Chapter Two: Challenge of the Wizengamot

The first Portkey was from the British Embassy instead of Toronto's International Portkey Division, but the route itself was the same: Toronto to Newfoundland to Ireland to London. Bound and being treated like a prisoner instead of a teammate, Wordy failed to keep his feet on any of the landings; by the time they reached London, only the armor he still wore kept him from having multiple scrapes and bruises from his falls.

Lord Malfoy looked quite satisfied as he led the small procession from London's International Portkey Department to the elevators. Wordy kept his head down, his shoulders hunched; his team had abandoned him and he hadn't even gotten a chance to let Shelley know what was happening. Not to mention what he and his former teammates had gone through over what felt like three days but in actuality had been, time-wise, just one.

Had the brunet man looked up, he would have seen Harry Potter – Senior Auror and Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter – gaping in horror at the procession as he realized why Lord Malfoy had gone so quiet after losing the Lestrange proxy. Emerald eyes narrowed as Harry calculated his next move; the Auror vanished as the Lord's head came up. Challenge accepted.


Chatter rose in the Wizengamot chamber; it had been years since an emergency session of the Wizengamot was called and no one seemed to know why it had been called. The seats in the gallery and the family section filled quickly; no one wanted to miss this session, regardless of what the emergency was. Two Lords on the Light side were sober and quiet – they had a very good idea of what the 'emergency' was and why it was being labeled as such.

Unnoticed by the majority of the chattering witches and wizards, a man in black Mugglish armor was escorted into the chamber, guarded by four Aurors; four were hardly needed, as their prisoner was all but swaying in exhaustion and emotional torment. Gray eyes looked around, but their curiosity was dull, their owner's expression blank.

Abruptly, the Chief Warlock entered, ascending to his seat and surveying the chamber. "Seal the doors!" he ordered loudly.

"Seal the doors!" the security Auror next to the doors echoed; the doors closed with a thud that the prisoner winced a little at.

Wizards and witches finished taking their seats, watching both the Chief Warlock and the Lord who rose to his feet with avid interest. "This emergency session of the Wizengamot is called to order!" the Chief Warlock declared. "The floor is ceded to Lord Malfoy, who called this session."

Whispers rose briefly, but died at the serious expression on Lord Malfoy's face. "I thank you, Chief Warlock," he murmured, bowing his head a moment. His head came back up, eyes flashing as he threw his shoulders back. "Wizards and Witches, several months ago we were called to attend as the House of Lestrange gained a new Head of House…one who promptly broke with our ancient traditions and customs to not only rename his House, but appoint a proxy simply because he and his family could not be bothered to return to their ancestral home."

Lord Malfoy paused, sweeping his eyes across the chamber. "Naturally, I was concerned with such an unorthodox Head of House and sought to investigate." One hand stroked his snake head cane. "However, I ran into delay after delay, obstructions and petty minded bureaucrats with no sense of proper wizarding customs. It has taken me all these months to even conclusively identify the new Head of the House of Lestrange. And then, when I found him, I found to my shock and horror that regardless of his background, he is no wizard." Gasps rose from Lord Malfoy's audience. "Yes, gentlewizards and witches; the new Head of the House of Lestrange is a Squib!"

Outrage rose at once; the Wizengamot was united in its fury that such could be so, that such could be permitted. The Chief Warlock was forced to pound his gavel to bring the room to order. "Order! Order! I shall have order!" he roared, finally quelling the howls for the new Head of the House of Lestrange's blood. He pinned Lord Malfoy with his gaze. "What proof have you of this, Lord Malfoy? The oath Lord Longbottom took was valid, as were the documents submitted at the time by Gringotts. Only a wizard would possess the magic needed to take the Headship."

"So we all assumed, Chief Warlock," Lord Malfoy agreed silkily. "However, the documents my agent located were quite explicit. Kevin Lestrange, the new Head of the House of Lestrange is, according to his file in Canada, a Squib who discovered his heritage when his daughter, a Muggleborn witch, took an inheritance test at Gringotts." A dramatic pause, then Lord Malfoy swept one hand down to the group of four Aurors and their prisoner. "But perhaps, Chief Warlock, you should ask Lord Lestrange himself. By all means, offer to let him take the Wizengamot oath, as any other Lord is expected to do. I shall not object."

Renewed howls of outrage rose from the assembly at the sight of the clearly Muggle man standing in the circle of Aurors. His armor, with its patches on both arms, his boots, even the empty fireleg holster strapped to one leg, all of it spoke to his non-magical origins. The object of their hatred struggled to keep his feet as his body's need for rest asserted itself once more. None of the surrounding Aurors moved to help him; they simply dragged him forward to the center of the room.

"I object!" Lord Longbottom rose to his feet, almost snarling as he demanded the Wizengamot's attention. "I object to Lord Malfoy's insistence on calling the House of Wordsworth the House of Lestrange; that name was stricken from the House months ago! I object to this travesty of justice; Lord Wordsworth is clearly dead on his feet! To demand that he do anything here and now is an affront; he's barely able to stand!"

Indeed, as the assembly turned to look at the man in the center of the room, he swayed and nearly fell; the Auror next to him was forced to catch him before he ended up on the floor. The Auror wore an expression of distaste as he supported the exhausted man, but he did it nonetheless.

"I object as well," Lord Potter announced. "If it is the case that only a wizard can take the Headship of a magical House, then, clearly, Lord Wordsworth must be a wizard himself. Therefore, I take issue with Lord Malfoy characterizing Lord Wordsworth's daughter as a Muggleborn and with the fact that he ordered Lord Wordsworth disarmed."

"Disarmed?" Lord Malfoy queried, a lilt to his voice that suggested he was dealing with an imbecile.

"Yes," Lord Potter agreed. "Where is Lord Wordsworth's wand? You can hardly expect him to take the oath without his wand."

"He's a Squib," Lord Malfoy spat, "He doesn't have a wand."

"What proof have you of that?" Lord Longbottom questioned. "I have seen no proof of your claims and since Lord Wordsworth is a Canadian Auror, his file, just as our own Auror files are, must be restricted to the Canadian Auror Division only."

The fact that Lord Wordsworth/Lestrange was a Canadian Auror set off a storm of whispers and murmurs in the audience. If he was an Auror, he had to have magic; no one would be so foolish as to award Auror status to a Squib or worse, a Muggle.

Lord Longbottom's voice rose yet again. "And still, I see that Lord Wordsworth is utterly wrung out and exhausted. To expect him to take the oath here and now is cruel, an affront to everything we stand for in this chamber. I move that Lord Wordsworth be granted two days grace to recover from whatever has put him in this state. Then, and only then, as the current proxy to the House of Wordsworth, I would support Lord Wordsworth taking his Wizengamot oath."

The gesture did precisely what it had been intended to do; in the face of such a reasonable request, the murmurs turned approving. No attempt to duck responsibility, only a wish that it be deferred until the exhausted man before them could recover his strength.

"I second that," Lord Potter agreed loudly. "A delay would also allow us to locate Lord Wordsworth's missing wand or, if his previous wand has been destroyed, obtain a new one."

Lord Malfoy's expression turned very pinched, but the Wizengamot was eager to agree with the war hero and one of said hero's best friends. The Chief Warlock also acceded to their request that Lord Wordsworth be placed in Lord Longbottom's custody until the Wizengamot session two days hence.


Harry and Neville supported the exhausted and half-asleep Canadian Auror into one of Longbottom Manor's guest rooms. They let Wordsworth down on the bed and gingerly removed as much of his armor and clothing as they could. Harry used his wand to sneak the top cover of the bed out from under the Auror – who had fallen asleep as soon as he was down – and the coverlet settled in place on top of the man.

The two friends snuck out of the room to confer. "Well, we got through today's little bombshell," Harry muttered. "Two days from now is going to be a mess though."

Neville nodded agreement. "How in the world do we swing this one, Harry? He's a Squib, no way he can take the oath."

"Well, he must have been able to use magic at some point; he is a family Head, he would have had to go through the ritual just like we did," Harry pointed out as he leaned against the wall. "Malfoy dragged him in alone, so his teammates might still be in Toronto."

"None of them have magic either," Neville countered. "And I don't know for sure, but I think he was leaving the whole Lestrange thing out of any of his explanations to them; he sure didn't tell his friend about the name change when I was first over there to meet him."

"So he might have been keeping secrets," Harry concluded heavily. "That doesn't help." He thought hard for a few seconds. "Hmmm. It's a long shot, but what if we could find Fawkes and convince him to come with us to the meeting?"

Neville's eyes widened. "A phoenix, accompanying the Head of a Dark House? They'd go nuts, but they'd still want the oath."

"Right," Harry agreed. "That's why you're going to take him to Ollivanders and see if he can get a wand. He's a Squib, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say that's because his mother got cursed by that Death Eater slimeball."

"Stunted core," Neville breathed. "So, maybe he's got enough magic to get a wand and make the oath?"

"All we can do is try," Harry whispered. "I'll tell you one thing though Neville. If this doesn't work and he ends up in Azkaban, I'll never forgive myself for telling Lancelot about that Wizengamot vote; it wasn't worth a man's life."

Neville looked at the guest room, his eyes sad. "Makes you wonder if any of this is worth it, if we pay for every victory in blood."

"Not over yet, Nev," Harry observed. "Now come on. Let him sleep…we have more planning to do…and then I want to find out where the heck his teammates are."


Author note: And so we come to the end of another week. I've actually worked this week, so I'm happy about that. Less pleased with my work laptop...the touchscreen went out, so I took it in...and the touchscreen instantly started working again. Just like a VCR when you take it to the repair guy! Seriously! It wasn't even two minutes between the time it didn't work and it did! I'm happy for the weekend and hopefully that maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to see the light at the end of the transition tunnel. Maybe.

Happy Weekend All!