Fudge lay stiff on the ground, the back of his head hitting the floor with a crisp thud.
The courtroom first fell into brief silence, then descended into utter chaos.
"Emergency! Fudge's been angered into unconsciousness!"
"Minister assassinated, lock down the hall!"
"Mediwizard, fetch a mediwizard at once!"
A crowd of Aurors and Wizengamot members rushed forward, shoving aside Amelia Bones, who had been standing closest to Fudge. Wayne could only stare in disbelief.
He'd heard of prisoners fainting when their verdict was announced, but never of a judge being cursed into unconsciousness by the accused.
Peter Pettigrew... had some nerve.
Then again... most wizards were rather refined in their insults, with slurs like "Mudblood" or "slug" being about as vulgar as they got.
Pettigrew's tirade had been packed with enough maternal references to make a sailor blush—hardly something Fudge, who spent his days among high society, could withstand.
Soon, an Auror returned with a mediwizard.
Fudge had actually regained consciousness before they arrived, but his mind remained foggy. The crowd surrounding him didn't dare touch him—if anything went wrong, they'd be facing charges for assassinating the Minister for Magic.
"Step back, all of you. Don't crowd the patient, you're blocking airflow," the mediwizard ordered, dispersing the onlookers before kneeling to examine Fudge, even lifting his eyelids for inspection.
The diagnosis came quickly.
"Rage-induced cerebral infarction."
The spectators exchanged glances. Who knew Fudge had such a medical history?
"What now?" Kingsley asked.
"For safety, he should be taken to St Mungo's," the mediwizard said cautiously, unwilling to take risks with someone of Fudge's status.
"Shacklebolt, you escort Minister Fudge," Bones decided, being the highest-ranking official present now that Fudge was down.
"I'll oversee Pettigrew's sentencing."
With Pettigrew having confessed to all charges, sentencing would be straightforward.
Before Shacklebolt could respond, Fudge's body jerked from the floor.
"No... no... Pettigrew... is mine!"
The broken words took several moments for anyone to decipher.
Fudge now hated Pettigrew with equal intensity. Today should have been his moment of glory, his chance to showcase fairness and justice—all ruined by that wretched rat.
If someone else passed judgment, what if they went too lenient?
He absolutely had to deal with that rat himself!
Suddenly, Fudge noticed the reporter still frantically snapping photos of him with her camera. His eyes rolled back in fury, and he fainted once more.
Witnessing this scene, Dumbledore could only sigh helplessly. "Let's send Cornelius to St Mungo's first. As for the trial..."
"I believe postponing it would be preferable."
Snape had entered unnoticed at some point, his sinister gaze fixed upon the now speechless Peter Pettigrew. "I've recently been researching a potion that prevents Animagus transformation. Allow me to keep him under observation a while longer."
"No, no!" Pettigrew was nearly hysterical. "I won't transform and escape! Just send me to Azkaban, quickly! Please!"
"Don't hand me over to this devil, I beg you!"
He'd only wanted to curse Fudge a few times for satisfaction before being imprisoned. How had he ended up back in Snape's clutches?
Pettigrew's anguish was so intense that he nearly fainted like Fudge had.
But after Snape's... tutelage, fainting wasn't so easily achieved.
The more Pettigrew protested, the more suspicious others became of his motives.
Bones nodded without hesitation. "Very well, we'll leave him in your care, Head of House Snape. The trial can wait until Minister Fudge regains consciousness."
...
Thus, the trial concluded in an abrupt and unsatisfactory manner.
Though Pettigrew hadn't yet been sentenced, Sirius Black had been proven innocent. The only complication was his status as an unregistered Animagus - technically, he should have been sent to Azkaban, too.
However, considering he'd already been imprisoned for over a decade, the Ministry of Magic decided to show leniency. He merely had to pay a fine and register properly.
One hour later.
Standing on the street outside the Ministry, finally cleared of all charges, Sirius Black tilted his head back and breathed in the essence of freedom.
"Congratulations, Sirius, and to you, too, Harry." Dumbledore smiled at the two of them:
"Now, you both have family."
The words brought tears to both their eyes. Sirius gave Dumbledore a firm hug before embracing Harry.
"From now on, if anyone calls you an orphan, just tell me—I'll go beat up their parents."
Harry nodded vigorously, his glasses fogging up from tears.
Wayne stood nearby with Grace, watching the heartwarming scene.
"Alright." Sirius wiped his eyes and grinned. "I can't wait to get a new wand."
"Wayne, you should come along too. We can all go to Gringotts together."
Wayne nodded casually and snapped his fingers.
A burst of flames materialised in the air, but instead of Ho-Oh, it was Fawkes who took shape.
Dumbledore silently clutched his chest.
This boy could now summon Fawkes through sheer will...
Harry and Sirius exchanged odd looks—they could no longer tell whose bird this really was.
...
The Daily Prophet worked fast. Even while Sirius was still on trial, they had already rushed out a special edition. By the time the group arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, the patrons and the owner, Tom, greeted them with enthusiastic applause, congratulating Sirius on his newfound freedom.
Though many couldn't understand why he had made such a foolish choice, that didn't stop them from admiring his friendship with James.
To willingly endure over a decade in Azkaban for a mistake, and to escape only for revenge—such a friend was impossible not to respect.
Entering the courtyard behind the pub, Sirius frowned at the pristine brick wall.
"When did they change the entrance to Diagon Alley? How's anyone supposed to know which brick to tap now?"
"That's exactly why the Ministry sent me." An old man rose from a small stool and expertly tapped a specific brick. The wall immediately split open, revealing a passageway.
Now, Sirius looked even more surprised. "The Ministry's being this considerate? They actually assigned someone to do this?"
"Who'd want to spend their days opening doors for people?" the old man snapped. "Some idle, pain-in-the-arse wizard went and altered the mechanism. Now we get clueless folks stuck outside every day."
"Pfft!"
Sirius couldn't hold back his laughter. "That's definitely a Gryffindor-style prank. Absolutely brilliant."
"Not necessarily." Dumbledore glanced subtly at Wayne. "Back in your school days, troublemakers weren't exclusive to Gryffindor."
Dumbledore had long suspected Wayne's involvement.
There were certainly witches and wizards in Britain capable of crafting such intricate runes and trap magic—ones even he found troublesome.
But to have both the free time and the... the whimsy for it? Aside from Wayne, he honestly couldn't think of anyone else.
Yet seeing the boy's unchanged, indifferent expression, Dumbledore began to doubt his own suspicions.
Was it really not him?
"Professor, why do you keep looking at me? Sirius and the others have already gone in."
"Oh, just lost in thought for a moment. Let's catch up."
Snapping out of it, Dumbledore quickened his pace.
Behind him, Wayne's lips curled slightly.
Of course, he knew Dumbledore suspected him, but just like breaking school rules - if you weren't caught, it might as well not have been you.
...
Upon arriving at Diagon Alley, Harry suddenly remembered a question.
"Sirius, that black dog I saw here last summer - that was you, right?"
"Correct." Sirius nodded, sneaking a glance at Dumbledore before whispering, "I'd come to steal a wand and happened to see you."
"You're the spitting image of James - couldn't miss you."
"But how did you get in?" Harry asked curiously.
Sirius grinned: "I know a back route into Knockturn Alley."
Understanding dawned on Harry.
Their first stop was Ollivander's wand shop. The master wandmaker hadn't read the papers yet and nearly jumped out of his skin at Sirius's appearance.
Only after Dumbledore's explanation did he comprehend the situation, proceeding to measure Sirius for a new wand.
Since this wasn't his first wand, Sirius's new one cost a full thirty-five Galleons.
Not having visited Gringotts yet, Wayne covered the cost.
Sirius behaved no differently from an excited first-year, gleefully swishing his wand and producing crackling sparks until Ollivander, unable to bear it any longer, shooed him out of the shop.
Dumbledore soon departed, too, having other matters to attend to.
The remaining four then headed to Gringotts.
The Black Family vault lay in Gringotts' deepest reaches, numbered 711. Harry had intended to visit his own vault first to check his balance, but Wayne waved this off.
"I went with you last time - just over seven thousand Galleons. You've given me two thousand these past two years and barely spent anything else, so let's say you've got five thousand left."
Harry gaped: "You can tell how much's in a vault just by looking?"
The figure matched his own calculations, so he didn't doubt Wayne's claim.
The young man smiled sheepishly: "Professional habit, nothing to marvel at."
Harry: "..."
He strongly suspected Wayne had been eyeing his inheritance since that very first visit...
Even without the Sirius situation, he'd have been cleaned out eventually.
Sirius grew curious: "Why'd you give him two thousand Galleons?"
"Tutoring fees," Harry explained. "I learned most of my Defence Against the Dark Arts from Wayne. Well, Professor Lupin taught me some, too."
"Including that strange shadow magic from before?" Sirius perked up at anything combat-related.
"Mm, that's one of Wayne's inventions."
Sirius gave a thumbs-up: "Money well spent."
He'd witnessed Harry's duelling prowess firsthand - during their fight with Snape, Harry had performed no worse than any adult wizard, with powerful, well-executed spells.
Especially that Disarming Charm - already mastered nonverbal spellcasting.
Harry nodded agreement before adding gleefully: "Malfoy pays Wayne fifteen hundred Galleons a year."
With Malfoy as the ultimate cash cow, the thought of his own thousand-Galleon annual tuition stung considerably less.
The group rode a small cart, led by a Goblin, deep into the heart of Gringotts.
Along the way, they caught sight of an elderly Ukrainian Ironbelly, its eyes a murky pink, with heavy shackles around both hind legs.
Harry couldn't help but hold his breath—this was his first time seeing an adult dragon, and the Ukrainian Ironbelly was the largest of them all.
Even though he could tell the dragon was ancient, the sheer intimidation it exuded was overwhelming.
Finally, the cart came to a stop. The Goblin guide hopped off first, produced a large ring of keys, and proceeded to unlock dozens of locks on the door. Then, with a light tap on the door panel, a crisp sound echoed.
The door slowly swung open, and a golden light burst forth, forcing Harry to squint.
When his vision adjusted, his breathing grew rapid.
The vault before him was at least ten times larger than his own, its floor covered in piles of Galleons. The poor Sickles were relegated to a small mound in the corner.
As for Knuts, there wasn't a single one in sight.
Amidst the Galleons were suits of armour, swords, and precious jewels—an obscene display of wealth.
Compared to the Weasleys, Harry was a super-rich tycoon.
But compared to the Blacks, Harry was a pauper barely scraping by...
"Sirius, what exactly did the Black Family do to be this wealthy?" Harry couldn't help but ask.
Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. "Our ancestors got lucky—found a few gold mines, bought some land, and lived off the rent.
"This is actually much less than before. My great-grandfather once donated half the family fortune to the Ministry of Magic to fight a powerful Dark Wizard. He even got a First-Class Order of Merlin for it."
Sirius first shooed away the Goblin, whose eyes had turned into golden coin shapes, then clapped his hands.
Boom!
The ground trembled suddenly, and six doors appeared on the smooth walls.
Sirius yanked one open, revealing a neatly stacked pile of Galleons inside.
"Wayne, this is the kind of vault my great-great-grandfather promised you. Each one holds a hundred thousand Galleons, so that's three hundred thousand in total. Plus the five thousand Harry owes you—oh, and why don't you take his tutoring fees for the next few years while you're at it?"
He suddenly winked. "Or... how about you take another vault and teach me that Meditation Technique you gave Harry?"
Lately, Harry had been practising the Meditation Technique Wayne taught him, and Sirius had seen the results firsthand. He was itching to learn it himself.
Having wasted over a decade, he was already far behind Snape. Catching up to that slimy git would require some serious investment.
Wayne thought it over and decided there was no harm in teaching Sirius a simplified version, so he nodded in agreement.
Still, he added, "No need to pay Harry's tuition fees for him. Let Harry handle it himself."
Sirius looked puzzled. "Wouldn't it be easier to just take it from here? Why the extra step?"
Wayne tilted his chin toward Harry, signalling him to explain.
Harry tugged awkwardly at Sirius's sleeve and whispered, "Because... Wayne enjoys making money off students. He gets a sense of achievement from watching our pained expressions."
Sirius stared in shock at the boy who was already pulling out a chest to collect gold coins, voicing the shared bewilderment of many:
"How on earth did you get sorted into Hufflepuff...?"