On the following day, the "Daily Prophet" was ablaze with scandal. Bold headlines screamed across the front page:

  “SIRIUS BLACK, GODFATHER OF BOY-WHO-LIVED, IMPRISONED WITHOUT TRIAL—CROUCH’S OWN SON WALKED FREE?”

  “PETER PETTIGREW ALIVE!”

  “TWELVE MUGGLES DEAD, ONE EXPLOSION—WHO REALLY CAST THE CURSE?”

  Rita Skeeter’s latest exposé tore through the wizarding world like Fiendfyre, unearthing corruption at the highest levels. Her scathing report laid bare the Ministry’s failures—how Barty Crouch Sr. had condemned Sirius Black to Azkaban without trial, while he freed and kept his own Death Eater Son under house arrest. The betrayal ran deeper than anyone had imagined, and the public outcry was immediate.

  At Hogwarts, the Great Hall buzzed with frantic whispers. Students huddled over newspapers, their voices rising in shock and indignation. Across the Gryffindor table, Harry sat still, his expression unreadable, though his pulse thundered in his ears. The truth was finally out.

  Desperate to control the damage, Minister Fudge held a press conference, his usual bluster replaced with carefully measured words. “I assure the public that justice will be served,” he declared, his tone firm. “The failures of the past will not be repeated. Those responsible will be held accountable.” But no amount of political maneuvering could erase the growing distrust. The Ministry’s authority had been shaken.

  Skeeter’s article on Pettigrew and Black sent shockwaves through the wizarding world. With her signature flair, she painted a vivid picture of Pettigrew’s treachery and Black’s years of unjust suffering. The facts—largely supplied by an anonymous source—were damning enough, but Skeeter’s embellishments ensured the story dominated every conversation.

  By lunchtime, the castle was in uproar. The wizarding world had been deceived for over a decade—now, they demanded justice.

  Harry was halfway through his meal when Professor McGonagall approached him. “Mr. Potter, the headmaster wants to see you in his office,” She said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

  Harry’s stomach dropped. ‘What does Dumbledore want?’ he wondered. ‘Does he suspect I had something to do with this?’ He forced himself to remain calm, nodding as he stood. “Alright. Professor.”

  Professor McGonagall led Harry through the castle, her expression unreadable. The walk felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the silent corridors. Harry’s mind raced as he tried to guess why Dumbledore had summoned him. Had the headmaster uncovered his role in the recent scandal? Or was this about something else entirely? By the time they reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, Harry’s nerves were taut.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “The headmaster is expecting you,” McGonagall said, her tone firm but not unkind. With a brief nod, she stepped aside, leaving Harry to face the gargoyle alone. He took a deep breath, muttered the password—"Sherbet Lemon"—and watched as the statue sprang to life, revealing the spiral staircase. Harry climbed the steps, his heart pounding with every turn.

  When he entered the office, he found Dumbledore standing by his desk, gently stroking a frail, featherless bird that seemed on the brink of death. The sight was so unexpected that Harry momentarily forgot his anxiety. “Do not feel pity, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said without turning around. “Fawkes is merely at the end of his current cycle.”

  Harry blinked, his eyes fixed on the bird. “Fawkes?” he whispered.

  Harry nodded slowly, though he wasn’t entirely sure what Dumbledore was getting at. The headmaster studied him for a moment before his expression softened. “How are you, Harry?” he asked, his voice warm, inviting.

  Harry hesitated. “I’m fine, Professor,” he said, polite but guarded. He wasn’t sure how much to share, so he kept it simple.

  Dumbledore’s gaze held a quiet understanding. “And how are you finding the wizarding world so far?”

  Harry exhaled. “It’s… a lot. Interesting. Overwhelming.” There was so much more he could say—about the Dursleys, his magic, the weight of everything he’d learned—but the words stuck in his throat.

  Dumbledore nodded as if he understood anyway. “Yes, it can be quite a lot to take in.” His expression grew more serious. “I assume you’ve seen the article in The Prophet?”

  Harry’s stomach twisted. “Yeah.”

  “The Minister contacted me this morning,” Dumbledore continued. “Sirius Black’s trial is set for next week. He’s asked if you’d be willing to attend.”

  Harry’s breath caught. Sirius’s trial. The moment he’d been waiting for. His mind raced, but he forced himself to stay calm.

  “It’s entirely your choice,” Dumbledore said gently. “There will be reporters, and it may not be easy. But if you decide to go, I will be the one taking you.”

  Harry didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said, voice steady. “I want to be there.”

  Dumbledore studied him for a moment, then gave a faint smile. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements.” He paused, then added, “If there’s anything you need—anything at all—you only have to ask.”

  Harry nodded, though the words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. Instead, he simply said, “Thank you, Professor.”

  Dumbledore’s smile deepened, though a flicker of sadness remained in his eyes. “You’re welcome, Harry. Now, off you go—I believe you have a Charms class to attend.”

  Harry turned and left the office, his mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. The trial was next week. Sirius would finally be free.