In the Name of Justice

"Dumbledore?"

As if Amosta's words had stirred some emotion, Anton Vogel, who seemed to have only one breath left before being laid in the grave, broke into a violent coughing fit. The tremors wracking his body made one fear that his rotten ribs might snap.

The house-elf Hain hurried to Vogel's side, gently patting his back and bringing the herbal tea from the three-legged stool to his lips.

"My apologies—"

After finally steadying his ragged breathing, Vogel looked up to see that Amosta and his two subordinates were still standing in the courtyard.

"I haven't entertained guests here in a long time. I've neglected proper courtesy. Hain, could you fetch a few stools from inside and make a pot of tea for our guests?"

"Ah, there's no need to trouble yourself—"

Amosta said graciously.

He drew his wand and gave it a light flick. Three soft, polished armchairs upholstered in printed cotton appeared out of thin air before Vogel. Amosta gestured for the somewhat restrained Kingsley and Louise to sit, then took a seat himself. His long fingers were laced together, and he wore a courteous expression.

Hain still Apparated away, however, to prepare tea for these unwelcome visitors.

"Since you mentioned Dumbledore—" Vogel's faint voice was hoarse. "How has he been lately?"

Since this old man, already half in the grave, had called him "President Breen," it was clear that he was not completely ignorant of what was happening in the outside world. And Dumbledore's every word and action drew public attention; one did not need to make much effort to learn of them.

Amosta maintained his polite smile and did not point this out. He looked directly into those eyes, whose flame of life was weakening by the second, yet which remained as undisturbed as those of a