Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"How did he get here..."

Dumbledore has lost his voice, a rare occurrence.

After all, he had thought the other person was dead!

"Headmaster, you should know that Ron has no one else by his side."

The aged finger gently touched that name, "Unless it's Animagus..."

"And it's unregistered," Kane added calmly.

"I checked the Ministry of Magic's records, and Peter Petelou's death certificate clearly states 'no remains'."

He traced the map with his fingertip, "But every night at midnight, that name would move to the kitchen to steal cheese."

Fox suddenly let out a sharp cry.

Professor Old's silver chess piece landed on the chessboard with a "thud".

"Albus, what's there to think about? Doesn't this just mean the other party is still alive?"

"So why didn't Sirius Black stop Hagrid from taking Harry away after Harry's parents' accident?"

Why would he chase after Peter Pettigrew?

A storm was brewing in Dumbledore's deep blue eyes.

He waved the Elder Wand, and memories of the trial twelve years ago appeared in the air—in the image, Sirius did not offer any defense for his actions.

He remembered that the Ministry of Magic had never tried the other party!

"The other side only has one finger left..." the old headmaster muttered to himself, "and Banban's forepaw..."

"It's exactly one toe that's missing."

Kane replied, and Ig on his shoulder gave a low hum of agreement.

The portraits of past principals on the office wall all stirred up a commotion.

Dumbledore suddenly looked at Ald: "What do you think, old friend?"

Professor Old gave Kane a meaningful look. "What do you plan to do?"

Kane tapped his fingertips lightly on the principal's office desk, and Igor's tail feathers shimmered with a silvery-blue glow in Fox's golden light.

"The Ministry of Magic will not admit its mistakes."

His voice was as calm as if he were analyzing a potion recipe. "Especially Fudge—he'd rather imprison ten innocent people in Azkaban than risk undermining his authority."

Dumbledore's eyes flickered behind his half-moon spectacles: "So what you need isn't the truth, but the procedure."

"Exactly."

Kane unfolded a scroll bearing the emblem of the Ministry of Magic.

Section 7 of the Wiesengamo Special Inquiry Act states that the Chief Justice has the power to initiate closed hearings when new evidence suggests a possible miscarriage of justice.

He pointed to the fine print below the terms, "The entire process will be kept confidential until the final ruling."

Professor Olde chuckled softly. "A smart choice. This way, even if Fudge wanted to intervene, he would be powerless because the procedure hasn't been made public yet."

"But there's a problem," Dumbledore stroked the Elder Wand, "Wizengamot requires the joint signature of at least three judges to activate..."

Kane took two wax-sealed letters from his pocket: "I have obtained the joint support of Mafalda Hopkirk (Deputy Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) and Griselda Markbans (Elder of Wizengamor)."

A slight smile played on his lips. "They all happen to have some reservations about Umbridge, whom Fudge recently promoted."

Fox suddenly let out a melodious cry, picked up a golden-red tail feather from the perch, and gently placed it on the document in front of Kane.

"It seems we have a symbolic third vote."

Dumbledore smiled and pressed the phoenix feather against the edge of the document.

"But what about the chain of evidence? The Marauder's Map cannot be used as formal evidence."

"Next, I will look for evidence."

After all, once that mouse is caught, the truth of everything will come to light.

The next day, in the Hogwarts corridors.

Filch's thin fingers gripped the borrowed wand tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the corridor, illuminating his shiny bald head.

The sound of students laughing and joking came from afar—a group of second-year Hufflepuffs were playing and frolicking as they walked by.

They were completely unaware of the administrator lurking in the shadows.

"The light flickers." He whispered hoarsely, a spark flying from the tip of his wand.

This faint light made Filch's heart pound.

For the first time in sixty-three years, he felt the magic flowing through his veins—like suddenly gulping down a mouthful of fiery whiskey in the dead of winter, burning from his throat all the way to his fingertips.

"Hey! Look!" a Hufflepuff student suddenly exclaimed, pointing at him. "Mr. Filch is using a wand!"

The children's laughter stopped abruptly. Filch instinctively tried to hide his wand, but suddenly straightened his hunched back.

The kerosene lamp cast two eerie lights in his cloudy eyes.

"Clean, clean it up!" He suddenly waved his wand, and silvery mist shot out from the tip.

An old ink stain on the corridor wall began to slowly dissolve.

The students stared wide-eyed, and one girl even dropped her copy of "Standard Spells, Level 2" in shock.

"Merlin's beard..." a boy murmured, "He really does know magic now..."

Filch's breathing became heavy.

At that moment, he felt as if he had returned to when he was eleven years old—standing outside Ollivanders in Diagon Alley, gazing through the window at the wands he could never possess.

More than sixty years of humiliation, anger, and jealousy all turned into a burning sob in his throat.

"That's nothing," he said in a hoarse voice, unable to hide the tremor in his tone, "I can still—a quill pen flies by!"

A quill pen that had fallen in the corner flew crookedly into his hand.

The spell was executed terribly, with a few drops of ink spilling from the pen tip in mid-air, but to Filch it was more precious than the Order of Merlin.

Mrs. Lorris appeared at his feet without him noticing.

The old administrator was already immersed in a belated magical dream—like a freshman just starting school, he was casting a transformation spell on the leg guards of the corridor armor:

"Mr. Rabbit... no... Rabbit transformation!"

The armor and leg armor twisted into the color of a carrot, then immediately returned to their original state.

This clumsy performance, however, attracted even more students to watch.

He was unable to cast this transformation spell.

Filch's wrinkles smoothed out, revealing an almost ferocious smile—he had waited for this moment for so long that he had forgotten how to smile naturally.

"Get out of the way!" he suddenly roared, his voice carrying a newfound confidence. "I'm going to get rid of this piece of chewing gum!"

Filch's hand trembled violently as he aimed his wand at a stain on the floor tiles.

But this time the spell flowed exceptionally smoothly; a flash of silver light appeared, and the ground gleamed as if nothing had happened. The Slytherin students watching even applauded.

The old administrator's chest heaved violently. He suddenly understood why Mischievous Ghost always loved to play pranks—this was what it felt like to be looked at with awe.

"This is just the beginning," he whispered to Mrs. Lorris, stroking the patterns on the wand.