."
Harry asked,
"Will the Aurors handle it?"
"No. It's too minor for the Aurors. An ordinary Magical Law Enforcement patrol will take care of it. Ah, Harry—there's Perkins."
A frail, elderly wizard with untidy white hair hurried into the office, breathing heavily.
Without looking at Harry, he gasped,
"Arthur, thank goodness! I didn't know whether I should wait or not. I sent an owl to your house, but obviously you hadn't received it. An urgent message arrived ten minutes ago..."
"I know about the vomiting toilet."
"No, no—not that! It's Potter's hearing. They've changed both the time and the location! It starts at eight o'clock this morning, in Old Courtroom Number Ten!"
"In the old courtroom...? But they told me... By Merlin's beard!"
Arthur glanced at his watch, let out a cry of alarm, and jumped to his feet.
"Quick, Harry! We should have been there five minutes ago!"
Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinet as Arthur rushed out, Harry racing after him.
Out of breath, Harry asked while they sprinted past the Auror offices,
"Why did they change the time?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Thank goodness we came early. If you hadn't arrived on time, it would've been a disaster."
Arthur jabbed the button for the lift repeatedly.
"Come on!"
The lift arrived.
Every time it stopped on another floor, Arthur muttered a curse under his breath and angrily pressed the button for the third level again.
"Those courtrooms haven't been used for years... I don't know what they're doing up there... unless... no... surely not..."
At that moment, a plump witch carrying a steaming cup stepped into the lift.
Arthur made no effort to give her space.
The cold female voice announced,
"Reception."
The golden doors opened, revealing the distant golden statues surrounding the fountain.
The witch stepped out.
A pale wizard with a sorrowful expression stepped in.
"Morning, Arthur. Don't see you up here very often."
"Important business, Bod."
Bod turned his unblinking gaze toward Harry.
"Ah... I see. Of course."
Harry had no emotions to spare for Bod, but the man's unwavering stare made him deeply uncomfortable.
The cold voice announced,
"Department of Mysteries."
Nothing more.
As the doors opened, Arthur shouted,
"Hurry, Harry!"
They rushed into a corridor unlike any they had seen before.
The walls were bare.
There were no windows and no doors except a single black door at the end.
Harry thought they were heading there.
Instead, Arthur grabbed his arm and pulled him left toward a staircase.
Panting as he took two steps at a time, Arthur exclaimed,
"Up! Up! The lift doesn't go to this level... Why they're holding it upstairs, I have no idea..."
They reached the top and burst into another corridor resembling Snape's dungeon passage at Hogwarts.
Heavy wooden doors lined both sides, fitted with iron hinges and keyholes.
---
The narrow corridor leading to Room Five was isolated, illuminated only by the dim glow of enchanted torches mounted along the walls.
Very few Ministry employees passed through this section at this hour, making it the perfect place to carry out the mission.
At the far end of the corridor, hidden within the shadows, stood two men dressed in discreet formal attire.
Lucius Malfoy, his long blond hair immaculately combed, wore an open black robe over a dark green shirt and elegant white trousers.
He was trying to blend into the Ministry, but the aura of pride and authority surrounding him was impossible to hide.
Antonin Dolohov, by contrast, was dressed entirely in black.
He resembled a moving shadow.
His stern face and hard features reflected a man who preferred direct violence over careful planning.
Dolohov cautiously surveyed the corridor before asking in a low, sharp voice,
"Is this the room, Lucius?"
Lucius pointed toward the door.
"Yes. Look at the number. It's exactly the room the Dark Lord told us about."
Dolohov spun toward him, fury flashing in his eyes.
"Don't say his name here, Lucius! Do you want our plan exposed?! What will you do if someone overhears you?"
Lucius exhaled in annoyance but said nothing.
He knew caution was essential.
The Ministry was no place to relax.
The two men waited, constantly glancing around to ensure no unnecessary witnesses approached.
The worst possible outcome...
...would be for Dumbledore to appear at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Once they were certain the corridor was empty, Dolohov stepped toward the door first, determined to finish the mission quickly.
His hand reached cautiously for the doorknob.
His tense fingers reflected the weight of the moment.
But before he could touch it—
Creeeak...
The door slowly opened by itself.
Dolohov froze.
His eyes widened slightly as he instinctively stepped back, his hand flying to his wand.
Lucius felt his heart quicken.
Countless possibilities raced through his mind.
Was someone inside?
Had they been discovered?
There was no time to think.
Because someone stepped out of the room...
To be continued...