Chapter Seven
Peverell Castle – 31st July 1987
The study of Peverell Castle was dimly lit, the flickering light of a single candle casting long shadows across the stone walls. James Potter entered the room with a heavy sigh, his frustration palpable. His footsteps were muffled against the plush carpet that covered the cold, hard floor. The air was thick with the musty scent of old parchment and the faint, lingering aroma of burnt candles from the day's earlier activity.
The desk was cluttered with papers and parchments, each one detailing the consequences of Albus Dumbledore's so-called 'Good Intentions.' The papers were strewn about, revealing a tapestry of Dumbledore's actions—or inactions—that had either subtly improved or actively driven away those who sought equality in the magical world. The edges of the parchment were yellowed and frayed, the ink darkened with age. The faint scratch of James's fingers as he rifled through the papers was the only sound in the room, apart from the occasional rustle of parchment.
Lily had started this collection in an attempt to shed light on Dumbledore's policies. Her meticulous notes and observations chronicled the failure to return family heirlooms and the stubborn resistance against bills that sought to promote Muggleborns and magical creatures. The refusal to return James's father's cloak had been the breaking point. James's initial polite requests had turned into heated confrontations at Hogwarts, culminating in a very public demand for the cloak's return or legal action for theft—a move that placed him squarely against Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.
As James studied the papers, trying to piece together a pattern in Dumbledore's decisions, the room seemed to close in on him. His frustration grew with each passing minute. He noticed how Dumbledore would support laws that served the greater good but would scuttle any attempts to increase Muggleborn representation or offer them significant roles in the wizarding world. The papers felt cold and unyielding beneath his fingers, each word a stark reminder of the systemic issues he was up against.
Unnoticed by James, Sirius Black entered the room, his presence announced by the soft creak of the door. "Any luck with the old man?" Sirius's voice was low, laced with concern.
James looked up, his face a storm of frustration. "No, he still refuses to hand over the cloak or acknowledge what we are trying to do."
Sirius nodded, his expression grim. "Well, the others have arrived."
James followed Sirius out of the study and down the dimly lit corridor to the sitting room. The soft murmur of conversation greeted him as he entered the room, where the leading members of the Abbott, Bones, Delacour, Greengrass, Longbottom, and Parkinson families, along with Remus Lupin, were gathered. The room was warm, its air filled with the comforting aroma of simmering stew and fresh bread from the nearby kitchen. James could hear the clinking of teacups and the rustling of robes as he approached his guests.
"Thank you all for coming, and welcome to my home," James said, his voice firm but welcoming.
One of the guests, Lord Parkinson, looked around with an appreciative nod. "Yes, it is lovely. Tell me, how did the Potters come to own the ancient home of a house that traces its lineage back to the Roman Empire?"
James gestured to the grandiose surroundings. "Because, my Lord Parkinson, the Potters share a similar heritage. Linfred, one of the last of the Roman descendants, married Hardwin Potter, who in turn married the daughter of Ignotus Peverell."
Amelia Bones interjected, her tone thoughtful. "The youngest Peverell brother, rumored to hold Death's own cloak of invisibility, if one believes in legends, of course."
"And that is why I have invited you all here," James continued, his voice steady. "There are those who believe in these so-called legends and feel entitled to items like the Peverell Cloak due to their positions within our society."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, with many glances directed towards Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore—names associated with the high positions and ambitions that might drive them to seek out Peverell relics.
"Before we continue, I would like to invite you all to stay for dinner," James offered, his tone warm despite the underlying tension. "It is rare these days for House Potters to entertain anyone, and I would be honored."
"House Longbottom would be honored to stay for dinner," Frank Longbottom responded with a nod, his voice a deep rumble.
"Thank you, Frank, and of course, Alice and your boy Neville are welcome," James said, his voice softening with genuine warmth.
Frank nodded and flooed to Longbottom Hall to inform his family. Amelia Bones, in turn, stood to floo her niece Susan. The air was filled with the faint whoosh of magic as they used the Floo Network.
James turned to Nicolas Delacour. "Let us call this what it really is, James. You want to form an alliance."
James sighed, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on him. "I could never hide anything from you, Nicolas, not even when we were in school. Yes, Sirius and I wish for all of you to help us form an independent coalition of powerful houses—one that can help lead our society forward and join the Muggles in the twentieth century."
"Bold words, Monsieur Potter," Delacour replied, his accent thick but his voice firm. "But to change the world, one must be bold."
"Thank you, Monsieur Delacour."
"Please, call me Jean-Christophe or Jean."
"Then I insist you call me James."
Jean-Christophe nodded, and his wife, Apolline, began gathering their daughters. One by one, the families flooed back with their responses. Marcus Parkinson returned last, accompanied by his daughter Pansy. Pansy, with her small frame and dark hair, reminded James of Harry. Her birthday, James remembered, was on August 31st, the same year as Harry's.
Once everyone was settled again, James took his place at the head of the room. The conversation resumed, filled with the crackle of anticipation and the soft clinking of cups and silverware.
"Let's begin," James said, his voice cutting through the murmur of voices as the meeting finally got underway.
~ Scene Break ~
Wizengamot Meeting, Ministry of Magic – 5th August 1987
The echo of a gavel striking the wooden podium reverberated through the grand chamber of the Wizengamot. The room, with its high, vaulted ceiling and opulent, ornate decor, was filled with the murmur of hushed conversations. The scent of old parchment and polished wood mingled with the faint aroma of ink and candle wax. Dumbledore's commanding voice cut through the noise, crisp and authoritative.
"Order, order. We are gathered here today on the Fifth of August, Nineteen Eighty-Seven, to vote on the new bill that will see more restrictions put in place upon both the Werewolf populations and the employment opportunities for Muggleborns," Dumbledore announced, his voice resonant and firm. The gentle rustle of robes and the shuffle of papers created a background symphony to his words.
As Dumbledore spoke, members of the Wizengamot continued their low conversations, their voices a murmur of curiosity and discontent. The air was thick with the tension of anticipation, punctuated by the occasional creak of leather chairs as people shifted.
The bill's presenters stood from their seats, their movements deliberate and measured. Lucius Malfoy, with his trademark pale skin and aristocratic demeanor, approached the center of the room. The weight of his presence was almost tangible, a quiet confidence exuding from him as he prepared to speak. The rustling of robes and the soft tap of his polished shoes against the stone floor were the only sounds as he took his place.
"Lord Lucius Malfoy, Chief Warlock, will present the bill concerning the oversight of employment for Muggleborns," the voice of the court clerk announced, each word crisp in the still air.
"Lord Malfoy is recognized," came the response, a series of nods and murmurs following.
Lucius Malfoy's voice, smooth and authoritative, filled the room. "Members of the council, as more and more Muggleborns enter our world, it is imperative that we, as pure-bloods and long-standing members of the Wizarding World, demonstrate that there are limits to their advancement. It is crucial that the most significant positions within our society remain within the hands of those who are truly worthy."
The chamber buzzed with whispers, a wave of conversation breaking out as members shifted in their seats. James Potter, flanked by Sirius Black and Marcus Parkinson, drew significant attention. The scent of heated debate was almost palpable in the air.
A voice cut through the murmur. "But who, Lord Malfoy, is worthy?"
"Lord James Charlus Potter is recognized," came the reply, his voice tinged with an edge of challenge.
The room's atmosphere shifted, the whispers growing louder, mixing with the faint clink of silverware from the nearby refreshment tables. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and contemplation as he observed James's confrontation with Lucius.
"Be that as it may," Lucius continued, his tone unyielding, "Muggleborns will never fully understand our society."
"And why is that, Lord Malfoy?" James's voice cut through the tension, clear and resonant.
"They must learn that they will never be as good as a Pure-blood," Lucius declared, his voice filled with the conviction of his beliefs.
James's rebuttal was sharp and decisive. "Wrong. The reason Muggleborns are seen as inferior is because some Pure-blood families cling to their so-called power as if it could save their houses from extinction." His words carried a weight that seemed to hang in the air, causing heads to turn and murmurs to ripple through the room. "House Potter learned early on that without introducing new magical blood, a family will quickly fade into obscurity."
Dumbledore surveyed the chamber, his gaze shifting from the animated faces around him to the considerable number of known allies surrounding James. The atmosphere was charged with a palpable sense of impending change, the subtle scents of tension and determination mixing in the air.
"Time to vote on Lord Malfoy's bill," Dumbledore announced, his voice slicing through the clamor. The gavel struck the podium again, the sharp sound signaling the start of the voting process.
~ Scene Break ~
After an hour of heated debate and a cacophony of voices, the gavel struck with finality, signaling the end of the voting session. The chamber was heavy with the scent of polished wood and the faint aroma of the herbal teas provided earlier. The bill, with its far-reaching implications, had been decisively voted down by the majority. Lucius Malfoy slumped back into his seat, his expression dark and thunderous, a stark contrast to the earlier veneer of control and superiority.
Dumbledore's voice broke the silence, a mix of surprise and reluctance in his tone. "Next, we have a bill from…" His eyes widened slightly as he read the name attached to the bill, "the Potter-Black Alliance. Lord Potter, please inform us of the details of your bill."
James Potter rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and measured. A smirk played on his lips as he addressed the assembly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and confidence. "Of course, Chief Warlock. The first part of the bill proposes to grant Muggleborns, as well as those currently classified as Magical Creatures—Goblins, Centaurs, and even House Elves—the option to become equal members of the Wizarding World. The second part seeks to allocate additional funds to both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Mysteries. These are distinct issues within the larger bill, allowing this council to choose which part to vote on at this time."
A wave of discontent surged through the chamber. The air grew charged with the heated whispers and angry mutterings of traditionalists and Dark sympathizers. The pungent scent of frustration mixed with the acrid tang of spilled ink from the hurriedly scribbled notes.
Dumbledore's voice cut through the clamor, a commanding roar. "SILENCE!" The room fell abruptly quiet, the only sounds being the rustle of parchment and the faint creaking of chairs as members shifted in their seats. "Lord Potter has given this body a choice, so let us choose. A show of wands if you wish to vote for part one of the bill, which focuses on granting greater equality to Magical Creatures..."
James observed as very few wands were raised, their tips glowing faintly in the dim light of the chamber. The lack of support for this part of the bill was palpable, a stark reminder of the deep-seated prejudices still held by many. James's inner voice echoed with a quiet satisfaction: Point Potter-Black Alliance.
"And now, a show of wands for the second part of the bill," Dumbledore continued, "which focuses on increasing the funding for both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Mysteries."
The response was almost overwhelming. Wands lit up in a near landslide of support, the glow creating a warm, flickering light that contrasted sharply with the earlier tension. James's gaze swept across the room, noting the solid backing from key allies like Parkinson, Greengrass, Longbottom, and Bones. The enthusiasm for the second part of the bill was evident. With this support, James felt confident that part two would succeed in the Magical United Kingdom. Meanwhile, he knew that Monsieur Delacour would champion the first part across the Channel in Magical France.
~ Scene Break ~
Dumbledore made his way toward the group where James Potter was being showered with congratulations. The murmur of voices and the faint clinking of glasses created a backdrop of subdued celebration. The room's warmth, a stark contrast to the cool, shadowed hallway Dumbledore had just left, was tinged with the mingling scents of polished wood and the faint aroma of old parchment.
James, bathed in the soft glow of the chandelier overhead, was surrounded by a few key supporters. His face was flushed with triumph, a smirk tugging at his lips. Dumbledore approached, his robes rustling softly, and his eyes gleaming with a mixture of forced cheerfulness and concealed irritation.
"Ah, James, my boy," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying a smooth, honeyed tone. "I must say, the way you maneuvered the council to pass part of your bill was quite impressive for someone so new to the political stage."
James turned to face him, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "It was simple really," he replied, his tone casual and self-assured. "I paired what I wanted with something so outrageous and over the top that they had no choice but to vote in my favor. Much like a game of chess, wouldn't you say, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore's face was a mask of geniality, but his eyes betrayed a storm brewing beneath. The twinkle in his gaze, usually so warm and inviting, now seemed like flashes of lightning behind a clouded sky. He forced a smile, though it did little to mask the tension that rippled through his demeanor.
"How very astute of you, James," Dumbledore replied, his voice steady but edged with an underlying current of displeasure. "I've heard that you are still searching for young Harry. It was my understanding that we had agreed to wait until his first year at Hogwarts."
James's expression darkened, the triumph fading as he faced the Headmaster. The room seemed to contract with his growing frustration. "No, Professor," he said, his voice low and resolute. "You agreed that we would wait, but I never agreed to stand idly by. I will do anything and everything within my power—and beyond—to be reunited with my son."
Dumbledore's face softened slightly, though the strain was evident in the creases of his forehead. "James, please understand that I only have the best of intentions—"
James cut him off, his voice rising with an edge of fierce determination. "You know what the Muggles say about the so-called 'best of intentions.' They say, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions.' So I'd be careful, Professor, or you might find yourself labeled as the villain rather than the hero."
With that, James turned sharply on his heel, his robes swishing behind him. Sirius and Marcus followed, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The room's warmth seemed to recede as the door closed behind them, leaving Dumbledore standing alone amidst the fading echoes of celebration, blinking in stunned silence.