HARRY POTTER: THE ENCHANTER

by ravious light

During 3rd year harry realizes he has feelings for Hermione and during time heist, after defeating the dementors he proposes her but she rejects him and reveals that she has been dating ron in secret for a few months. Left heartbroken harry turns his pain into strength by focusing on his studies and learning magic. Be prepared to read a harry who has had his potential unleashed.

15. Chapter 14

AN: Hey guys so here is the next chapter. The court scene was something I really loved writing. I think it is my best scene so far. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. Some of you are complaining about the mix in color's of curses. Come on guys, I am trying my level best but I don't have a beta. I hope you can make those slight adjustments. Please give me reviews guys. That's what inspires me to write. I hope you like this chapter. Its so far one of my longest Chapters. Expect some duels in the next chapter.

A wave of warmth washed over Harry as he stepped into the dimly lit house. Mrs. Weasley, her face etched with worry that instantly melted into relief, engulfed him in a hug. Before he could catch his breath, Sirius, a familiar grin splitting his face, swept him into another bear hug. Ron and Hermione followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and concern.

Then, a golden blur. Luna Lovegood, her hair shimmering like spun moonlight, tackled him to the ground in a passionate kiss. Harry, momentarily stunned, reciprocated with equal fervor, sending a jolt of unfamiliar jealousy through Hermione. The sensation confused her. After all, she was with Ron, wasn't she? Shouldn't she be happy Harry had moved on with someone like Luna?

Ignoring the internal turmoil, Molly Weasley, ever the nurturer, bustled him towards the kitchen. "You've lost weight, dear!" she exclaimed, ushering him towards a plate piled high with food. Harry chuckled, used to her motherly fussing. It was her way of dealing with the stress, and he found it strangely comforting.

After a round of goodnights and a reminder from Mrs. Weasley that he'd be sharing a room with Ron, Harry followed Sirius up the creaky stairs. "So, Sirius," Harry began, his voice low, "this house is under Fidelius, right? I can use my wand here without the Ministry knowing?"

Sirius grinned. "Indeed, Harry. Any magic performed within these walls is undetectable from the outside."

Reassured, Harry entered the room he'd be sharing with Ron. He quickly set up a locking charm similar to the one at the Dursleys, this time including Ron with a brief explanation. The sight of the shrunken trunk being expanded effectively silenced any questions Ron might have had. When Harry told Ron he would be busy with one of his rune projects, Ron bid him good night and went to sleep.

With renewed purpose, Harry set to work on his "bees." By the time sleep beckoned, he had crafted 30 miniature, buzzing contraptions. These weren't ordinary bees, of course – they were his eyes and ears, his secret weapon.

He knew the Order would likely meet in the morning, presenting the perfect opportunity to plant his bees on Snape. The greasy-haired Potions Master would unwittingly carry them to Voldemort's hideout upon his next summons.

Before retiring, Harry summoned Dobby and Winky. He outlined his plan, explaining how to maneuver the bees using the control runes hidden within his portable "Hive" room in the trunk. They would work in shifts, one elf constantly monitoring the visual and audio feed transmitted by the bees, 24 hours a day. Any orders barked by Voldemort, any schemes hatched by his Death Eaters, would be relayed to Harry instantly.

It was a risky gamble, relying on a single House-elf to keep tabs for twelve hours straight on so many enemies. But Harry had limited options. His friends were loyal, but schoolwork and the looming threat of Voldemort's return would limit their time together. "Project: Spiderweb" and the explosives had to remain a closely guarded secret.

With a glimmer of hope, Harry tasked Dobby and Winky with recruiting more elves who might be sympathetic to their cause. They readily agreed, promising to discreetly bring potential recruits to him whenever they had the opportunity.

As Harry drifted off to sleep, the gentle buzzing of his miniature bees filled the air inside the trunk as Dobby and Winky practiced maneuvering the bees, a constant reminder of Harry's growing arsenal against the darkness that loomed. He was no longer just a boy who lived; he was a strategist, a leader in the making, and tonight, the Order of the Phoenix would unknowingly become a part of his intricate web.

The crisp morning air sent a shiver down Harry's spine as he activated his miniature bee army. Thirty in total, they buzzed silently, clinging invisibly to his pajamas as he descended to the kitchen for breakfast.

The Order meeting was imminent, likely to take place in the spacious ground floor dining room. Harry had already alerted the elves of his plan. During breakfast, he discreetly instructed them to maneuver the bees towards a corner once the Order assembled, remaining hidden until Snape's arrival.

Mrs. Weasley, ever the efficient organizer, ushered everyone out after breakfast. Harry, alongside Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Ginny, found themselves wandering the first floor. Ron grumbled about being excluded from the meeting, the injustice rankling him.

Meanwhile, Harry's mind whirred, strategizing his next move. How could he tag the Ministry officials, the Minister himself perhaps, with his miniature spies? Carrying them on his person during the hearing was a possibility, but the real challenge lay in identifying his targets. Dobby and Winky wouldn't recognize the key Ministry personnel.

Lost in thought, a sudden crack echoed through the room, jolting him back to reality. His hand instinctively flew to his wand, a shimmering shield erupting from the shield ring on his left hand. Relief washed over him as he recognized the mischievous twins, Fred and George Weasley. Their attempt at eavesdropping using their Extendable Ears proved futile, thwarted by Molly Weasley's potent Imperturbable Charm on the door.

Internally, Harry chuckled. The Order meeting, with all its secrets and strategies, was being meticulously recorded by his bee spies. He'd have a full playback later that night.

With a reassuring smile, Harry calmed his friends' anxieties regarding the meeting. "Don't worry about it," he said confidently. "I have a way to get the highlights, so to speak." He refrained from revealing his ingenious method, of course.

Bidding farewell to his friends, Harry retreated to his room, the familiar comfort of his portable trunk beckoning. Inside, the designated "Hive" buzzed with activity. Dobby and Winky, with practiced ease, were transferring the bees, one by silent one, onto Snape's cloak.

With the first phase complete, Harry felt a surge of satisfaction. Now, it was time to arm himself with knowledge. He ventured into the imposing Black Library, its shelves overflowing with ancient tomes. A focused search for books on Wizarding Law commenced. He needed to build a strong defense for his upcoming Ministry hearing, a defense that wouldn't crumble under scrutiny. He wouldn't go down without a fight. The day was filled with purpose, the hum of activity – both within the Hive and within his own mind – a testament to Harry's unwavering determination.

A wave of gratitude washed over Harry as his friends joined him in the library. Ron, while not exactly a legal scholar, proved his worth by diligently fetching relevant tomes on Wizarding Law. Hermione, her brow furrowed in concentration, scanned pages alongside Harry, offering insightful commentary. Even Luna, with her usual dreamy air, chimed in with the occasional offbeat suggestion, prompting surprised yet thoughtful nods from Harry.

Their research proved fruitful. A key discovery – memories were deemed inadmissible as evidence in court due to their susceptibility to tampering. This meant Veritaserum, a truth serum, wouldn't be an option for Harry, especially since Fudge would likely use his underage status to bar its use.

Frustration gnawed at Harry. The Ministry, it seemed, was determined to stack the deck against him. He had no concrete evidence, just his word against a potentially biased Ministry. However, a loophole emerged. The Statute of Secrecy wouldn't apply here. Dudley, after all, was his cousin, someone he lived with during the summer and who was already aware of the wizarding world.

Fudge's strongest footing appeared to be the underage magic clause. While expulsion from Hogwarts was a possibility, confiscating Harry's wand wouldn't fly. Harry could argue for alternative education – another magical school or even private tutors, though that would be a last resort. The challenge lay in forcing Fudge to acknowledge the possibility of a Dementor attack.

Suddenly, a spark ignited in Harry's mind. Fudge, blinded by his obsession with Sirius Black, was determined to pin all dark activity on the escaped convict. Harry, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, decided to use this very obsession against Fudge. He would make the Minister unwittingly sabotage his own case.

Just as Harry was formulating his plan, a scowling house-elf materialized with a pop in the middle of the library. Muttering under its breath about "half-bloods, blood traitors, and Mudbloods, in the noble house of black" the elf informed them that Dumbledore was requesting Harry's presence and vanished immediately. Harry understood from his previous talks with Sirius that this was Kreacher, the Black family elf.

Going down, Harry found Dumbledore waiting for him in a quiet corner. The wise old wizard assured Harry that he wouldn't be facing a full trial but rather a disciplinary hearing with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) present. Harry, relieved, recounted his plan to Dumbledore.

The corners of Dumbledore's eyes crinkled with amusement as he listened. "My dear Harry," he chuckled, "it seems my concerns were unfounded. You've already grasped the situation quite well, and as for expulsion even that isn't possible as only the headmaster of Hogwarts can expel students from Hogwarts. Do you require me to be your legal representative, or would you prefer to speak for yourself?"

Harry grinned, a plan forming in his mind. "I think it would be most effective if I defend myself, sir. It would allow me to play the angle of a young hero being denied justice by a corrupt Ministry."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "A wise choice, Harry. Now, tell me, how is your Occlumency training progressing?"

"I've gone through the basics, Professor," Harry replied, "but it's slow going without someone constantly testing my defenses."

Dumbledore understood. "Once you're back at Hogwarts, I'll see if I can arrange something more rigorous. Until then, it's crucial that you maintain a strong Occlumency shield to keep your connection to Voldemort closed. There are certain secrets I cannot reveal until we're sure you can block him from your mind."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I understand, sir. By the way, I noticed Professor Moody's rather… distinctive eye patch and prosthetic leg. If he'd like, I could enchant a replacement eye and leg for him."

A genuine smile lit up Dumbledore's face. "That's a very kind offer, Harry. I'll be sure to pass it on to Moody. I have a feeling he'd appreciate your ingenuity."

As evening draped its cloak over Grimmauld Place, Harry, with a quick glance around to ensure his privacy, slipped into the familiar confines of his portable trunk. Anticipation thrummed through him as he focused his attention on the recording of the single bee he'd meticulously placed on a wall during the breakfast before Order meeting. A surge of satisfaction washed over him as the recorded scene flickered to life.

Dumbledore's voice filled the space, his tone conveying both relief and determination as he informed the Order of Harry's safe arrival at headquarters. The news of the disciplinary hearing, though unwelcome, seemed to elicit a collective sigh of relief. A few grunts of disapproval echoed within the room, but the absence of a full trial appeared to be the prevailing sentiment.

The focus then shifted to more pressing matters. Guard duty assignments for the following week were discussed, with several members readily volunteering. Harry watched as Dumbledore directed them towards a stoic-faced Moody, presumably to finalize the schedule.

A shadow of concern flitted across the assembled faces as the conversation moved to recruitment efforts. It was a grim picture. The goblins, as always, remained stubbornly neutral. The giants, teetering on the edge, seemed more inclined to side with Voldemort. The werewolf situation was even bleaker. Fenrir Greyback's iron grip held the major clans in thrall, their disdain for the Ministry's discriminatory policies making them further susceptible to Voldemort's influence. The other werewolves, ostracized and hunted, appeared to follow suit. A heavy silence descended upon the room as everyone acknowledged the looming threat – the Dementors. Their inevitable defection to Voldemort once he summoned them was a foregone conclusion, a final piece in his dark puzzle.

With a few more inconsequential matters addressed, the meeting drew to a close. The next gathering was scheduled for the following week. As Harry prepared to exit the hive after watching the bee's recording, a flicker of movement on another screen caught his eye. It was Snape, his cloak billowing as he hurried away from where ever he stayed.

Understanding dawned on Harry. Snape was undoubtedly on his way to a clandestine meeting with Voldemort. A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. This was the perfect opportunity to test his "bee experiment."

The bees, invisible and silent, clung to Snape's cloak as he Apparated. Relief flooded Harry as he confirmed their continued functionality. A tense few minutes ticked by. Then, the unmistakable murmur of Snape's voice, "You have summoned me, my Lord," pierced the silence, confirming Snape's arrival at Voldemort's hideout.

With practiced efficiency, Dobby and Winky sprang into action. One by one, the bees were maneuvered, taking up strategic positions within the room. Four strategically placed bees provided a comprehensive 360-degree view, while another, with delicate precision, landed on the hem of Voldemort's robes. Harry, with his knowledge of Voldemort's psyche, knew these were the same robes the Dark Lord wore during their encounter in the graveyard. Self-cleaning enchantments or meticulous cleaning rituals, Harry wasn't sure, but he was confident the robes wouldn't betray the presence of the bee.

The remaining bees were dispersed amongst the Death Eaters present. Each received a double dose of Harry's surveillance – one bee for constant monitoring and another discreetly released within their respective manors. The remaining bees were put on stand by in various corners near the ceiling of the room. They would tag any death eaters missed today.

A satisfied smile tugged at Harry's lips. His miniature army of bees was now buzzing within Voldemort's inner circle, a silent web of observation that would hopefully yield valuable intel. The night was far from over, and Harry, fueled by a newfound sense of control, was eager to see what secrets his bees would unveil.

Voldemort's reptilian features contorted into a hiss. "So, what information do you have for me, Severus?"

Snape, his posture subservient, kept his head bowed. "My lord," he rasped, "the boy has been safely transported to their headquarters, though Dumbledore did not disclose the method. They are planning a disciplinary hearing on the 29th for his use of the Patronus Charm which is supposed to be overseen by DMLE. The Order is scrambling to secure the giants and werewolves on their side, but failing that, they're aiming for neutrality."

Voldemort, his crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction, purred, "Good, Severus." He then swiveled his attention to Malfoy, who stood poised beside Snape. "Lucius," he rasped, his voice dripping with menace, "you heard Severus. Leverage your influence on the Minister. Ensure Harry Potter's expulsion. Ideally, I'd relish seeing the boy rot in Azkaban, but removing him from that old fool's clutches will suffice for now."

Malfoy, a flicker of unease crossing his pale face, bowed curtly. "I'll do my utmost, my Lord."

Voldemort's displeasure was evident in the dark scowl he bestowed upon Malfoy. However, he conceded that Lucius's approach was the most pragmatic. Dumbledore, though stripped of his Chief Warlock title, still wielded considerable influence and could potentially sway the court. Even then to keep Harry at Hogwarts, Voldemort was confident would need Dumbledore expending a significant amount of political capital.

With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Voldemort banished both Death Eaters from his presence.

A triumphant grin stretched across Harry's face back in Grimmauld Place. He now possessed invaluable intel on his adversaries' machinations. The war had shifted; he could now fight strategically, anticipating their moves rather than merely reacting to them.

Emerging from his room, he regaled his friends with a carefully curated summary of the Order meeting. With a renewed sense of purpose, he then divided his attention between two crucial tasks: honing his Occlumency skills and devising a safe delivery system for his explosive creations. A couple of hours later they went down for dinner.

A wave of excitement rippled through the Order headquarters as dinner commenced. Moody, ever the gruff but practical Auror, wasted no time in broaching the subject of Harry's offer.

"So, lad," Moody rumbled, his one visible eye gleaming, "about that replacement eye… you serious about building me a new one?"

Harry grinned, his confidence bolstered by his successful eavesdropping mission. "Absolutely, Professor. Moody. Your current setup seems a bit… inefficient."

Moody barked a laugh, the sound surprisingly jovial for such a battle-scarred man. "Inefficient? You could say that again, Potter! Crouch Jr.'s little theft really put a damper on my peripheral vision." He said thinking about the capabilities of his old eye – the 360-degree view, the ability to see through objects and cloaks, and the zoom function.

"Let me know what the old eye did exactly," Harry prompted, settling into a seat at the dinner table.

Moody launched into a detailed explanation. The magical eye boasted a staggering array of features – 360-degree vision, the ability to pierce solid objects, see through invisibility cloaks, and zoom in a staggering four times.

"That's impressive," Harry whistled, "but I think I can offer something even better."

The following hours were a whirlwind of focused activity. In his room, Harry meticulously planned the design for the new eye. He wouldn't settle for a clunky contraption that spun around. Instead, he envisioned a natural-looking eye that offered all the desired functionalities on demand.

The base was crafted from a piece of leather, transfigured to the perfect size and texture. Runes, meticulously inscribed on the inner surface, formed the core of the magic. Unlike Moody's old eye, this one wouldn't require constant rotation for a full view. It would activate seamlessly, granting 360-degree vision only when Moody wished.

Of course, Harry incorporated the see-through and zoom functions, but he also added a unique twist: a record and project feature. This allowed Moody to capture and playback sights and sounds for up to 24 hours, with the oldest recording automatically overwritten each hour. Harry was confident this would prove immensely useful.

The finishing touch was a lifelike appearance. Harry painstakingly recreated the moist, fleshy look of a natural eye, ensuring it blended seamlessly with Moody's features.

Moody's prosthetic leg presented a different challenge. Harry's research into spells like the one Voldemort used on Pettigrew had yielded no results. But a stroke of luck intervened while browsing the Black family's grimoire in the section restricted for only Lord Black and Heir for which Sirius gave him permission to look into. There, nestled amongst dark rituals, he found a handwritten manuscript detailing artificial limbs.

It turned out Voldemort's spell was a mere shadow of a much more powerful Black family magic. When Harry asked Sirius about it he replied that Voldemort must have learnt it through Regulus, his brother or Bellatrix who was his cousin. With renewed enthusiasm, Harry delved deeper into the text, formulating a plan. The next morning he provided Moody with a list of ingredients, including dragon blood, boomslang skin, and a bicorn horn. The Ex-auror who at first looked suspiciously at Harry who explained their purpose was a experiment which will make the death eaters soil their pants after which Moody promptly procured using some of Harry's Triwizard winnings.

Meanwhile, the ever-vigilant house-elves intercepted a floo call from Lucius Malfoy to the Minister. A crucial meeting was scheduled for after lunch, where they'd presumably discuss Harry's expulsion and other Ministry machinations. Harry, ever the strategist, decided to witness the meeting firsthand rather than rely on recordings as somethings might be time sensitive.

As Moody returned with the ingredients within an hour, Harry set to work. The spell was complex, demanding focus and precision. Finally, after a tense couple of hours, a fully functional prosthetic leg stood before them. Madam Pomfrey, summoned to lend her expertise in attaching the leg, was thoroughly impressed by Harry's craftsmanship.

"Honestly, Mr. Potter," she exclaimed, "you have a talent for this! You could revolutionize the prosthetics field with these creations!"

Both the eye and the leg were masterpieces of magical engineering, boasting a natural appearance and remarkable functionality. Madam Pomfrey even suggested Harry consider a career in prosthetics, given the potential market for such advanced limbs.

Harry, humbled by the praise, remained undecided about his future path. Moody, however, had a different proposition. Many former Aurors, unjustly forced into retirement by Fudge, possessed valuable experience. If Harry could get them back on their feet, the Order would gain a significant advantage.

The idea resonated with Harry. He readily agreed, asking Moody to vet potential recruits. He emphasized that participation in the war wouldn't be mandatory – those who wished to retire peacefully would still receive prosthetics in recognition of their service in the previous wars or for their valiant acts. This act of compassion deeply touched the gruff ex-Auror.

The Ministry did next to nothing for the injured aurors. They were forced to retire with negligible benefits as they have not completed their service. While someone who has fully completed their service would get a nice pension and retirement benefits and those injured during the fight must be given the same the Fudge administration which came to power during the last leg of previous war with Voldemort did not do that. It cut the funding to DMLE after the completion of war. If Crouch Sr. wasn't ousted of his post due to Crouch Jr. being ousted as a death eater the things might have been different but alas! they were what they were. And now, here was a 15-year-old boy ready to do more for the auror corps than their own ministry. Harry just was not aware what a loyal force he was about to create.

The only caveat Harry imposed was absolute secrecy. He harbored suspicion towards certain Order members, particularly Snape, and cited his parents' betrayal as a cautionary tale. Moody, understanding Harry's reservations, readily agreed to maintain a separate unit of rehabilitated Aurors outside the Order's immediate circle.

The evening concluded on a hopeful note. Harry, fueled by a sense of accomplishment and renewed purpose, had not only helped Moody but also taken a significant step towards strengthening the Order and watching the meeting between Lucius Malfoy and Minister and tagging the Minister and his office with his bee's was the highlight of the evening. The coming fight loomed large, but with his newfound skills and unwavering determination, Harry felt more prepared than ever.

Secrecy secured, Harry retreated to his trunk, leaving his friends with a heads-up and a request to cover for his absence if needed. They readily agreed, eager to play their part in this clandestine operation.

Inside the familiar confines of his trunk, Harry turned his focus to the next phase – weapon delivery. With his bee surveillance proving remarkably effective, he decided to build upon that success. The homing charm served as a solid foundation, and the bees were already adept at information gathering. Why reinvent the wheel, as they say?

This time, wasps became his chosen delivery drones. Transfigured with hollowed-out bodies, they would serve as miniature flying bombs. A potent cocktail of TNT and nitroglycerin would fill their insides, designed to detonate upon entering a giant's ear or nose. The explosion wouldn't just cause internal damage; upon detonation, the wasp's body would transfigure into five-foot-long steel spikes, piercing the giant from the inside out. Weight wouldn't be an issue, ensuring the explosion maximized the damage. Harry relished the gruesome image – a giant impaled by these metallic projectiles, leaving little chance of survival.

Lost in his research, Harry didn't notice the arrival of a weary Dobby. The house-elf bore news: Lucius Malfoy had departed for his meeting with the Minister.

Emerging from his makeshift lab, Harry hurried to the Hive. The screen revealed a scene from the Ministry, unsurprisingly, as one of the bees was affixed to Malfoy's robes. Soon, the Minister's voice filled the air, his greeting cordial. "Ah, Lucius. Good timing. Come, come. Take a seat."

Dobby, ever the efficient operative, sprang into action. Two of the three extra bees Malfoy unknowingly transported were swiftly deployed. One found a permanent home perched on the Minister's bowler hat, destined to become his constant companion. Another, a future house guest, patiently awaited its transfer to the Minister's residence once he eventually left the office. The final bee took its position strategically in the corner of the ceiling, granting a clear view of the two figures below.

With a web of surveillance now blanketing the Minister's office, Harry settled in to witness the Malfoy-Fudge tête-à-tête, eager to glean any nefarious plans they might be hatching.

Fudge, in a display of forced hospitality, offered Malfoy some tea. The pureblood, ever the picture of composure, accepted and took a few sips before the Minister broached the subject. "So, what brings you here today, Lucius?" he inquired, a hint of apprehension lacing his voice.

Malfoy, a master manipulator, set down his cup and steepled his fingers, his pale eyes glinting with a calculated agenda. "Ah, Minister," he drawled, "I was simply curious about something I overheard, something that may be of the utmost importance to… the continuation of your career, shall we say?"

Fudge, his eyes widening slightly, leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "What is it, Lucius? Don't leave me in suspense."

Malfoy, never one for bluntness, countered with a question of his own. "Tell me, Minister, how is the recent incident with young Potter being handled?"

Fudge, not yet comprehending Malfoy's endgame, responded honestly. "We were leaning towards expulsion and wand confiscation, but Dumbledore intervened, demanding to hear the boy's explanation for using magic in a Muggle area."

Malfoy smirked, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "As expected," he murmured. "Don't you see what Dumbledore's doing right under your nose, Minister? He's grooming Potter as his successor, that's why he won't let anything happen to the boy. And by stopping you from expelling him, by showing leniency, he's subtly influencing the Ministry, reminding everyone who truly holds the power."

Fudge's face flushed a deep crimson, his short temper ignited. "What would you have me do, Lucius?" he sputtered, his voice tight with indignation. "The case is already with the DMLE, Amelia Bones herself will be the judge at the boy's hearing."

Lucius, unfazed by the Minister's outburst, took a sip of his tea with practiced nonchalance. "Ah, but that's precisely where you can exert your influence, Minister. You only agreed to hear Potter's explanation – there was no formal declaration of a disciplinary hearing, was there?"

Fudge, catching on, his eyes narrowing, slowly shook his head.

A smile played on Malfoy's lips. "Excellent. Then why not make it a full trial? A public spectacle! When you find the boy guilty with the full backing of the Wizengamot, you'll be able to punish him, and Dumbledore won't be able to stop it. You'll be showcasing your authority to the entire Wizengamot, effectively removing his potential successor. Two birds with one stone, wouldn't you agree?"

Fudge, now a full convert to Malfoy's plan, mirrored the man's grin. "A brilliant idea, Lucius! And I can certainly count on your support in the Wizengamot, can't I?"

Malfoy, with a barely perceptible nod, replied, "Of course, Minister. Though I won't be there myself, my associates will be there, offering their full backing. I'll also reach out to some neutral families, sway them to our cause."

The two men continued their discussion for a few more minutes, hashing out the finer details before Malfoy, his objective achieved, rose to leave. "I believe I'll take my leave now, Minister."

Fudge extended a hand, his earlier annoyance replaced by a newfound confidence. "Thank you, Lucius. This is precisely the kind of guidance I needed."

With a parting nod, Malfoy exited the office, leaving a triumphant smirk dancing on his lips. Harry, having witnessed the entire exchange through the eyes of his strategically placed bee, was far from pleased. Fudge, a pawn in Malfoy's elaborate scheme, was now determined to orchestrate a full trial, a blatant attempt to crush Harry and undermine Dumbledore's influence.

As the silence settled in the Minister's office, Fudge rang a bell. A moment later, Percy Weasley hurried in. "Mr. Weasley," Fudge boomed, his voice laced with newfound authority, "please ask Madam Umbridge to come to my office immediately."

Harry watched as Percy scurried out, soon to be replaced by the unmistakable silhouette of a toad-like woman clad in eye-wateringly pink robes. Dolores Umbridge, the Ministry's resident hatchet woman, had arrived.

Dolores Umbridge, her wide, perpetually surprised eyes flitting around the office, settled into her seat with a prim efficiency. "You called for me, Minister?" she inquired, her voice saccharine and laced with a hint of underlying power.

Fudge, emboldened by Malfoy's visit, cleared his throat and launched into a retelling of the conversation. Umbridge, all pursed lips and steepled fingers, listened intently, nodding occasionally. Once Fudge finished outlining Malfoy's plan for the full trial, Umbridge, a cruel glint in her eyes, interjected.

"Minister," she rasped, her voice dripping with a venomous sweetness, "let's add a touch of… finesse to this plan. We won't announce the change from hearing to trial until the morning of the 29th. An owl, conveniently delayed, shall deliver the official notice. We'll also nudge the hearing time forward – nine AM instead of ten. By then, the Wizengamot members will already be bustling about the Ministry. No inconvenience for them."

A devious smile crept across Umbridge's face. "But as for young Potter, well, let's just say if the owl were to be… waylaid, and Mr. Potter failed to appear at his 'disciplinary hearing,' he'd be automatically guilty by non-appearance. Even if, by some stroke of luck, he did manage to arrive on time, he'd be woefully unprepared, lacking any witnesses under the pretense it's still a mere hearing where he will face a full trial."

Fudge, his face flushed with a dark glee, practically vibrated in his seat. This was brilliance! He basked in the glow of Umbridge's cunning, utterly oblivious to the hornet's nest he was about to stir. "Excellent thinking, Dolores! Execute this plan flawlessly."

Umbridge, with a curt nod and a satisfied smirk, swept out of the office, leaving behind a trail of malevolent pink. Harry, having witnessed the entire exchange through his bee, felt a flicker of unease quickly replaced by a steely determination. Fudge and his cronies were in for a rude awakening.

Back in his room, Harry huddled with his friends, his voice grim as he recounted the Ministry's treachery. The disciplinary hearing was no more; a full trial awaited them in four days. The gravity of the situation settled upon them all. Harry urged them to delve into wizarding law with renewed fervor, every loophole, every potential defense mechanism a weapon in their arsenal. Time was of the essence, and the stakes couldn't be higher. The weight of the wizarding world seemed to press down on their shoulders, but Harry, his green eyes blazing with defiance, wouldn't back down. This wasn't just about him; it was about justice, about standing up to a corrupt system. The battle lines were drawn, the Ministry had made their move, and Harry Potter, was ready to fight back.

With a determined glint in his eyes, Harry delved headfirst into legal research. Every previous case of underage magic and the resulting punishments served as a piece in his defense strategy. He meticulously combed through instances where the Statute of Secrecy was broken, analyzing the range of consequences. Slowly but surely, Harry was constructing a formidable case.

A key discovery emerged from his research. Full trials, unlike disciplinary hearings, allowed him to summon witnesses – anyone present at the Ministry during the trial. This meant a daring move: calling Fudge himself to the stand. Harry could grill him under oath, potentially exposing inconsistencies or extracting crucial testimony for his defense. However, Veritaserum, a truth serum, wouldn't be an option to compel truthful answers from Fudge.

He confided in Dumbledore, subtly suggesting the Headmaster arrive earlier than usual. While Harry kept his spiderweb intel under wraps, he expressed a gnawing suspicion about Fudge resorting to underhanded tactics. Dumbledore, though mildly amused by Harry's growing paranoia, readily agreed to be at the Ministry by 9 am. Reassured, Harry continued his meticulous preparations.

The evening before the trial, Harry informed Arthur Weasley, his Ministry escort, about their early departure time. Citing his disastrous second year as an example, Harry effectively quelled any questions about the unusual hour.

Come morning, Harry was a picture of punctuality, ready by 7 am. When Arthur inquired about their transportation mode, Harry, with a glint in his eye, surprised the older wizard. Instead of the usual Floo Network, a taxi ride became the chosen method. Arriving at the Ministry by 8 am, Harry settled outside the DMLE office, patiently awaiting Amelia Bones' arrival.

At 8:15 am, Amelia entered, casting a surprised look at Harry. "Early, Mr. Potter," she remarked, "you'll have some time to wait." Harry, armed with his newfound knowledge of the coming events, simply nodded, expressing no discomfort with the delay.

Right on cue, at 8:30 am, a paper plane fluttered into Amelia's office, delivering a missive. Exiting her office after reading it, Amelia announced, "Mr. Potter, were you informed of the change? Your disciplinary hearing has been upgraded to a full trial, scheduled for 9 am in Courtroom 10."

Thanks to his developing Occlumency skills, Harry feigned genuine shock. "Full trial? 9 am? But Madam Bones, what about…" His voice trailed off, effectively portraying a bewildered young wizard. Amelia, convinced of Harry's ignorance, explained, "It appears Minister Fudge has made some adjustments. We'll proceed to Courtroom 10 immediately."

Turning to Arthur, Amelia stated, "Arthur, I'll be escorting Mr. Potter to the courtroom." Harry, with a nod of acknowledgment, sent a covert message to Arthur. "Inform Dumbledore upon his arrival. Assure him there's no need to worry. I've anticipated all possibilities."

With a steely resolve and a carefully prepared defense, Harry was ready to face the Ministry's unexpected trial. The Minister's gambit was about to backfire – Harry, no longer a pawn in their game, was prepared to turn the tables.

A wave of apprehension washed over Harry as he entered Courtroom 10 alongside Amelia Bones. The dim torchlight cast long, menacing shadows on the dark stone walls. Empty benches stretched on either side, their silence broken only by the low murmurs emanating from the elevated seats at the far end. As the clock struck nine, the courtroom filled rapidly, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind the last straggler.

Harry's gaze darted to the imposing chair in the center, its arms adorned with ominous chains. Harry briskly walked and settled down on the chair. Harry who wanted to tag many ministry officials, modified his glasses to hide a camera. When he saw a individual he wanted tagged he would touch the control rune he etched on his palm and a photo graph would be taken and displayed on the screen in the hive. From there Dobby or winky would guide his bee's on to discreet position on that particular witch or wizard.

Fifty pairs of eyes, all seemingly fixed on him, scrutinized him from the high benches. They were clad in plum-colored robes emblazoned with a silver W, their expressions ranging from austere disapproval to morbid curiosity. In the center seat sat Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, his once indulgent smile replaced by a stern frown. Today, the lime-green bowler hat was absent, much like his former cordiality.

To Fudge's left sat Madam Bones, formidable witch with a severe demeanor. Her short, gray hair and monocle added to her air of authority. On the other side, sat another witch whose identity Harry knew as Dolores Umbridge from spying on minister.

Fudge cleared his throat, his voice laced with disappointment at Harry's unexpected presence. "The accused being present," he declared, "let us begin. Are you ready?" A voice, eager and familiar, rang out from the front row. It was Percy Weasley, Ron's brother, perched at the very end of the bench, quill poised over parchment, ready to take notes.

"Disciplinary hearing of the 29th of July," Fudge began, only to be interrupted by a resolute Harry. "Objection!" he boomed, surprising even Amelia Bones with his sudden defiance.

"What's the objection, Mr. Potter?" Amelia inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"Under the present circumstances, and considering this is a courtroom setting, the proceedings should be classified as a trial, not a disciplinary hearing," Harry countered, his voice firm.

A flicker of approval crossed Amelia's face. "Sustained," she declared. "Mr. Weasley, amend 'disciplinary hearing' to 'trial' in your records."

Fudge, momentarily flustered, regained his composure and continued, "We are gathered here to address the offenses committed by Harry James Potter, resident of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, against the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy."

He proceeded to say "Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic", Harry interrupted "Objection!" Fudge getting flustered asked "what is your objection now Mr. Potter?" Harry responded "As this is a trial it has to be prosecution not interrogators and we will need a judge. I will be acting as my own defense council." Fudge's face was red but controlling himself he amended "Judge: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Prosecutors: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic and Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley Harry diligently noted down every point, a determined glint in his eyes. The seating was changed slightly to accomidtae for the changes in the case.

Suddenly, a soothing voice cut through the tension. "Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," it announced, eliciting a relieved smile from Harry.

Dumbledore, his midnight-blue robes billowing dramatically, strode serenely into the room. His silver beard and hair shimmered under the torchlight, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the growing chaos. As he reached Harry, he exchanged a knowing glance with the boy, his arrival a testament to Harry's foresight.

Fudge, visibly flustered, stammered, "Dumbledore. Yes. You – er – got our message about the time and – er – place of the hearing being changed, then?"

"Must have missed it," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Luckily, I arrived at the Ministry much earlier, so no harm done, I trust."

Fudge sputtered, scrambling to regain control. "Yes, well – we'll need another chair – I – Weasley, could you – ?"

"Not to worry, not to worry," Dumbledore interjected pleasantly. With a flick of his wand, a comfortable armchair materialized beside Harry. He settled in, his fingers steepled, and regarded Fudge with an air of quiet amusement.

The Wizengamot, initially disgruntled by the interruption, settled back down as Fudge, clearly rattled, resumed the proceedings. He read out the charges against Harry, each word meticulously documented by the young wizard in a notebook he was carrying.

Fudge, his face a mixture of anger and frustration at having Dumbledore present even after all his preparations, leaned forward, his voice dripping with accusation. Amelia bones started off the case "the prosecution may proceed with questioning."

"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge inquired, glaring down at Harry over his parchment.

Harry, ever the note-taker, remained focused, scribbling away in his notebook as he calmly replied, "Yes."

"Three years ago," Fudge continued, his voice tightening, "you received an official Ministry warning for using illegal magic, did you not?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, adding another note.

Fudge, sensing an opportunity to corner the boy, pressed on. "And yet, on the night of the second of August, you defied this very warning and conjured a Patronus"

Harry, however, remained silent, his quill poised, waiting for Fudge to complete his question. Flustered by the boy's composure, Fudge bellowed, "Answer the question, boy!"

A flicker of defiance sparked in Harry's eyes. "Objection," he declared, his voice ringing clear.

Amelia Bones, ever the voice of reason, interjected, "What is your objection, Mr. Potter?"

Harry, seizing the moment, straightened in his seat. "I am to be addressed as Mr. Potter," he stated firmly. "Any other terms used will be considered a breach of court decorum. Additionally, I will be filing charges for defamation if such conduct persists."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the Wizengamot. Amelia, impressed by Harry's quick thinking and knowledge of procedure, nodded in agreement. "Sustained! Minister, please amend your statement."

Fudge, his face now a deep crimson, sputtered for a moment before regaining his composure. "Very well," he grumbled, glaring at Harry. "Answer the question, Mr. Potter. Did you conjured a Patronus on the evening of the 23rd of July?"

Harry, unfazed by Fudge's outburst, simply replied, "Yes."

The questioning continued, Fudge relentlessly probing for an incriminating answer. "Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?" he pressed.

"Yes," Harry calmly replied, adding another note.

Fudge, sensing a shift in the momentum, pressed on, his voice smug. "Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?"

"Yes," Harry responded coolly.

"Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?" Fudge finished with a triumphant flourish.

Harry, having meticulously documented every question and answer, met Fudge's gaze with a steady resolve. "Yes," he said, finally finishing his note-taking.

The courtroom fell silent. Harry, armed with his meticulously crafted notes and newfound confidence, was ready for the next phase of his defense.

A wave of authority emanated from Madam Bones as she boomed "You produced a full-fledged Patronus?" she inquired, her voice carrying throughout the courtroom.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, eager to elaborate on the circumstances.

"And this Patronus," she continued, "was it a corporeal form? Not merely vapor or smoke?"

"Yes," Harry replied truthfully, recognizing the potential benefit this information held for his defense. Impatience flickered within him, but he understood the importance of playing along.

"Have you produced a Patronus before?" she pressed.

"Yes," Harry answered, "for over a year now –"

Madam Bones cut him off, her voice tinged with a hint of grudging respect. "Impressive," she declared, her gaze holding his. "A true Patronus at your age... very impressive indeed."

Murmurs rippled through the Wizengamot. Some members offered approving nods, while others furrowed their brows in disapproval.

Fudge, however, remained undeterred. "Impressive magic is irrelevant!" he interjected, his voice laced with annoyance. "In fact, the more impressive, the worse! Especially considering the boy performed it in front of a Muggle witness!"

Those who had previously expressed disapproval now echoed Fudge's sentiment with hushed agreements.

Seizing the opportunity, Harry rose from his seat, his voice firm and unwavering. "If the questioning of prosecution is concluded, I would like to present my defense," he declared.

A smug smile stretched across Fudge's face as he began, "Defense? What defense? This is a clear case of blatant disregard for the Statute of Secrecy and underage magic. What is there to…"

Before Fudge could finish his self-righteous tirade, Harry's voice cut through the air, ringing with newfound confidence. "This is a trial, Minister," he boomed, his voice echoing in the cavernous courtroom. "And as the accused and counsel of defense, I have the right to present my defense before this esteemed body. Additionally, the right to call witnesses who can support my case."

Harry's words hung heavy in the air, a challenge aimed not just at Fudge, but at the very foundation of the skewed system. A murmur rippled through the Wizengamot. Some members, particularly those with a sense of fair play, seemed to consider his words. Others, however, remained stoic, their faces unreadable.

But Harry wasn't done. He pressed on, his voice laced with a subtle defiance. "Or perhaps, Minister," he continued, his gaze flickering towards the assembled witches and wizards, "you believe yourself above the law, above this very court? Do you intend for the last scion of the Potter family, a pure-blood lineage that has served the Ministry for generations, to be declared as guilty before he even speaks his defense?"

His words were a calculated gamble. By invoking his heritage, the last remaining heir of the Potters, he was playing on the Wizengamot's sense of tradition and respect for established bloodlines. It was a card he'd been hesitant to play, knowing it could be perceived as arrogance, but with Fudge's blatant prejudice on display, the risk seemed worth it.

A collective gasp resonated through the courtroom. The temperature seemed to shift, a wave of surprise and curiosity washing over the assembled witches and wizards. Even Fudge's smug expression faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of unease. Harry had successfully shifted the focus, turning himself from a reckless boy with disregard to rules to a symbol of a legacy – a legacy that demanded respect.

The trial had entered a new phase. Harry, no longer a pawn in Fudge's game, had taken control of the narrative.

Relief washed over Harry as Amelia Bones, ever the voice of reason, silenced Fudge's bluster. "Yes, Mr. Potter," she declared, "you have the right to present your defense."

Harry, with a grateful nod, launched into his carefully crafted argument. "Thank you, Madam Bones. Now, the charges against me are, in order of severity, breach of the Statute of Secrecy and underage magic. Am I correct?" he inquired, directing his question neutrally at both Fudge and Madam Bones.

Fudge, caught off guard, simply nodded, while Madam Bones offered a confirming, "Yes."

Taking a deep breath, Harry began dissecting the charges. "The International Statute of Secrecy, or ISOS, was established in 1692 to protect both witches and wizards from Muggles," he explained. "However, amendments were added in 1702 that carve out exceptions. Specifically, a witch or wizard married to a Muggle, or a Muggleborn witch or wizard, is allowed to openly display magic to their spouse or direct blood relatives."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. A murmur rippled through the courtroom, a sign that he had captured their attention.

With a flourish, Harry pulled out a prepared document. "For your reference," he announced, addressing both Fudge and Madam Bones, "I have compiled a list of the past six cases presented to the International Confederation of Wizards' court regarding ISOS breaches." He handed the parchment to Percy Weasley, the designated Court Scribe.

Madam Bones, with a flick of her wand and a muttered "Gemino," made copies of the document, ensuring each member of the Wizengamot received one. As the rustling of parchment filled the room, Harry continued.

"In four out of these six cases," he explained, "the Muggle witness was a direct blood relative or spouse of the accused. The amended law of 1702 played a crucial role in those verdicts, resulting in acquittal for the accused."

A sense of anticipation hung in the air. Harry's meticulous research was starting to pay off.

"And the most recent case," he added, his voice firm, "dates back to 1930. It involved Jacob Kowalski, a Muggle, his wife Queenie Kowalski nee Goldstein and our very own Newton Scamander versus the Magical Congress of the USA (MACUSA)." He paused for dramatic effect. "Mr. Kowalski, a Muggle, was married to an American witch. Charges were brought against his wife, Queenie Goldstein, and Mr. Newt Scamander, for breaching the ISOS by displaying magic in presence of Mr. Kowalski. However, the charges were ultimately dismissed, and both individuals were acquitted as it was proven in the ICW court that Mr. Kowalski was married to Miss. Goldstein and they were engaged even before that."

The room held its breath. The relevance of this case to Harry's situation was becoming increasingly clear.

"Now, consider my own circumstances," Harry pressed on, his voice resonating throughout the courtroom. "As an orphan, I have only one remaining blood relative – my aunt, Petunia Dursley, née Evans, my mother's sister."

A collective gasp resonated through the room. Harry had cleverly shifted the focus, reminding them of his tragic past and the unique circumstances that surrounded him.

"The Muggle witness in question," he continued, his voice laced with a hint of defiance, "was Dudley Dursley, son of Petunia and Vernon Dursley. He is, by definition, my cousin. And what's more," he added, a triumphant note creeping into his voice, "Dudley has been aware of magic since he was eleven years old."

Silence descended upon the courtroom. Harry's carefully constructed defense had shaken the very foundation of Fudge's accusations. With a flourish, he delivered the final blow.

"Therefore," he declared, his gaze sweeping over the assembled witches and wizards, "I ask this esteemed body: where, precisely, is the breach of the Statute of Secrecy?"

A hush fell over the room. Harry, in a compelling argument, had exposed the flaws in the Ministry's case. He had used his knowledge, his research, and his connection to a past case to weave a compelling defense. Fudge was fuming as Harry went on with his defense.

"To further strengthen my case," he continued, his voice ringing with confidence, "I would like to call Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to the witness stand."

All eyes turned towards the chair at the center of the courtroom. The fate of the trial now hinged not only on Harry's words but also on the testimony of the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts.

As Dumbledore rose from his seat with a gentle swish of his robes, Harry took charge.

"For the record," he began, his voice steady, "please state your full name and designation, sir."

Dumbledore, his beard shimmering under the torchlight, chuckled softly. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," he boomed, his voice filled with warmth. "Order of Merlin, First Class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Now, regarding the case at hand, can you confirm Mr. Dudley Dursley's awareness of magic?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Indeed, Mr. Potter," he replied. "Mr. Dudley Dursley has been aware of the existence of magic and Hogwarts for the past four years. His father, Vernon Dursley, became aware twelve years ago, and his mother, Petunia Dursley née Evans, has known since she was approximately eleven or twelve years old. Though, for precise dates, I would need to consult Hogwarts records."

Harry gave a satisfied nod. "Excellent, Headmaster. I believe that clarifies the first charge. Now for the Underage Magic charge-" He then launched into his next question.

"Now, during the 1992-1993 academic year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened and students were being petrified," he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "Minister Fudge personally arrested Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts at the time. When you argued for Hagrid's innocence and questioned the lack of evidence, Minister Fudge's response was, 'The Ministry has to be seen doing something.' Is this recollection accurate?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, Fudge sprang from his seat, his face contorted in fury. "Objection!" he bellowed. "That incident is utterly irrelevant to the current case! Mr. Potter, stick to the charges at hand!"

A tense silence descended upon the courtroom. Harry, however, remained calm. He turned to Amelia Bones, his gaze unwavering.

"Madam Bones," he addressed her, his voice carrying throughout the room, "grant me a few minutes, and I will demonstrate the relevance of this question to my defense."

Fudge, bristling with indignation, opened his mouth to protest again. But Amelia Bones cut him off with a firm voice.

"Let him speak, Minister," she declared. "If you disagree with the relevance after his explanation, we can put it to a vote."

Fudge slumped back in his seat, defeated. He knew with the tide turning in Harry's favor, a vote would likely go against him.

Harry, seizing the opportunity, turned back to Dumbledore "Please answer the question sir." Dumbledore nodded and replied "Yes, Mr. Potter he said exactly those same words." There were gasps in the court room.

"Headmaster," Harry continued undeterred, "during the 1993-1994 academic year, based on your knowledge, how many attempts did Sirius Black make to breach Hogwarts' defenses and gain access to the Gryffindor common room and dormitories?"

Dumbledore's expression grew grave. "Twice, Mr. Potter," he replied. "And on both occasions, his intent was to kill." Left unsaid was that Sirius wanted to kill Pettigrew but everyone in the court room assumed Black's intention was to kill Harry.

A gasp rippled through the Wizengamot. The revelation painted a picture of a desperate Harry, constantly under threat, far different from the image Fudge had portrayed.

Harry nodded curtly. "Finally, sir," he said, "is it true that Sirius Black managed to escape from hundreds of Dementors, despite being under a 'kiss on sight' order during June of 1994 right under Ministers nose from Hogwarts castle?"

Dumbledore's face softened with sadness. "Yes, Mr. Potter," he confirmed. "It was a most unfortunate event."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry concluded, his voice ringing with newfound power. He turned to the judges, his gaze sweeping across their faces. "Madam Bones my questions for Headmaster Dumbledore are done, Minister, and Madam Dolores Umbridge, would you like to cross-question Professor Dumbledore?"

Silence met his challenge. Amelia Bones looked on as Fudge shook his head, his expressions unreadable. Dolores Umbridge merely pursed her lips tightly, refusing to acknowledge Harry's request.

Fudge, however, was a picture of confusion. He had expected a straightforward case of a young wizard breaking the law. Instead, Harry had turned the tables, painting himself as a victim and exposing Fudge's Ministry as more concerned with appearances than truth. The carefully crafted questions about past events, seemingly unrelated, were now starting to make sense. But exactly how they fit into Harry's defense remained to be seen.

Harry then turned to Amelia and said "Madam Bones, i would like to call my next witness, minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge".

A wave of pandemonium erupted in the courtroom as Harry finished his sentence. Fudge, his face contorted in disbelief, sprang to his feet, a flurry of outrage. "You can't do that, boy!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You can't call me, the Minister of Magic, to stand as a witness! Foolish child!"

Murmurs of surprise and confusion rippled through the Wizengamot. This was unprecedented. Never before had an accused dared to call a prosecutor as a witness, let alone the Minister himself. Even Dumbledore, ever composed, couldn't hide his astonishment. Did Harry not understand the implications? He wouldn't be able to force Fudge to take Veritaserum, the truth serum.

Before the courtroom could descend into utter chaos, Amelia Bones slammed her gavel onto the table, the resounding bang echoing through the room. "Silence!" she commanded, her voice laced with authority. "Maintain decorum in this court!"

A hush fell over the room. Fudge, his face still flushed with anger, sputtered, "This is outrageous! He can't—"

Harry, however, remained calm, his voice steady despite the commotion. "Before I explain the reasoning behind my request, Minister," he interrupted, "I would like to point out that you have once again broken the decorum of this court by addressing me as 'boy' and 'foolish child.' I request that this esteemed body consider appropriate action for such blatant disregard for the court's rules."

A murmur of agreement washed through the Wizengamot. Fudge's outburst had indeed been a breach of protocol. But Harry wasn't done. He pressed on, his voice gaining strength with every word.

"Furthermore," he continued, addressing the entire court, "this is a trial, not a disciplinary hearing. And according to the Wizengamot Charter's amendment of 1496, which the esteemed members can find on page eight, paragraph four, line two," he paused for effect, "and I quote he said making quotation marks in air with his fingers: 'In the event of a trial, the accused/defendant may call upon any person present in the court premises to stand as witness. The witness is then obligated to answer all questions posed truthfully to the utmost of their abilities, though not necessarily under the influence of Veritaserum.'"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Harry finished his statement, his gaze sweeping across the stunned faces of the judges, Fudge, and Amelia Bones. The revelation hung heavy in the air. Harry, it seemed, had not lost his mind – he had meticulously researched the rules and was playing a daring, calculated game. The possibility of forcing Fudge to answer his questions, even without Veritaserum, was a prospect that sent a shiver of anticipation through the courtroom.

Amelia Bones, ever the voice of reason and procedure, took charge. Holding the Wizengamot Charter aloft, she skimmed through the pages until reaching the specified section. A murmur of anticipation rippled through the courtroom as she scanned the text. Finally, she lowered the charter with a resolute nod.

"Mr. Potter's statement is indeed accurate," she declared, her voice ringing with authority. "The accused has the right to call upon any individual present in the courtroom as a witness."

Fudge's face contorted. He had initially dismissed Harry's tactic as foolish, but the weight of the law staring him down was undeniable. He snatched the charter from Amelia's grasp, his eyes flitting across the relevant passage. A flicker of fear, quickly masked by bluster, betrayed his true emotions.

"The law is the law!" he bellowed, puffing out his chest in a pathetic attempt to regain control. "It applies to everyone, even the Minister of Magic!"

A collective sigh swept through the Wizengamot. Fudge's pompous declaration, while technically true, did little to dispel the growing sense of unease.

"Very well," he conceded, his voice tight with forced bravado. "I shall take the stand as a witness."

A triumphant grin, sharp as a shark's tooth, flashed across Harry's face. 'Checkmate,' he thought, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him. He had successfully lured Fudge into his trap. Now, it was time to dismantle the Minister's façade and expose the truth before the entire Wizengamot.

Fudge lumbered down from his podium, his steps heavy with a sense of impending doom. As he settled into the witness chair, Harry, all business now, began.

"For the record," he stated, his voice clear and controlled, "please state your full name and designation, sir."

Fudge puffed up his chest, a shred of his former arrogance returning. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Order of Merlin, First Class, Minister of Magic of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland," he declared pompously.

A wave of hushed murmurs rippled through the courtroom. The revelation that Fudge, despite his current failings, held such a prestigious honor like order of merlin surprised many. But the moment was fleeting. Harry, unfazed, pressed on.

"Minister," he began, his voice laced with a hint of challenge, "before we delve into the specifics, would you be willing to take Veritaserum, the truth serum?"

Fudge bristled, his face reddening with indignation. "Absolutely not!" he roared. "I will not be subjected to such a barbaric practice! Nor am I obligated to do so. Ask your questions, Potter. This charade of a defense has gone on long enough!"

Disgruntled murmurs filled the room. Fudge's blatant disregard for protocol and his refusal of Veritaserum spoke volumes about his confidence, or rather, the lack thereof. Harry, however, remained undeterred.

"That's perfectly alright, Minister," he replied, a sly smile playing on his lips. "We can still achieve a lot without the serum. Now, let's begin with a simple question. Do you agree with the testimony provided by Headmaster Dumbledore regarding the events that transpired during the 1992-1993 academic year?"

Fudge hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting nervously around the courtroom. Trapped by the legalities and Harry's shrewd questioning, he finally muttered, "Yes."

A triumphant glint shone in Harry's eyes. "Excellent," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, you acknowledge saying, and I quote, 'The Ministry has to be seen doing something'?"

Fudge, caught in the snare of his own words, spluttered, "Look here, Mr. Potter, you don't understand the complexities of the situation! There were public pressures, ongoing investigations..."

Before he could continue his desperate backpedaling, Harry cut him off with a booming voice. "Yes or no, Minister!" he demanded. "I did not ask for your explanations. Did you say those words?"

Fudge, cornered and frustrated, mumbled a defeated, "Yes."

The tension in the courtroom was palpable. Harry had successfully maneuvered Fudge into admitting his department's priorities – appearances over justice. A wave of disappointment and disillusionment washed through the assembled witches and wizards.

"So, Minister," Harry continued, his voice laced with righteous anger, "you believed it was more important for the Ministry to be seen taking action, regardless of the truth? Arresting an innocent man, Rubeus Hagrid, without proper evidence, solely based on past suspicions, and throwing him into Azkaban – a fate worse than death – was acceptable in your eyes, wasn't it?"

Dolores Umbridge, unable to contain her outrage any longer, shrieked from her seat, "Objection! That question is entirely irrelevant to the case at hand!"

Ignoring Umbridge's outburst, Harry turned to Amelia Bones, his gaze pleading. "Madam Bones," he addressed her, "I assure you, the relevance of this line of questioning will become clear very soon. All I ask is for this esteemed body's permission to continue."

Amelia Bones, clearly conflicted, surveyed the room. The tension was palpable. Finally, she raised her gavel.

"All those opposed to Mr. Potter continuing his line of questioning?" she declared, her voice ringing through the chamber.

A scant dozen wands illuminated the darkened room. Relief washed over Harry. With the court's approval, he could finally expose the truth behind Fudge's actions and its connection to his own case.

"Thank you, Madam Bones," Harry acknowledged, a grateful smile playing on his lips. He turned back to Fudge, his voice firm.

"Now, Minister," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "when did you first meet the accused, Harry Potter?"

Fudge, fuming at Harry getting his way with Amelia, puffed out his chest and began, "It was during August of 1993, though I can't recall the exact date. Ministry records would have to be consulted as it was..."

But Harry cut him off again, his voice firm. "The precise date isn't important, Minister. Where did this meeting take place?"

Fudge, bristling at the relentless questioning, snapped, "It was a room at the Leaky Cauldron!"

"And under what circumstances, Minister?" Harry pressed on, his gaze unwavering.

Sensing an opportunity to paint Harry in a negative light, Fudge replied, "The accused had just performed underage magic on his aunt, a Mrs. Petunia Dursley, inflating her like a balloon! I was personally involved in sending Obliviators to ensure the Statute of Secrecy remained intact."

Harry, however, remained unfazed. "Was this the first instance of underage magic Mr. Potter performed after arriving at Hogwarts?" he countered, his voice laced with a hint of challenge.

Fudge hesitated, caught off guard by the question. "No," he mumbled, "it was his second offense."

A triumphant smile spread across Harry's face. "Then why wasn't Mr. Potter brought before a disciplinary hearing after the second offense, Minister? That is generally the procedure, isn't it?" he inquired, his voice ringing through the courtroom.

Fudge sputtered, unable to formulate a coherent answer. The carefully constructed narrative he'd envisioned was crumbling before his eyes.

Harry, seizing the moment, continued his relentless questioning. "Who paid for the room at the Leaky Cauldron, Minister?"

"I… I did," Fudge stammered, his confidence waning.

"For how many days?" Harry pressed on, his voice sharp.

"Until the end of August," Fudge responded, hoping to deflect from the previous question.

Harry's grin widened, turning almost predatory. "Minister," he began, his voice low and dangerous, "do you have any familial ties to Mr. Potter?"

"Of course not! None whatsoever!" Fudge blustered, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Then why, Minister," Harry continued, his voice laced with accusation, "did you, out of all the Hogwarts students, take it upon yourself to cover the cost of my summer lodging?"

Fudge's face flushed crimson. "Because… because Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban and was actively hunting you, Potter! I was doing you a favor by providing you with safe lodgings," he sputtered.

The air crackled with tension. Harry's smile, however, became a chilling grimace. "So, Minister," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you were worried about the consequences of your own department's failings – letting a notorious mass murderer escape from a supposedly inescapable prison. Did you think bribing the last living Potter into silence would absolve you of your incompetence?"

A collective gasp rippled through the Wizengamot. Harry's words were a scathing indictment of Fudge's actions, laying bare the Minister's self-serving motives.

"And that's why you conveniently ignored, or perhaps I should say, covered up, the charges of underage magic, isn't that right, Minister?" Harry continued, his voice rising in anger. "Magic that, by the way, was performed completely unintentionally, due to extreme emotional distress, and without the use of a wand – on a very unpleasant woman named Marge Dursley who is the sister of Veron Dursley and not on Petunia Dursley who is my mother's sister. I request the court scribe to make a special note that the minister fails to remember the names of persons even in those cases he was personally involved." Amelia nodded and Percy reluctantly made the note.

Fudge shrank back in his chair, his face a mask of shame and fear. Harry had exposed the truth – his desperate attempt to control the narrative and deflect blame had backfired spectacularly.

"But as always, Minister," Harry concluded, his voice cold and unforgiving, "your primary concern was protecting your own career, not the truth or the well-being of a child."

Fudge, flustered and sweating, stammered a defense. "Black… Black was a powerful wizard, you see! We still don't know how he escaped Azkaban, but he was You-Know-Who's right-hand man! A cunning dark wizard…"

Harry, seizing the opportunity, pressed on. "So, Minister," he said, his voice calm but firm, "you're suggesting Black has some special ability to evade Dementors? Is that how he supposedly bypassed them at Hogwarts as well?"

Fudge, grasping at straws, latched onto Harry's question. "Exactly! Black undoubtedly possesses some dark magic that allows him to hoodwink Dementors."

A sly smile played on Harry's lips. "Interesting," he mused. "Dementors, who served under Voldemort during the last war, isn't that right, Minister?"

Fudge, trapped in his own web of deceit, could only nod stiffly.

"So," Harry continued, his voice gaining momentum, "the Dark Lord himself could command Dementors during the war?"

"Yes," Fudge mumbled, his face growing paler with each question. He couldn't say "no" to this question as everyone in the room know it was a lie.

"Wouldn't it be reasonable to assume, then," Harry pressed, "that Black, Voldemort's closest confidante, perhaps learned this very skill – controlling Dementors – from his master?"

Fudge remained silent, the truth of where harry was taking the case dawning on him like a horrifying revelation.

Harry delivered the final blow. "Then, wouldn't it be entirely possible," he declared, his voice ringing through the courtroom, "that Black, believing me to be his master's downfall, used this very skill to command a few Dementors to attack me and my cousin? And wouldn't acting in self-defense, using a Patronus Charm to repel those Dementors, be a completely justified action?"

Fudge sputtered, his carefully constructed narrative collapsing around him. "Now, wait a minute, Potter! You're twisting the truth…"

Harry cut him off, his voice rising in righteous anger. "Who's twisting the truth, Minister? Who?" He then turned to Amelia Bones, his voice heavy with sincerity.

"Madam Bones," he addressed her, "that is precisely what transpired. My cousin and I were viciously attacked by Dementors, leaving me with no choice but to employ a Patronus Charm to protect ourselves."

With that, Harry sank back into his chair, a sense of calm settling over him. The room was silent, the tension thick. Amelia Bones turned her gaze to a defeated Fudge, who slumped back into his seat.

"Minister," she began, her voice firm, "Mr. Potter, if you would please, your closing statements."

Fudge, his voice shaky growing steady, addressed the Wizengamot. "Esteemed members of the Wizengamot," he began, "we are gathered here today to uphold the laws that govern and protect us… and Mr. Potter stands accused of blatantly breaking those laws. He seeks to exploit loopholes in the system to try and escape justice. I ask you all to ensure that justice is served and the reputation of ministry is preserved."

His voice trailed off, his words hollow and unconvincing. Harry's masterful dismantling of his arguments had left the Minister's case in tatters. Even Fudge's most ardent supporters found themselves questioning his version of events.

Amelia then turned to Harry, all eyes on him. He had captured the court's attention, and the weight of their judgment hung heavy in the air.

In a hushed courtroom, Harry rose to address the esteemed members of the Wizengamot. His voice, though steady, resonated with the weight of his experiences.

"Respected members of the Wizengamot," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room, "noble lords and ladies, you who uphold the very pillars of justice, I implore you to lend me your ears."

A pregnant pause hung in the air. Harry wasn't just appealing to their sense of law; he was reaching for their humanity.

"A mere boy," he continued, his voice laced with a hint of sorrow, "marked by the tragedy of his parents' betrayal and murder. Fate turned him into a hero – a child labelled as such simply because a dark lord failed to snuff out his life."

He painted a picture of an innocent childhood shrouded in ignorance, a stark contrast to the magical world he'd only recently embraced.

"For eleven years," Harry explained, "I was raised in the muggle world, oblivious to my heritage, to the magic simmering beneath the surface."

He then transitioned to the dangers that had become his constant companions.

"Returning to this world of wonder," he said, "I learned within just two years that the one who betrayed my parents escaped and is roaming free and would be coming after me. Despite assurances from the very Minister who governs us, the culprit remained at large, jeopardizing the entire next generation of witches and wizards." Harry was reminding that none of their children or grandchildren were safe.

A flicker of anger ignited in his voice.

"And escape after escape," he pressed on, "this culprit thrived on the Ministry's incompetence. From the chaos at the Quidditch World Cup to the treacherous Goblet of Fire, where my name entered a deadly tournament, my life was at constant risk – all under the watchful eye of a Ministry blind to its own failings."

The air crackled with unspoken accusations. Harry was not just defending himself; he was exposing a festering wound within the Ministry.

"Now," he declared, his voice rising in intensity, "I am attacked by Dementors, yet the true culprit remains elusive! The Ministry, however, chooses to hide these facts."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

"They prioritize appearances over action," he stated with a touch of disdain. "'Be seen doing something,' they say, even if it means sacrificing the truth and scapegoating a child – a child who dares to question why the one responsible for his parents' demise walks free!"

Harry's voice reached a crescendo as he reached the heart of his argument.

"Is this the level of incompetence and corruption we are to tolerate?" he roared, his eyes flashing with righteous indignation. "I claim a sacking of his position for the Minister Fudge!" he declared, pointing a finger at a visibly shaken Fudge. "An inquiry under competent authority is the least this esteemed body can do!"

As the final words left Harry's lips, a stunned silence descended upon the courtroom. The color drained from Fudge's face. He knew the accusations of personal failings wouldn't stick – the trial was about the underage magic. But Harry had ignited a spark. His impassioned speech exposed a vulnerability within the Ministry's carefully constructed facade. The Wizengamot members exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable.

Harry, his voice now softer but no less resolute, concluded, "I rest my case, respected members. Madam Bones, I await your judgment."

The silence stretched on, thick with anticipation. The weight of Harry's words hung heavy in the air. One thing was certain – the trial had taken an unexpected turn, one that could potentially shake the very foundation of the Ministry of Magic.

A spell of silence over the courtroom broke as Amelia Bones emerged from her stunned stupor. The tension was palpable, thick with the weight of Harry's powerful closing statement. Finally, she spoke, her voice laced with authority.

"Respected members of the Wizengamot," she declared, "the time for voting has come. The first charge: guilty of a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy?"

A tense silence followed. Then, hesitantly, a few scattered wands illuminated the room. Amelia, her gaze sharp, surveyed the votes. Harry, his heart pounding in his chest, scanned the faces of the Wizengamot members, gauging their reactions.

"The count is clear," Amelia announced. "Less than a dozen votes for guilty." She diligently recorded the results.

Without missing a beat, she proceeded to the next charge. "Guilty of a breach of the Restriction of Underage Magic?"

The result mirrored the previous vote. Only a handful of unwavering Fudge loyalists raised their wands.

A triumphant smile played on Harry's lips. He had overcome the odds, turning the tables on Fudge and exposing the Ministry's incompetence.

Amelia banged the gavel, the resounding sound echoing through the courtroom. "Harry James Potter," she pronounced, her voice ringing with finality, "you are hereby cleared of all charges. This case is dismissed."

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the crowd. Harry let out a shaky breath, the weight of the trial finally lifting from his shoulders. He met Dumbledore's gaze across the room, the old wizard offering a reassuring nod and a twinkle in his eye.

"I believe, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying over the murmur of the dispersing crowd, "that Arthur Weasley is waiting for you outside the courtroom. I have some additional matters to attend to here at the Ministry."

Harry nodded in understanding, a grateful smile playing on his lips. He found Arthur pacing anxiously outside the courtroom doors.

"Harry!" Arthur exclaimed, his face etched with worry. "What happened? Dumbledore wasn't late, was he?"

"No, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied with a grin. "The good news is, I'm cleared of all charges!"

Relief washed over Arthur's face as he pulled Harry into a tight hug. "Merlin's beard, Harry, we were worried sick! Now come on, let's get you out of here."

Inside, Amelia Bones approached Dumbledore, her expression a mixture of surprise and admiration.

"You've trained him well, Headmaster," she remarked.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Actually, Amelia, I haven't been your Headmaster for some years now, so call me Albus. Harry's victory was all his own doing – a testament to his research, wit, and courage."

Amelia was genuinely shocked. "He… he conducted his own research?" she stammered.

Augusta Longbottom, who had approached to congratulate Dumbledore, echoed Amelia's surprise. "If that's the case, Albus," she said, her voice filled with respect, "he'd make one heck of an advocate! The way he turned the case around… When Fudge first read the charges, and the boy was just sitting there, agreeing to everything, I feared the worst. But the way he flipped the tables – his questioning, his closing statement… what an oration!"

A slow smile spread across Dumbledore's face. Harry, it seemed, had not only secured his freedom but had also inadvertently ignited a spark of change within the Ministry walls. His courage and resourcefulness had not only impressed the Wizengamot but had also hinted at a potential future leader, one who championed truth and justice. The seeds of a new era, perhaps, had been sown that very day in the Wizengamot courtroom.