Chapter 159 — Third Inquisition Room
It wasn’t just Hansen alone—several other wizards were nearby. Hearing Hansen’s words, they all rushed over to shake Harry’s hand.
“After all this time at school, I’d nearly forgotten just how widespread Harry’s fanbase is across the British magical community,” Wade sighed, turning to Remus Lupin. “We really can’t be late, can we?”
Remus shared the same worry. He squeezed through the crowd with effort, finally managing to pull Harry free.
“Please make way, gentlemen! We’ve got business to attend to—mind if you step aside?”
Harry straightened his crooked glasses and asked, “Mr. Hansen, can you perform the safety inspection for us?”
“Of course, of course.”
Hansen ran a slender golden rod from head to toe across each person’s front and back, just like the metal detectors at an airport. Then he asked Harry to place his wand on a brass device resembling a scale. Moments later, the machine spat out a narrow slip of paper.
“Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather, used for one year—correct?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. Glancing around at the gathering crowd, he felt like an animal in a zoo. The wizards beamed at him with warm, friendly smiles.
Hansen smiled too. “Well maintained. Mr. Ollivander would be delighted to see it.”
He returned the wand and pinned the note to a tiny brass nail.
When it came to Remus Lupin and Wade, Hansen’s demeanor turned strictly professional.
“Yew, unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches, used for twenty-one years?”
“That’s right,” Remus confirmed.
“Poplar, unicorn hair, twelve inches, one year of use…” Hansen glanced at Wade and asked, “Are you a Hufflepuff?”
“No,” Wade said. “I’m a Ravenclaw.”
“Oh…” Hansen’s warm smile vanished instantly. But when he turned to Harry, it returned with renewed enthusiasm.
“Mr. Potter, where are you headed? Let me help guide you.”
“No need, Hansen. They’re with me,” Arthur Weasley suddenly pushed through the crowd, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders and leading the three of them toward an open golden door.
“You’re a bit late, Remus Lupin,” Mr. Weasley said.
“Sorry, Arthur. Ministry officials were rather… enthusiastic.”
Remus smoothed out his rumpled clothes, then guided Wade forward with care.
A flurry of colorful paper airplanes shot past the group like a flock of birds.
They stepped through the golden door into the elevator hall, where at least twenty elevators stood waiting. The small chamber was filled with people waiting their turn.
“Hi, Arthur,” someone inside greeted. “How’s your job been lately?”
“Not bad,” Mr. Weasley nodded. “Other than one Muggle nearly biting off his own nose over a cup.”
The group reached one of the elevators and Mr. Weasley pressed the downward button.
“Dumbledore’s already here,” Mr. Weasley murmured to Remus. “And there are quite a few foreign journalists too. Fudge originally wanted to hold the hearing in the tenth chamber, but with all these reporters, he had to move it to the third.”
Remus seemed familiar with both locations. He exhaled in relief. “That’s good… at least.”
“Everyone’s warning me to remind you—stay calm. No matter what happens in court, losing your temper always means losing the case,” Mr. Weasley said.
“I understand,” Remus replied, gripping his hands briefly. His voice remained steady. “Disrupting court order gets you thrown out. I certainly can’t let that happen.”
“That’s reassuring,” Mr. Weasley said, visibly relaxing.
Wade and Harry exchanged a glance, both looking at Remus.
Ever since they’d known him, Remus had been remarkably calm and composed. Even Professor McGonagall sometimes lost her temper with students, but Remus never seemed to waver—his emotional control was almost unnatural.
Yet in others’ eyes, Remus Lupin seemed like someone who’d snap and overturn a table at the slightest provocation.
Harry assumed it was simply because of the deep bond they shared.
Wade, however, thought differently. He’d once believed that among the original four, Remus had been the one dragged into trouble by his friends. But apparently, that wasn’t how others saw him.
The elevator arrived quickly.
They descended into the lower levels. Walking down a narrow staircase, they passed rough stone walls lined with torches. The air remained cold and damp.
“We’re here—third inquisition room.”
Mr. Weasley shoved open a heavy black door with force.
The chamber had clearly been hastily augmented with additional torches and floating magical candles, flooding the entire hall with bright light.
Rows of elevated seating lined both sides, nearly packed to capacity. Almost everyone inside was talking, and the noise level was deafening.
In the front row, a dozen journalists sat with heavy cameras slung around their necks, scribbling furiously.
One woman stood out—she wore thick, jeweled glasses and golden curls, and a glowing pink dress that clashed sharply against the dark, somber chamber. The other journalists instinctively kept their distance, unsure whether it was fear or disdain.
Wade and the others’ arrival barely drew notice. Mr. Weasley led them up the narrow side stairs to the topmost row, where they found a few empty seats.
Not long after, someone else took the seat beside them.
As he sat down, the wooden chair creaked loudly.
Wade looked up—and froze.
The man beside him was terrifying. His long, matted hair was gray-white, his face marred with scars, his mouth a wide, twisted gash. The eye on the side closest to Wade was strange—constantly darting and spinning like a quick, agile needle. Suddenly, it snapped toward Wade.
The abrupt movement startled him.
The wizard chuckled, his voice raspy. “Don’t mind me sitting here, son?”
Even with the most polite tone, he looked like a threat.
Harry’s eyes widened in shock, his body going rigid. He was convinced this must be some dangerous dark wizard. He’d heard Theo talk about how he and his younger brother had nearly been kidnapped, then rescued by a stranger in the Umbrella Room.
Wade looked at the man and said calmly, “Not at all. Please, sit.”
“Hmm. Bold for a kid,” the wizard muttered, his blue eyes rolling again, then fixing on Harry. He stared at the lightning-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead for a long moment—then fell silent.
“Morning, Moody,” Remus Lupin said, stepping forward with a proactive greeting. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Retired or not, you can’t just become deaf and mute, can you?” Moody pulled out a curved flask and took a long swig. “Besides, Sirius Black was once my comrade.”
He paused, then added with a hard edge, “I’ll be the one to see if he’s truly innocent—or if he’s fooled you simpletons with some clever trick.”
(End of Chapter)
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