A/N: This story is about two years in the making, and I would be remiss if I didn't give a shout out to several people who helped make this story come alive. I am deeply indebted to FitzDizzyspells for being my amazing beta, without whom this story would largely not exist. I also want to thank Fresh for helping me brainstorm the premise and concept of the fic, and BigFatNo for being a beta for the early chapters. lindsiria, for being my guinea pig audience member and first reader. Karinta, for helping with French culture and translation as needed. And a big shout out to two Discord communities, ##hpfanfiction and The Ginny Lovers, for providing general advice, consolation, motivation, and answering random questions I would have in the middle of the night.
The ambience and pacing of this story is generally inspired by several dystopian novels, including Cloud Atlas and 1984. (If you have read either of these books, don't worry, you won't be spoiled for anything in this fic.) Additionally, I have unabashedly stolen several quotes directly from Cloud Atlas, and a couple from 1984 too. In the interest of transparency, there are also a few references to Final Fantasy XIV.
This story is rated M for language, violence, gore, and scenes of a sexual nature.
Expect a new chapter to be released every several days.
"Thus begins the account of Indigo 9733, on the twenty-second of October, year 2049; overseen by Unspeakable Magus, identification eight three five echo lumos six five; sanctioned under the authority of His Utmost Grace, the High Chancellor of Magic, the Holiest Minister Lestrange.
"Indigo 9733, you have requested this final interview before your execution at daybreak. Minister Lestrange has, in his infinite generosity, acquiesced. Remember, this is not an interrogation or a trial. You may speak truthfully without fear of reprisal. May I ask why, after all of these years, you have finally decided to break your silence?"
"I wish to tell my story, Unspeakable."
"According to my records... well, there are none, Indigo. Your records were sealed and destroyed fifty years ago, when you first arrived here. I have to say, there are many people who are curious about the circumstances that brought you to Tower Indigo."
"Quite. I'm sure you are wondering why I'm feeling so forthcoming this evening?"
"If I were to guess, prisoner, it is because you are about to be executed for your crimes against the country, and you wish to allay some of your latent guilt."
"Something like that."
"Very well. Proceed."
Across from him, the Unspeakable leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. The Unspeakable was hooded, as was typical, rendering his face entirely shrouded in darkness. Between the two wizards sat a dingy stone table, its lifeless grey colour seemingly absorbing the nearby light. The only things on the table were two glasses of water, a shabby eagle-feather quill, and a blank piece of parchment. Hovering above was a small crystal recording orb that glowed a resplendent white: a stark contrast to the dark motif of the rest of the room.
In each corner of the room stood a Praesix guard, wand drawn and levelled at Indigo's head. Indigo knew not to make any sudden moves; Praesix were known for cursing first, and asking questions never. That was their job, after all.
"I hope you won't begrudge me if I start with some background," Indigo said at long last, absently pushing a lock of matted grey hair from his face.
The Unspeakable gave a brief nod.
"In the summer of 1996, the Dark Lord Voldemort made an appearance at the Ministry of Magic, whereupon he and his followers battled none other than the famed Chosen One, Harry Potter. It was an embarrassing defeat. Potter, a mere teenager, fended off the greatest Dark Lord of the time with nothing to show for it but a few scratches.
"This was the same Dark Lord that had terrorised the magical world for years. The one who commanded an army of cold-blooded killers so vicious that even the Auror force was wary of facing them; whose name people were scared to even think about, lest some Death Eater hidden in their midst take it as a personal insult to their master. The vile wizard who had until now been believed vanquished—but had recently returned to torment the wizarding world once more.
"For the past year, Minister Cornelius Fudge had insisted that there was no Dark Lord—that it was all just a sham, a ruse put on by a manipulative old wizard and an arrogant young teenager. But Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore used that pivotal battle at the Ministry to once and for all expose Voldemort's return to the world, and more importantly, to discredit Fudge. In the following weeks, the magical community rose up with a frightening array of questions, demands, and even riots.
"In response to the increasing unrest and danger to the Aurors, Minister Fudge declared martial law. The very next day, Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was found murdered in her own bed. As you know, when a department Head is killed in a time of martial law, the Minister has the power to choose an acting Head until normal order is restored. The power must have gone to his head, because Fudge chose Pius Thicknesse as Bones' successor.
"Furthermore, under martial law, the Minister may suspend the Wizengamot for up to two weeks—a stipulation originally granted to help prevent the Wizengamot from intentionally impeding decision-making in a time of crisis. Once the Wizengamot is suspended, all law-making passes solely through a triumvirate comprising the Chief Warlock, the Head of the DMLE, and the Minister for Magic. Therein lay the problem. At the time, Minister Fudge and Director Thicknesse were both puppets for Voldemort's cause—but whether knowingly or not, is neither here nor there."
"Forgive me, Indigo," the Unspeakable interrupted. "You believe that both the Minister for Magic and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were proxies for the bidding of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"I do, Unspeakable. Naturally, you are sceptical, but it is the truth. Please, allow me to continue."
The hooded wizard was still for a moment, but then waved him on.
"The first law Fudge proposed for the triumvirate vote was Wizengamot Edict seventy-three. It imposed a fifteen-year maximum term for the position of Chief Warlock. Naturally, Chief Dumbledore rejected the proposal, but Fudge and Thicknesse both endorsed it, and, when the vote is two out of three... When the edict was signed, Chief Dumbledore was immediately removed from his post, as he had retained the position for already twenty-two years.
"Normally, the onus falls on the Wizengamot to elect a new Chief Warlock. But, with the Wizengamot suspended, no action could be taken. Furthermore, Ministry bylaw dictates that if the Wizengamot can't converge on a new Chief Warlock in three days, the Minister can himself appoint one of the Wizengamot members to the post. Unsurprisingly, Fudge selected Dolores Umbridge.
"With the Dark Lord in all but nominal control of the three most powerful positions in the Ministry, the path was now clear to truly exert control over the people."
"This is all very interesting, but is it really relevant?"
"Context is everything, Unspeakable. I simply wish to provide some background. I hope that this adequately sets the stage for the political environment of the time; for the gross misdeeds, however innocuous, that had already taken root in society; for the world that we were forced to live in. Now, my story truly begins."
#
"Is that really Potter?" He pointed at a spot near the end of the Gryffindor table. A mop of unruly, jet black hair framed the boy's face, and he wore a small pair of wire-rim glasses with circular lenses. He was currently joking around with a brunette witch and a pair of redheads—probably brother and sister, given the matching set of freckles and blazing near-orange hair.
Next to him, Zabini looked up from his plate and gave the slightest hint of a frown. "Yeah, that's him. Dumbledore's golden boy, the Chosen One, and all that bollocks. Or maybe Britain's next Dark Lord, according to the Prophet. Why do you care, anyway?"
"As I've already said, Father and I have just moved here from Brazil. Obviously, I am not as familiar with British current events as you would be, having grown up here," he said stiffly.
"Really? The news of Harry Bleeding Potter hasn't spread around the world by now?" the dark-skinned boy asked acidly. "I find that hard to believe."
"I'm not surprised you consider Britain to be the centre of the world. After all, that is quite an arrogant point of view to hold."
Zabini stared at him evenly before quickly glancing toward the High Table. It seemed that more than one professor had taken some interest in their conversation. With a tinge of annoyance, the boy leaned forward and spoke in an undertone: "Don't confuse arrogance for cognisance."
"What's with your hair? Do all Brazilians have white hair?" the girl across from him asked. Bulstrode was her name, if he recalled correctly.
He sighed, not for the first time wondering if he should have chosen a different hair colour. Reflexively, he swept the shaggy hair from his eyes, but otherwise ignored the question.
"And where's your Brazilian accent?" she added.
With a shake of his head, he responded, "My family is actually British; we just moved to Brazil when I was two years old, so I speak English natively. My mother died four years ago, so it's just Father and me."
"Oh no," Davis said with what might have been concern in her voice. "How unfortunate, you."
#
"'You'?" the Unspeakable asked dryly. "What is your name, Indigo?"
"A name is but a manner of address. Just as I call you Unspeakable, you call me Indigo 9733. Is that not sufficient?"
"Surely you don't want to be known as Indigo even in your fondest of memories."
Indigo arched an eyebrow but otherwise stared impassively back.
"Indulge me, if you will."
"I... was not born with a name," the grizzled man finally responded after a moment of silence.
"Then what did people call you?"
"Ezra. They called me Ezra."
#
"Ezra Rowe, I presume," the stocky man exclaimed, shaking his hand with surprising vigour. "Welcome to Hogwarts! It's quite a shame that you could only experience it for your final year, but, better late than never!"
Professor Slughorn led him over to a round wooden table that was set with a beautiful collection of what looked to be Egyptian crystal.
"Those are courtesy of my great uncle," a girl to his left responded to his unspoken question.
"Allow me to make some introductions. Blaise Zabini," the Potions Professor gestured with a hand to the boy seated across from him, "whom I'm sure you've already met. His mother, the regal Vitoria Zabini, has amassed quite the wealth over the years, eh?" At this, Zabini just smirked.
"Melissa Pratchett," Slughorn nodded to the girl that had spoken up earlier. "Her great uncle is a renowned archaeologist in Egypt. Did you know that he founded the British Curse-Breakers Guild?"
A slight cough was the only thing that betrayed Ezra's disbelief. "Renowned archaeologist" sounded dubiously close to "tomb raider." His father had known several men of that ilk; frankly, they were not pleasant people.
"Hermione Granger," he pointed to the curly-haired witch whom Ezra had seen hanging out with Potter. "The absolute brightest witch I have ever had the pleasure of working with—and that includes Lily Evans!" he said with a chuckle, and a not-quite-apologetic nod to Potter, seated next to her. "And a Muggle-born at that. How incredible, outstanding..."
A Muggle-born, really? She certainly didn't carry herself like a pure-blood, but he would have assumed that she was at least half-blood. What was more surprising was that she was absolutely lauded by Slughorn, a pure-blood himself. Muggle-borns were by definition disadvantaged in the magical world—and in a magical school—because they didn't have the proper upbringing that a magical family could provide. That she was here at Slughorn's request was certainly a testament to her intelligence.
"...and this, of course, is Harry Potter, who needs no introduction," Slughorn was saying. Ezra had zoned out and missed the last few introductions, but he was sure he'd find out who these people were eventually.
"Esteemed guests, this is Ezra Rowe. His father, Sasha Rowe, of the eponymous Morrison & Rowe, invented the Disillusionment Charm."
#
"Did he really?" asked the Unspeakable, who leaned forward in apparent interest.
"He did, in 1971. My family became moderately wealthy from the royalties incurred. Every time a book or a newspaper wanted to print something about the spell, they had to pay Father for the right to do so."
"I see..." he muttered, but did not continue that line of questioning. Instead, he picked up the quill in front of him and briefly scribbled something in a cryptic script. "Tell me, Indigo—what did you think about Harry Potter?"
"Well..." he started hesitantly, "I wasn't sure what to think anymore. According to my house-mates, Potter was an arrogant fool who couldn't tell a Pygmy Puff from a Blast-Ended Skrewt. According to the rest of the school—and the media—Potter was a renegade hellbent on taking over Britain. But my impression of him from the Slug Club... I didn't interact with him much that evening, but from what little I did, he seemed quite reserved; almost shy. Not what I'd expect in a 'rising Dark Lord.' I can't speak to his intellect at that point, but he certainly was no dunderhead. And he carried himself with some amount of poise that I couldn't place. As if he knew exactly what he was doing and how to get it, even if he didn't let on.
"He also seemed rather cosy with Slughorn. Given what I had observed in him, I wouldn't have expected him to be terribly tolerant of the evening's agenda, let alone enjoy it so much. Maybe he was just glad to be there with Granger—or maybe he had some hidden agenda with Slughorn. I don't know." He gave a half-shrug.
"You said you didn't interact with him much 'that evening.' Did you interact with Harry Potter at other times?"
Ezra ran a calloused hand through his scraggly, grimy hair.
"Yes. The Slug Club met monthly, and Potter was always in attendance. The other students rotated in and out, and Granger was almost always there—but Potter never missed a single one.
"Over the months I feel like I got to know both Potter and Granger reasonably well. Maybe not as friends, but perhaps as acquaintances.
"I learned that along with their friend Weasley, the three of them had gotten into their fair share of trouble over the years. I learned that, even though Weasley and Granger were good friends, there was an intangible tension between them that only seemed to ease when Potter was around. I learned that Granger and Potter were close enough that many thought it was a romantic relationship. Whether they were or not, I never cared to find out.
"But one day, I also learned that my choice of acquaintances was... controversial."
#
"It's nearly curfew," Potter said with a slight frown as he approached the pair.
Ezra broke off from his explanation of the Disillusionment Exaptation and Granger looked disappointed at the interruption. A quick glance around the room confirmed that most of the other students had left by now.
"You coming, Rowe?" Zabini called from the doorway. Zabini and Ezra had recently settled on a shaky alliance that couldn't necessarily be called a friendship, but it was something close.
"Go ahead, I'll catch up."
The other Slytherin shrugged and left.
"Well, I'm sorry our discussion was cut short," Ezra said to the girl. "I'm sure I'll see you both around."
"Gryffindor tower is on the way to the dungeons," Potter hesitantly offered after a brief glance to his friend. "You can walk with us, if you'd like."
Even Ezra knew that the Gryffindor dormitories were decidedly not "on the way" to the Slytherin dormitories, but he accepted the olive branch for what it was.
As they made their way across the castle, Ezra and Granger continued their conversation as Potter quietly listened with mild interest. Just as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the frame swung open and the body and voice of Ronald Weasley emerged.
"There you are! I was wondering when you'd get back. It's almost curfew, and—" It wasn't until then that the redhead noticed the presence of a third person. His jaw dropped slightly, and he stared for a moment before regathering his composure. "What's going on?" he asked in a tight voice.
"I was just walking back with them," Ezra responded, voice smooth and, hopefully, placatory. At Weasley's blank stare, he added, "From the Slug Club..."
But that was apparently the wrong thing to say, as the Gryffindor clenched his jaw tightly. "He's in the Slug Club too?" he asked tonelessly. "Neither of you said anything?"
"Well it's not like you've ever asked," Granger snapped back, crossing her arms in front of her.
Weasley clamped his mouth shut and stared at the girl, then turned his attention to Ezra. Finally, he snorted and shook his head, throwing his hands up in the air. "Looks like Slughorn'll just invite anyone nowadays. A right bloody big party, isn't it."
With that, Weasley turned around and climbed back into the common room, slamming the portrait behind him which elicited a cry of surprise from the portrait's single, rather rotund occupant. "Really, now. That is quite rude, young man!" the Fat Lady grumbled.
"Sorry about that," Potter muttered contritely, rubbing the nape of his neck. "He didn't mean anything by it. He's a good mate, just..."
"...not a huge fan of Slytherins?"
"Something like that."
Ezra understood how it was. The Gryffindors had good reason to hate the Slytherins, and vice versa. Both houses had antagonised each other for so long that it was impossible to escape the vicious cycle.
"Good evening, Granger, Potter," he said with a final nod to the two Gryffindors.
He swiftly made his way toward the dungeons. It was surely past curfew and, while he had no qualms about breaking rules as necessary, it paid little to do so when avoidable. As he turned the final corner before reaching the Slytherin dormitories, he nearly ran straight into his Head of House.
"Mr Rowe. It is quite fortunate that I was watching where I was walking, because clearly, you were not."
"Professor Snape, I apologise."
"It is...", Snape waved his wand and it glowed a series of colours, "eight minutes past curfew. May I ask what activity you were participating in that caused you to neglect curfew? Or perhaps you've forgotten how to cast a Tempus Charm?" The professor stood unmoving, hands clasped behind his back; clearly in no hurry.
"I was just getting back from Professor Slughorn's get-together," Ezra responded with a carefully-sculpted mask of aloof indifference.
"Is that so? Zabini arrived nearly fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps he simply has longer legs. Or maybe you got lost on your way back, hmm?"
Without another word, Snape shot him a final suspicious look and swept past him, cloak billowing in his wake.
Ezra quickly walked to the end of the corridor, spoke the password—"Cedo nulli"—to the bare stone wall in front of him, and slipped inside.
"Well, look what the squid dragged in," an arrogant voice drawled from the ebony-carved sofa by the fireplace. Crabbe and Parkinson flanked Malfoy on either side, with Goyle, Zabini, Davis, and a few other upperclassmen discreetly observing the altercation from their various positions around the common room. "Oh, it's just Rowe. And ten minutes past curfew, to boot."
"Oh," Ezra gasped. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I didn't recognise you with your student scarf and pompous god complex."
"Clever, but at least I'm not fraternising with Gryffindor vermin."
Ezra nearly groaned. He cast a glance at Zabini who shrugged as if to say, What else could I do?
"Really, Rowe?" Malfoy continued. "Have you learned nothing?"
"I've learned many things, Malfoy, the first of which is that your moral compass is perfectly calibrated—backwards."
"Make all the pithy remarks you want," Malfoy said lazily, wand loosely twirling in his hand. "Your association with blood traitors—worst of all, Potter and the Mudblood—besmirches the name of Slytherin house, and I will ensure that the purity of this house is kept intact."
"You know, I think you're just angry that Potter and Granger are part of an exclusive club that you weren't invited to. Though, maybe you would have been if your father hadn't been caught with his pants down at the Ministry of Magic. I wonder—being a Death Eater and all."
The blond jumped up and let loose with a Slashing Hex that Ezra was just barely able to block—mostly. The tail end of it had cut across his arm, severing the robe there and leaving a nasty gash in his bicep.
"You had better watch yourself, Rowe," the boy hissed.
"Excuse me if I don't heed the threats of a person with more money than sense."
The two Slytherins glared at each other in silence, each waiting for the other to make a move. Finally, Ezra broke off with an exhaled breath, and retreated to his room.
Four days later found Ezra trudging through the crunchy snow back to the castle. He had been at the Quidditch pitch, not because he was an avid flier, but because the empty stands provided a secluded place to think. A place where he could get out of the castle, clear his head, and avoid the incessant interruptions from others.
As he approached the steps to the entrance hall, he saw Granger and Potter approaching from the opposite side of the Hogwarts grounds. When they were within shouting distance, Granger waved at him, and the three of them quickly converged on the steps.
"What's going on?" Potter asked.
With a nonchalant shrug, Ezra responded, "Just wandering. What were you two doing?"
"We were—"
"Just wandering," Potter interrupted the girl with the barest shake of his head. The Gryffindors shared an unreadable look.
An uncomfortable silence stagnated in the air, until Ezra decided it was his turn to speak. "Malfoy was quite displeased at my 'fraternising' with Gryffindors. Especially you two." Granger opened her mouth to say something but he waved her off. "I owe you both an apology—especially you, Granger."
"How so?" Potter asked, head tilted in curiosity. Granger was uncharacteristically silent.
"Much like Weasley did—does—to Slytherins, I judged you both before I even met you. Potter is certainly not the pretentious fool I first believed him to be. And Granger, I assumed at first that you couldn't have been Muggle-born; you were too skilled, too intelligent to not have magic running in your family's blood. Obviously, I was wrong, and it was an inappropriate generalisation for me to force onto you."
With that, Ezra turned and entered the castle, leaving a bewildered witch and wizard in his wake.
#
"So, you maintained your détente with the Gryffindors."
"I did. In fact, I'd like to think it evolved into something a bit less clinical."
"And I'm sure Mr Malfoy didn't take too kindly to your rebellion, so to speak. Did he ever make good on his threats?"
"He tried. And occasionally he even succeeded—I do have a rather nasty scar on my back that never healed properly... But with all said and done, I was able to largely spurn his untoward attacks. It also helped that most of the other Slytherins were quite neutral to me, so they rarely aided him in his feeble endeavours."
He once again surveyed the room around him. By this time the Praesix had relaxed and lowered their wands from his head, but they had otherwise maintained their positions in the corners of the room. Indigo took an unhurried sip of water from the glass in front of him, and continued.
"By the time April rolled around, Death Eater attacks had drastically increased—both in frequency and ferocity. Nearly every day, The Quibbler brought news of villages newly-razed, Muggles tortured, children raped and slaughtered, politicians kidnapped... all over the country."
"The Quibbler?" asked the Unspeakable with what Indigo imagined was an arched eyebrow.
"It was a wizarding tabloid. The Ministry had tried to shut it down but every time they raided the printers, they had mysteriously disappeared and reappeared in a different part of the country. Anyway, the Daily Prophet, as you know, was owned by the Ministry, so its journalistic integrity couldn't exactly be trusted.
"By far, the overwhelming majority of the attacks were against Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was an incredibly difficult time for any Muggle-born, or really any Muggle-sympathiser—because the question was no longer, 'Has my family been attacked?' Instead, it was, 'Has my family been attacked yet?'
"In response, the Ministry, in its endless altruism," Indigo started, voice oozing with caustic sarcasm, "passed the Wizarding Protection Act."
#
"This is... This is..." Granger sputtered.
Ezra snapped his head up from his Potions assignment ("Discuss seven ways in which belladonna can positively react with a Class II diagnostic potion"). He had never heard the witch actually speechless. Apparently neither had Potter or Weasley, as they both instantly focused their attention on the girl as well.
He and Potter moved behind her to look over her shoulder, while Weasley huffed and leaned in from beside her. The four of them read the front page of the Daily Prophet in silence.
Minister Fudge Vows to Protect Wizarding Britain!
In response to numerous concerns brought to his office, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge has taken a bold and proactive step to ensure the safety of all magical inhabitants of Britain. Certain disadvantaged wizards and witches, such as Muggle-borns, are naturally more vulnerable to dangerous criminal activity without the means to defend their families. However, the Ministry of Magic recognises that all Magical Beings* are equally deserving of life. As such, Minister Fudge, fully backed by the Wizengamot, has passed the Wizarding Protection Act.
Effective immediately, every wizard and witch over the age of ten is to register his or her magical status with the Ministry of Magic. Registration is simple: the wizard or witch need only provide his or her wand for examination, a list of Locations** where he or she may be found throughout the year, and a drop of blood to confirm blood status. The Ministry will provide a token confirming registration; this token should be kept on hand at all times.
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will use this information to position law enforcement units in the most optimal locations in order to provide the best possible protection against criminal activity.
* For a list of Ministry-approved Magical Beings, see pg. 26
** For a list of Ministry-approved Locations, see pg. 32
In the centre of the page was a large picture of a presumably-Muggle family surrounding their teenage daughter, who was shaking hands with a smiling Ministry representative. In her off hand, the girl was holding a dingy token up for the camera. It was a dull brown, slightly bigger than a Galleon, with illegible white text inscribed on it.
Dazed, Ezra could only slump back down into his seat. Granger was gripping her quill so hard that it finally snapped, spraying a few splotches of ink onto the library table. In the meantime, Weasley had taken the paper in his own hands and was reading through the article again. When he had finished, he caught Potter's eye behind Granger's back and gestured toward her helplessly. Potter, in turn, cringed and shook his head.
"Hermione..." the redhead said carefully.
"...unbelievable!" she finally snapped out, wayward sparks flying from the broken quill she was still holding. "Do they really expect us to gobble up this rubbish? The Prophet has been censoring any news about Death Eater attacks for the past month. Why would they suddenly decide to admit it now with a promise to protect Muggle-borns? No," she hissed, "the Ministry doesn't give a damn about Muggle-borns."
She pulled out her wand and reflexively vanished the spilt ink drops, but in her ire accidentally flicked it just a bit too hard, causing her entire ink bottle and essay to disappear as well. She didn't seem to notice.
"But who's going to stop them? Everyone seems perfectly content to accept our slow decline backwards toward Hitler's and Grindelwald's ideal, tyrannical society. So be it. But I refuse to take part in this charade," she said while tying her hair up in an angry ponytail. "Mark my words. This is nowhere near the end of this 'wizarding protection' nonsense."
With a wave of her wand and a muttered spell, the newspaper was set ablaze. Ezra watched as yellow flames quickly spread across the surface of the parchment, which slowly shrivelled up in the heat. The last thing visible before disappearing into a pile of ash was the smiling face of the Muggle-born teenager.
#
To Whom It May Concern,
I am writing to you today because I fear for the safety of not just me, but of all of my friends around me, as well as the rest of the student population at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Just yesterday, I overheard two of my classmates talking about the new Wizarding Protection Act. One of them said that even though she is a Muggle-born, she refuses to register herself to the Ministry. I don't know who she was, but I think I heard her friend call her "Granger."
I understand that by registering their status, Muggle-borns can help prevent evil criminals from attacking them and those nearby. I am worried for this student's safety and for that of Hogwarts as a whole. Please do something about this travesty.
Thank you for your time,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
Arrogant Prick with a God Complex
#
"Really. Is that how he signed the letter, Indigo?" the Unspeakable asked with what sounded almost like a snort.
"I would like to think so. But how should I know? I wasn't there."
"Then how did you know he wrote the letter at all?"
"You will find that I'm telling this story from a rather unfair point of view, Unspeakable. After all, I have the advantage of hindsight."
#
Flanked by a squad of marching Aurors, the short, balding man strutted down the craggy rock road. Rocks crunched under their feet and wildlife was sent scurrying as one determined man and eight resolute guards made their way toward Hogwarts.
"Halt," the man ordered upon reaching the wrought iron gate.
As one, the Aurors came to a stop, drawing their wands and standing at attention.
"Aurors, remove this obstruction."
The eight personal guards spread out and began to fire a mix of Blasting Curses, Reductor Curses, Disintegration Charms, and Tunnel-Boring Hexes at the gate; to no avail.
The man's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he raised his wand to release a red spark which launched high into the air, then exploded into a dizzying net of fireworks.
Nearly ten minutes later, a large—very large—man appeared, panting as if he had just run across the Hogwarts grounds.
"Good af'ernoon, sorry 'bout the wait," Hagrid started. "I was teachin' a class on the other side of the castle, see. What can I do fer yeh?"
"Rubeus Hagrid. Please open this gate."
"I'm sorry," said Hagrid with a frown, "but I can' open the gate without Professor Dumbledore's permission."
"Listen here, half-giant," the wizard said with no little frustration. "I am Pius Thicknesse, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I order you to open this gate."
"I already told yeh, I can' open the ruddy gate," the half-giant responded impatiently.
The short man pulled a scroll from his coat pocket and unrolled it, shoving it against the gate for Hagrid to see.
"I am here to arrest a student for failure to abide by Ministry law. Under the authority of the Minister for Magic, I demand that you open this gate immediately!" he snarled.
Hagrid's eyes roved over the arrest warrant, and once he got to the bottom of the parchment, he scowled and stared at Thicknesse with unbridled anger.
"Rubbish, the lot of it. I don' care who yeh are, yeh're not welcome. I ain' gonna—"
"THEN BRING ME THE DAMN HEADMASTER!"
Hagrid looked at the man as if he were strongly considering simply ignoring him, but he eventually turned and slowly made his way to the castle.
When Dumbledore finally arrived at the gate some fifteen minutes later, Thicknesse was fuming. "What took you so long? I've been standing here for almost half an hour!"
"My apologies, Director Thicknesse. It is quite a busy day at Hogwarts today. What can I do for you?"
"Dumbledore, open the damn gate."
"Headmaster Dumbledore," the old wizard corrected.
Thicknesse looked absolutely murderous. "Headmaster Dumbledore," he ground out through his teeth, "Please open this gate."
"Very well, Director Thicknesse. May I ask what is the occasion?" he asked jovially.
The man handed the scroll over to Dumbledore, who slowly read through it. He narrowed his eyes and turned a fierce glare back to the man.
"You wish to arrest one of my students?"
"Yes. She has been found in violation of the Wizarding Protection Act, and we are here to rectify this issue posthaste. The warrant has been signed by the Minister for Magic, so I will ask you one final time to open this gate before I have you arrested for treason."
"Treason?" the headmaster asked with an eyebrow arched. "Surely you have confused 'treason' with 'obstruction of justice'?"
"I have not." With a smirk, Thicknesse pulled a second scroll from his pocket and unrolled it, handing it to the headmaster as well. "Per Ministry Edict one hundred and fourteen, refusing to cooperate in any way with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now constitutes treason."
"That is quite extreme, Director Thicknesse, even for you. But, alas, whereas I can disagree with the law, I cannot repudiate it."
Thicknesse smirked and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "No, you cannot."
"Unfortunately, we seem to have... hit a snag," Dumbledore said, as if discussing strategies to care for a tomato garden.
"And why is that?" Thicknesse hissed, face quickly turning white with ill-disguised rage.
"As headmaster, I am required to act in the best interest of my students. I do not believe it is in the best interest of my students if you were to arrest one of them for no reason other than as a wanton display of flagitious power. Therefore, I cannot in good faith release my student to the Ministry."
"I've had it with your games, Dumbledore. I am formally charging you with treason, and you shall accompany me to the Ministry immediately. Gregson, call the Curse-Breakers—and Cornelius."
Dumbledore's smile dimmed, but he continued as if he had not been interrupted.
"Furthermore, as Hogwarts is a sovereign entity, the Ministry has no authority on these grounds. Violating the sanctity of these grounds is a violation of the Charter. And I can assure you, Director Thicknesse, that you do not want to violate the Charter." Dumbledore's expression quickly turned dark. "Please leave the premises at once, before I have to remove you by force. Good day."
With that, Headmaster Dumbledore turned and slowly walked back to the castle.
#
"I told you," Granger muttered darkly as she tossed the newspaper to Weasley. He read it, grunted, and passed it to Potter.
As he read the paper, Potter's eyes hardened. "Blimey..." Grinding his teeth, he handed it to Ezra.
Minister Fudge Doubles Down on Promise to Protect Britain!
In an effort to improve wizarding safety and security across the country, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge has, with the full approval of the Wizengamot, passed the Wizarding Security Act. In the interest of improved disaster response and mitigation, all wizards and witches shall now wear Ministry-approved sashes over their robes at all times. For the sake of simplicity, each sash shall be marked according to blood status.
To facilitate this effort, you may pick up your complementary Ministry-approved sash in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic. Additionally, for your convenience, registration tokens are no longer required to be carried on your person.
Your peaceful cooperation will allow law enforcement units to easily locate and secure higher-risk individuals in large crowds of people, increasing the efficiency with which law enforcement units can operate in a time of conflict. With your help, we are well on our way to rebuilding a peaceful magical Britain.
"Shall I?" Ezra asked.
At Granger's nod, the Slytherin flicked his wand, setting the paper ablaze.
#
He was at dinner, absently listening to Davis argue with Greengrass about who would look uglier as a transfigured Chimaera, when it happened. A high-pitched screech tore through the air, oddly reminiscent of that one time Peeves had dragged an ancient ornamental chandelier against the Charms classroom's blackboard. The screech was closely followed by a rapid whoosh and then a deafening explosion that rocked the very foundations of the Great Hall.
After a stunned silence, the Great Hall suddenly erupted in a deluge of shouts, yells, and screams, as the students—and faculty—tried to decipher what was happening.
"SILENCE!" Professor Dumbledore shouted, his normally-gentle voice magnified hundredfold by magic. "Please return to your seats. There is no need for alarm."
But the headmaster himself did not at all appear relaxed. In fact, quite the opposite: the expression on his face was downright murderous. In a swift motion he rose from his chair and strode down the middle of the hall towards the entrance, with Professor McGonagall at his right side. Like the rest of the faculty—and Granger—neither wore a sash, and because of this stood out even more as they briskly traversed the hall. But as they reached the centre of the hall, the great wooden doors exploded inward, eliciting panicked screams from the students nearby who ducked in a feeble attempt to avoid the debris that flew towards them at nearly the speed of sound. Faster than the eye could see, the headmaster raised his wand and conjured a shimmering blue bubble to capture the flying shards of wood. With a twist of his wand, the bubble shrunk down to the size of a pebble and then it, along with the imprisoned debris, blinked out of existence.
A few Gryffindors, clearly under the impression that Hogwarts was being attacked, hopped up and fired a wave of Stunners into the roiling wall of dust that shrouded the entrance. The spells disappeared into the cloud of smoke and immediately reemerged, apparently having been reflected back to their casters. The return Stunners flew far faster and stronger than the originals, slamming into the offending Gryffindors before they could raise their own shields. Flitwick squeaked, and he and Madam Pomfrey rushed to tend to the fallen students.
And then, once again, all eyes turned to the now-decimated entranceway. Emerging from the dust strutted a man—clad in a black silk robe and a royal purple sash around his waist—who Ezra couldn't quite place. He seemed familiar, but he wasn't sure why. The man's face was twisted in fury, and he carried himself with an air of grace, command, and above all, arrogance. Maybe he's a Malfoy, he idly wondered.
Flanking the man was a battle guard of eight grim-faced Aurors, and behind them marched an additional battalion of Aurors, four abreast. As each rank emerged from the smoke, they split into two columns of two and snaked along the perimeter of the hall. Ezra couldn't count how many there were, as they just kept coming and coming, and they didn't stop until the entire Great Hall was surrounded by an army of unfathomable red. There must have been over a hundred Aurors, each standing at attention, unmoving and unsmiling.
"Hermione Jane Granger!" shouted the arrogant man in the middle, apparently unclear who she was or where she was sitting. "Under the authority of the Minister for Magic, you are hereby under arrest for wilful and wanton evasion of the Wizarding Security Act."
Ezra's eyes widened and his heart skipped two beats.
"Like bloody hell she is," a furious voice instantly shot back.
Ezra snapped his gaze over to see Weasley, who now stood by Granger and Potter, glaring daggers at the Ministry official. The Gryffindor's face was splotched with red, and he fervently gripped his wand so tightly his fingers were white.
"Ron—Ronald," the girl hissed, pulling on his arm sleeve until he reluctantly sat back down.
It was evident why she had been singled out—the absence of a brown sash around her robes was rather conspicuous. He watched as Potter put his hand on his friend's shoulder, a stony expression on his face. Granger whispered something to Potter, but otherwise, neither made another move.
Far down the Slytherin table, Ezra saw Malfoy smirk and mutter something under his breath, eliciting guffaws from Crabbe and Goyle.
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! Under the authority of the Minister for Magic, you are hereby under arrest for high treason."
A collective gasp swept through the hall as the students tried to parse what the man had just said.
"Director Thicknesse!" the headmaster roared, eyes blazing with tumultuous rage. Electric blue sparks danced up and down his beard and jumped into the air around him. Small waves of magic rippled through the hall, chilling the air and dissipating against the wall of Aurors. "What is the meaning of this?"
"You know full well why I'm here," Thicknesse responded with a piercing stare. "Surrender Miss Granger, and yourself, at once. Furthermore, three of your students have attempted to assault my Aurors, and by extension, me—a crime punishable by death. Gregson, Pells, secure those criminals."
The two named Aurors stepped forward from their positions behind Thicknesse. In response, Dumbledore drew his wand, threateningly stepping between the Aurors and the Gryffindors. No hint of kindness or patience shown in the headmaster's expression.
"Guards," the director said simply.
Together, eight bolts of lightning screamed from the guards' wands toward the headmaster. Without a word, he raised his wand, erecting a brilliant orange shield so thick that it was nearly opaque. The lightning bolts were redirected upward with a resounding CRACK, slamming into the ceiling far above them with no small explosion. As large chunks of the ceiling began to fall, McGonagall caught them and banished them before they could hit the students below.
"Please do not insult me by having your guards do your dirty work," the headmaster said darkly. But the effort of blocking the barrage of curses had clearly taken a toll on him.
"Don't force me to lift my wand, Dumbledore. I assure you, it will be the last poor decision you ever make."
"No, Director, it is you that has made the poor decision. You have violated the wards of this establishment. You have trespassed on sovereign land, bringing armed militants onto the grounds of my school. You have injured my students."
By now, Dumbledore's eyes had dropped to a frosty azure, and his voice had been reduced to nearly a whisper. But his words were crystal clear to everyone in the room.
"Minerva, please seal the Great Hall."
"Of course, Headmaster," Minerva responded. She raised her wand, and with an incantation Ezra couldn't hear, the witch slowly waved her wand in a circle above her head. The candles high above them started to glow brighter, flames growing unopposed until each was the size of a Quaffle; then, the unnaturally large candle flames jumped to the four walls and tore downward until reaching the floor, whereupon the entire set of walls flashed yellow.
Where the large opening used to be now appeared a continuous expanse of brick matching the rest of the Great Hall's decor. It appeared that the occupants of the Great Hall were now trapped.
"What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?" Thicknesse shouted with a hesitant glance behind him. "For the last time, I order you to lay down your wand before I must resort to lethal force!"
"Director Thicknesse," the headmaster spoke with what sounded almost like... pity. "You, and the Aurors you have brought with you, have violated the Hogwarts Charter. For that, you shall pay the consequences. As Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I hereby invoke the Excisement Condition!"
"Oh my God," Granger exclaimed, clamping her hand to her mouth.
Dumbledore raised his arms above his head, and his whole body began to glow a resplendent white. Suddenly, a flash of light went off, momentarily blinding every person in the Great Hall.
Ezra squeezed his eyes shut; when he was finally able to re-open them, he saw—nothing different.
"Aurors, lethal force!" screamed Thicknesse.
"Avada Kedavra!" over a hundred voices shouted simultaneously. A chorus of shouts, curses, and screams filled the air as students desperately attempted to shield themselves or duck for cover under the tables. The entire Great Hall was in disarray. Ezra dropped to the ground as soon as he could, but he knew it was far too late to avoid the spells cast by the Aurors just behind his back.
But Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall calmly stood, unmoving, in the centre of the Great Hall, waiting for the chaos to come to a pause. And eventually, it did.
Ezra peeked through a squinted eyelid to hazard a look around. Most of the Aurors he could see were looking at their wands in various states of confusion; a few of them were still attempting to cast various spells, but to no avail. He looked toward Thicknesse, who was also staring at his own wand in disbelief.
"Dumbledore, what have you done?" he croaked, eyes wide.
"The consequence for violating the Charter is permanent forfeiture of your magic. Congratulations, former Director Thicknesse. You are now that which you have always despised. Minerva, please escort these enemy combatants from the grounds of my school."
The stone barrier dropped away, revealing the charred and door-less entrance once again. As McGonagall marched the Aurors and Thicknesse out, Dumbledore turned to face the students and professors around him.
"Students of Hogwarts, listen carefully to me. Please remove your sash and place it on the table in front of you." He waited silently as hundreds of confused students, and quite a few indignant ones, finally followed suit. "Now take out your wand—and incinerate it. No one at this school shall play a part in the Ministry's pathetic and transparent attempt to ostracise a part of this community."
With that, their headmaster turned and exited the hall, vanishing into the cloud of dust.
#
"Fourteen hours later, Pius Thicknesse was found dead. He had allegedly committed suicide—a Severing Charm to the jugular."
Neither man spoke a word for quite some time.
"How did the students react to the whole debacle?" the Unspeakable finally asked.
"Potter—well, Potter seemed to change that night. He became almost depressingly serious. I still talked with him on occasion but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. More than once I caught him staring at me—or maybe through me—with a dull, almost haunted expression.
"As for Granger... She was a lot of things. She was flabbergasted. Excited. And... worried. Flabbergasted that Dumbledore had enacted the Excisement Condition of the Charter and quite literally stripped over a hundred wizards of their magic. Never before had that happened in the history of Hogwarts. And to see it happen before your very eyes... it was incredible, and terrifying. Exciting, in its own way. Exciting to see the Ministry overstep their bounds so egregiously, only to have it backfire on them.
"One evening, when Granger and I were studying for an Arithmancy quiz, she admitted that she was terrified. Terrified that one day the Ministry would get to her, whether they arrested her in Diagon Alley or stormed her house and killed her. Terrified for her future. For her parents. It's... it was a tough situation to be in."
Indigo's carefully-maintained facade wavered just a bit. Enough for him to have to pause, gathering his thoughts. Enough for a speck of moisture to well in his left eye.
"It sounds like you were becoming friends," commented the Unspeakable.
"We were. But then..." Indigo trailed off with a slow shake of his head.
"But then what?"
Indigo shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
"What changed?" the Unspeakable pressed.
"Lord Voldemort was killed. And with him, Harry Potter."