Chapter Four: Summoning the Divine Guardian

“A single letter doesn’t prove anything. Maybe old Dumbledore was senile and made a mistake.” Rita took the envelope and examined it carefully. There was no error—it was indeed an acceptance letter from Hogwarts.

“I admit Dumbledore might be senile, but he doesn’t represent Hogwarts. Hogwarts’ admission letters never make mistakes!” Paul pounded the table, startling Rita.

“So what if that’s true? Have you ever seen the child? In a place like this, even Death Eaters turn into fools, let alone a baby. According to my investigation, that child named Rog is under the Imperius Curse.” Rita questioned calmly, hoping to extract more information from Paul.

“I... I...” Paul was at a loss for words. Of course, he had seen the child and had given him more than one beating.

Paul’s eyes darted around; he couldn’t reveal these things to the outside world. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be the benevolent Azkaban warden but a child abuser.

“Miss Rita, his name is Rog. I assure you, he’s growing up healthy in Azkaban! His mental faculties are normal, and under his mother’s guidance, he is even learning to read.”

“Rog? Mr. Paul, I can’t report just a name, can I? You know, it’s like John or Tom—publishing that in a newspaper has no credibility. You agree, right?”

“Wait a moment, Miss Rita! I... I have the personnel roster. I can find out his surname! I can even prove he’s not on the prisoner list!” Paul grew anxious. Damn those little Death Eaters, never telling him their surnames!

He pulled down a thick, dusty volume from the bookshelf, neglecting to use a spell to clean it.

“Rog, Rog... Rog...” Paul flipped through the volume several times, his finger scanning the list line by line—no child named Rog.

“See? He’s not here!” Paul smiled happily at Rita. This meant the Ministry was holding him illegally. But before he could fully grin, Rita shot back with a remark.

“Hah, if my name’s not there, am I being held illegally by the Ministry too?”

“Don’t you know he was brought in by his mother?” Rita looked down on Paul with disdain. A fool like him deserved to rot in Azkaban forever.

Foolish and impulsive, with no idea where he got the courage to try to profit off the Ministry. Maybe it was because his brain was as empty as a troll’s.

“Yes, yes, Jessica!”

“Found them! Look—Jessica Travis and Buck Travis, both Death Eaters loyal to the Dark Lord.”

Rita nodded, then cast a cleaning charm before turning the thick volume toward Paul.

“Tsk, tsk, the Travis family is all in Azkaban. No wonder the Ministry claims every prisoner has been screened thoroughly.” Rita motioned for her quill to start taking notes: the Ministry was illegally detaining the innocent heir of the Travis family—a baby named Rog.

“Miss Rita, you mean...?”

“Hmph, think about it. Most of the Dark Lord’s followers are pure-blood wizards. The Travis family—haven’t you heard of them?”

“Of course I have. One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“A family with a magical legacy spanning thousands of years—that’s an immense fortune. If Malfoy hadn’t paid a huge settlement back then, do you think he would’ve been acquitted? The Ministry? Hah!”

“Then why, back then, did young Barty...?”

“Barty Crouch Jr.? Maybe because he caused his father to lose the position of Minister of Magic.”

“Even Muggles know a tiger doesn’t eat its cub. Our honorable former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Barty Crouch Sr., wouldn’t pay a single Galleon. His reputation was worth more than his son’s.”

Rita was referring to the old Barty who sent Jessica and her son to Azkaban. Perhaps karma, as his own son was also a Death Eater. He was ultimately sentenced to life imprisonment, also held in Azkaban.

Young Barty Crouch died in 1982.

“Didn’t expect he’s already dead. I remember Mrs. Crouch died that same year.” Rita flipped through the roster, filled with names both familiar and strange.

She kept turning the pages as if delving into Azkaban’s hidden secrets, the pleasure causing a faint flush to rise upon her skin.

“Mr. Paul, let’s go see the new arrival from Azkaban, in the name of Headmaster Dumbledore.” Rita shook the envelope, a charming smile gracing her lips.

Her excitement attracted the attention of Dementors. Surrounded by ugly, malevolent magical creatures, Rita grew even more ecstatic. She already had the headline in mind: “The Ministry of Magic’s Sinister Deal with Dementors.”

“Miss Rita, we should go now.”

“Don’t rush, Paul.” Rita was unusually patient, taking photos of various parts of Azkaban, including Paul himself.

“I... I should change my clothes...” Paul blushed. Honestly, it had been over ten years since he last had his picture taken.

“We’re short on film, forgive me. The rest is reserved for Jessica and her son.” Rita put down the camera, politely refusing to take more pictures of Paul.

“Of course, of course!” Paul nodded quickly. Missing a couple of photos was no big deal.

“The conditions here are terrible. Please don’t mind.”

“It’s nothing.” Rita smiled genuinely. As an illegal Animagus who could transform into a beetle, she had seen far worse.

“Strange, where’s that light coming from?” Paul noticed a glow shining from the cell door at the corridor’s end—the cell housing Jessica and her son. Rita stopped him, signaling to keep quiet.

Paul frowned deeply. Damn brat—where did he get a wand? What if he escaped! Paul’s heart jittered anxiously; he wanted to rush in immediately.

“But, Miss Rita, you know their wands were confiscated. There shouldn’t be any light!”

“Maybe casting without a wand.”

“Impossible. Dementors drain their souls. They can’t perform magic at all.”

“Shh, be quiet.” Rita quietly approached and gestured for Paul to open the window on the cell door.

Inside the cramped cell, Rog and his mother Jessica nestled together. They spoke of the future and hope, filling the cold, dark cell with warmth. Dementors, loathing joy and hope, scented their presence and approached. Faceless monsters stood before them, greedily eyeing their prey.

Rog gripped Jessica’s hand and resolutely stood before the Dementors. A silver-white radiance blossomed before him, forming an impenetrable barrier that kept the Dementors at bay.

“Oh my! Expecto Patronum!” Rita quickly raised her camera, capturing the Dementors driven away by the silver light.

Rog looked at the retreating Dementors and fainted into Jessica’s arms. She held her son tightly, softly humming a lullaby in the corner.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are...”

When Rog first called her “Mom,” Jessica comforted him with this song. She stroked the unconscious child, hoping he would awaken. Rita, standing at the door, couldn’t help but shed tears. She was determined to do something for this mother and son.

“So touching!” Rita wiped her tears with a handkerchief.

“Who’s there?” Jessica, hearing the noise outside, hid her son closer.

“Jessica, don’t be afraid. I’m Rita, Rita Skeeter, a reporter for the Daily Prophet. I can help you.”

“Rita?”

“Yes, it’s me. Recognize this? Your son’s acceptance letter. Now, you need a story—a story that can get you out of here.”

“I know who you are.” Jessica fell silent, recalling this witch who was skilled at twisting words.

She looked down at her frail son and understood why Paul had sent the letter to this woman. If she wanted to leave, it meant risking her son’s wellbeing. In the dark, Jessica stared through the damp sea fog at Paul standing beside Rita.

“Alright, but you cannot take pictures of my son.”

“Of course...” Rita felt a twinge of regret. The Patronus light had obscured Rog’s face, but there would be other chances.