Draco's smirk made Fudge feel a bit embarrassed. With a wave of his hand, he signaled his entourage. "All of you, together now."
Several wizards heaved against the door, and finally, it creaked open just a sliver. Fudge hadn't been imagining things—the intricate patterns were indeed the result of countless doors layered over one another, and they'd only managed to budge the smallest one.
"Push harder, it's almost open!" Draco called out cheerfully from the side.
Truth be told, even if Fudge and his group hadn't bothered with the door, Draco would've had to push it open himself to get in. But the sly Slytherin had tricked them into doing the heavy lifting, saving himself the effort.
With their relentless pushing, Fudge and his crew finally squeezed through the narrow gap.
Boom. The stone door slowly sealed shut behind them.
"Why in Merlin's name would Mr. Dursley use a door like this?" one of the group muttered, still shaken from the ordeal. It had been exhausting.
For security, of course.
The Trial Door was designed to render a wizard's go-to entry spell—Alohomora—utterly useless. Even if someone found this place, they wouldn't get in easily. The runes etched across the door were defensive measures set by Dudley himself. Unless you resorted to brute force, the only way through was sheer physical strength.
Not that brute force was a walk in the park either. The Trial Door was made of apatite, one of the hardest magical minerals known to wizardkind.
"It's to test the abilities of visitors," Draco explained, sounding like a tour guide giving a lecture.
"The Trial Door is enchanted to open only with pure strength. It's divided into seven levels, each door requiring twice the force of the one before it." He pointed to the smallest door in the center, the one they'd just struggled through. "That was the first door, the easiest one. It takes about 500 kilograms of force to open."
"Testing strength?" Fudge blurted out without thinking.
"It's about ability, you brainless oaf," Draco thought, rolling his eyes inwardly. But his face remained neutral as he clarified. "Sure, it takes a lot of strength, but as wizards, don't you know how to use magic?"
Wasn't using magic to solve problems a test of ability in itself? Couldn't they try to break the enchantments on the door? And weren't there spells to boost physical strength, even if they were obscure? Not many wizards bothered to learn them, but they existed, didn't they?
Draco hadn't lifted a finger and still got in, hadn't he? Proof that brains trumped brawn. Too bad not everyone had them.
"Why didn't you tell us we could use magic?" one of the Aurors grumbled.
"Do you know the strength-enhancing spell?" Draco shot back.
The Auror fell silent, stumped. Strength-boosting charms were niche—hardly any wizard bothered with them. None of the Aurors present knew the spell. Who'd have thought wizards would need to rely on muscle?
Draco shrugged. "If you don't know the spell, what's there to say?"
"How does Mr. Dursley get in? Does he push the first door too?" Fudge asked, inspecting the door closely. He didn't recognize a single rune.
"Of course not," Draco replied with a grin.
The group let out a collective sigh of relief. Surely Mr. Dursley used some clever magic to get through.
"Dudley usually goes straight for the third door," Draco said casually. "He only opens the first or second doors to make it easier for me, Harry, and the others. Normally, those two stay locked."
"?!"
The third door? If each door required double the force of the last, the first took 500 kilograms, the second a ton, and the third… two tons.
Fudge and his group were floored. What kind of monster was this guy? A giant reincarnated?
They didn't catch Draco's wording: he said Dudley chooses to push the third door, not that he can only manage that one.
Just then, a Cornish pixie fluttered over and hovered in front of Fudge's group. It bowed politely, dressed in a crisp little suit, looking nothing like the mischievous creatures they knew. Fudge and the others were stunned. Using a Cornish pixie as a greeter? Even with magic, taming those notorious troublemakers seemed impossible.
Clean, polite, quiet—words you'd never associate with a Cornish pixie.
The pixie chattered something in its squeaky voice.
"What's it saying?" an Auror asked curiously.
Draco translated, "It's telling us to follow it. That's the castle's attendant."
Fudge and his group hurried after the pixie, heading toward the castle. On the way, they passed a garden outside. Fudge glanced at the plants—pumpkins, wild greens, cabbages.
"A vegetable patch?" he said. "Does Mr. Dursley grow his own food?"
"Ignorance is truly terrifying," Draco thought, barely suppressing an eye-roll.
Magical pumpkins with destructive potential, venomous tentacula with a knack for attacking, and infamous biting cabbages—sure, you could call it a "vegetable patch," but this one was deadly. Fudge and his Ministry colleagues, all grown wizards, didn't recognize a single plant. Not even the famous biting cabbages. They genuinely thought Dudley was just growing ordinary veggies.
It wasn't just Fudge—his staff and Aurors were just as clueless. But that wasn't surprising. Not everyone was a Hermione-level scholar. Most wizards forgot everything they learned after graduating, much like Muggles who peak in high school and forget chemistry equations, math formulas, or poetry by the time they hit university. Aurors were wizards, and wizards were human, after all.
The pixie led them into the castle and to a sitting room, where Dudley, Hermione, Neville, and the person Fudge had been obsessing over—Harry Potter—were waiting. They were enjoying a lavish breakfast spread: pancakes, fried dough sticks, spicy noodle soup, rice rolls, and steaming, fragrant meat buns.