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The courtroom loomed before Harry Potter, casting a chilling aura that seemed to emanate from its very core. It was as if the walls themselves were privy to his destiny, whispering his fate with every breath. But Harry, unyielding and resolute, refused to succumb to the oppressive atmosphere. He had already emerged victorious, his name cleared of any wrongdoing.

Cornelius Fudge, perched upon his towering podium at the centre of the stands, barked at Harry with an air of self-satisfaction. His voice echoed through the room, staining the air with disdain, as if relishing the opportunity to besmirch Harry's reputation.

"You're late," Fudge spat, his eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. He savoured the chance to tarnish the hero's image, revelling in his own authority.

"It would appear so," Harry responded, his tone cool and collected. "The Ministry's abrupt alteration of the schedule caught me off guard, and the protective enchantments at my current abode proved rather finicky when confronted with unauthorised owls. But I stand before you now, fully prepared to embark upon this hearing."

With a confidence that bordered on audacity, Harry swaggered toward the chair situated at the room's epicentre. He gracefully removed his suit jacket, draping it across the back of the chair with a flamboyant flourish. Dust particles danced in the air as he ostentatiously brushed off the arms, the metallic clang of the chains resounding through the chamber. Finally, he settled into the seat, emitting a contented sigh that betrayed his unyielding resolve.

Fudge scowled, realising the shrewdness of Harry's observation. It would not bode well for the Minister of Magic to question the impenetrable privacy wards shielding a noble family's heir. Particularly when numerous members of the esteemed Wizengamot relied on similar safeguards.

"Very well," Fudge grumbled begrudgingly. "Since the accused is now present, let the proceedings commence. Is the court scribe prepared?"

"Yes, sir," squeaked Percy Weasley, perched at the edge of the front bench, his eagerness palpable.

"Disciplinary hearing of the 12th of August, pertaining to the violations committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery by the name of Harry James Potter, dwelling at the distinguished address of number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey," Fudge intoned, his voice laced with self-importance.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, his voice unwavering and measured. "I reside there with my aunt, uncle, and cousin."

As the hearing commenced, a faint thud resonated against the door, a subtle disturbance that only Harry noticed. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, the result of his successful wandless locking charm. It was a clever little trick, designed to keep Dumbledore preoccupied, if only for a few precious moments.

"Now then," Fudge pressed on, his voice laden with authority. "The inquisitors presiding over this trial shall be none other than myself, Amelia Bones, and Dolores Umbridge. Percy Weasley shall serve as our Court Scribe. Any objections or additional statements to be made?"

Harry rose from his seat, his tone infused with an unwavering determination. "Minister Fudge, Madam Bones, I intend to represent myself in this hearing. I plead my innocence, invoking the protection of Clause 7 within the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic. The magic in question, a Patronus Charm, was cast solely in defence of myself and my cousin—"

Fudge interrupted him abruptly, thrusting an accusatory finger in Harry's direction. "So, you openly admit to employing underage magic in the presence of a Muggle! I move to escalate the charges, accusing you of violating the sacred Statute of Secrecy. This motion is passed with the full authority vested in the Chief Warlock." A sharp strike of the gavel punctuated Fudge's declaration, and his gaze shifted to Umbridge, an insidious grin curving his lips.

"Minister Fudge, this is entirely improper!" protested a woman with a distinguished salt-and-pepper coiffure, her monocle perched precariously on her nose. "To amend the charges during a trial, the approval of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is an absolute prerequisite. I, for one, do not endorse this change!" Harry allowed himself a private smile, for he knew all too well that riling up Amelia Bones against Fudge required but a modicum of effort—and her opposition would prove invaluable to his cause.

Fudge's smug countenance morphed into a sneer, his arrogance oozing from every pore. Robes billowing with self-importance, he adjusted them ostentatiously, his disdain for the witch seated across him palpable. "That rule applies to a lower court, Madam Bones," he drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "As the acting Chief Warlock, I possess full authority over the esteemed Wizengamot. I endorse these amendments and proceed with the interrogation of the accused. Mr. Potter, do you confess to casting a spell in the presence of a Muggle?"

With a racing heart, Harry nodded, his pulse pounding in his chest like a captive bird. "I was merely defending myself and my cousin against two Dementors, sir," he replied, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. "My cousin is aware of the existence of magic, rendering him exempt from any breach of the Statute of Secrecy."

Fudge's rage flared, the colour draining from his face like paint stripped off a wall. "That was not the question posed, Mr. Potter!" he roared, his voice reverberating through the chamber. "Such testimony shall be expunged from the official record!"

Undeterred, Harry forged ahead, his determination unyielding. "It is abundantly clear, Minister, that your aim is to assail me, as I should have foreseen after the Dementor attack. After all, as you yourself sanctioned, the Dementors fall under the direct jurisdiction of the Ministry. You authorised the execution of the Azkaban escapee, Barty Crouch Jr., without so much as a semblance of a trial."

"No evidence supports the claim that it was Crouch," Fudge spat back, his voice seething with indignation. "And even if it were true, the Dementor's Kiss is the prescribed punishment for absconding from Azkaban, hence no crime would have been committed. As it stands, the Dementor fulfilled its role as my personal guardian, shielding me from a perilous lunatic who sought to attack me. This shall be disregarded and expunged from the official record!"

Amelia Bones, her fury simmering beneath a veneer of composed restraint, finally interjected before Fudge could continue his vitriolic diatribe. "Mr. Potter," she interposed, her voice resolute yet measured, "are you asserting the presence of Dementors at the scene?"

Harry gave Madam Bones a resolute nod, his eyes ablaze with determination. "There were two of them, Madam," he said, his voice steady and firm. "Two bloody Dementors. My cousin and I were just taking a jog in a park near Little Whinging when those soul-sucking abominations descended upon us, right before the sun went down. I barely managed to whip out my wand and cast a corporeal Patronus before they could suck out my cousin's soul."

Fudge scowled at him like a cranky bulldog and adjusted his robes, his beady eyes glittering with malice. "Laws can be changed, Mr. Potter," he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "And as far as we're concerned, you're a liar and a troublemaker. This cock-and-bull story of yours is nothing but pure fiction!"

Harry straightened his stance, squaring his shoulders as he stared defiantly into Fudge's eyes. "Very well, Minister," he replied calmly. "If you believe it's impossible for Dementors to have attacked both me and my cousin, then there's no harm in delving into the order log, is there? As set forth by Minister for Magic Venusia Crickerly, the 1431st amendment to The Code of Wizarding Law, known as The Ministry Misappropriations and Accountability Act of 1905, Chapter 2, Subsection 1, clearly and unequivocally states that in the face of criminal proceedings involving, or suspected of involving, misuse of Ministry personnel or property, a comprehensive record audit of the department in question shall be provided as evidence upon the request of a solicitor."

A murmur rippled through the stands as Fudge's face turned a deep shade of scarlet. "I, Harry James Potter, demand an audit of the Dementor movements recorded in the order log," Harry declared, his voice echoing across the courtroom. "And if my request is denied, I'll be taking this matter to the DMLE Internal Affairs department and the ICW courts for denial of constitutional rights and malicious prosecution. This is no joke, Minister. I demand accountability and justice!"

Fudge's face grew red, veins pulsating on his temple like tiny snakes about to burst through the surface of his skin. The sight was grotesque, a portrait of impending doom. Delores Umbridge, the perfect accomplice to his madness, stood by his side, her sickly sweet smile an unsettling contrast to the brewing storm.

But Harry remained steadfast, unyielding in the face of this grotesque spectacle. The room trembled with tension as Fudge's booming voice reverberated off the stone walls. He pointed an accusatory finger at Harry, an angry spear of condemnation. The Minister's rage consumed him, fueling his vitriol as he unleashed a torrent of words upon the young wizard.

"You dare make demands of me and my court, Mr. Potter? Preposterous!" Fudge bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder in a tempest. "You are the criminal here, trapped within the clutches of justice. You shall be treated as such until your guilt is irrefutably determined!"

Harry's resolve, however, refused to waver. Behind his emerald eyes flickered a flame, a fire fueled by unwavering determination. He locked gazes with the Minister for Magic, challenging the very essence of his authority. In a voice that brooked no dissent, Harry spoke, his words a proclamation of defiance.

"Minister, your accusations are baseless," he declared, his voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. "I am no criminal, and I refuse to be silenced while justice withers away."

The Minister's wrath swelled, his anger mounting like a tidal wave ready to crash upon the shore. "You will speak when spoken to and obey the rules of my court!" Fudge's voice quivered with unchecked fury, oblivious to the rising storm within the heart of Amelia Bones. Unbeknownst to him, her grip tightened around the gavel, her knuckles turning white.

Harry detected a slight twitch in Amelia's eye, a telltale sign of the storm brewing within her. He braced himself for what he knew was inevitable. Fudge continued his tirade, his voice an instrument of his own demise. "You, Harry Potter, are the transgressor of our sacred laws. And transgressors must face the consequences of their actions!"

Amelia reached her breaking point, her wand rising with a swift, purposeful motion. A Sonorus charm danced upon her lips, amplifying her commanding voice. Her once gentle, grey eyes now pierced through the haze of chaos, steely resolve shining from behind her monocle. The stern frown etched upon her lips announced the dawn of her judgement.

"OBJECTION, MINISTER!" Amelia's voice echoed through the dimly lit chamber, cutting through the stagnant air. Her eyes blazed with a righteous fury as she rose from her seat, her hand crashing down upon the table like a thunderclap. The room trembled under the weight of her indignation. "WE ARE NOT HERE TO DETERMINE HIM GUILTY! OUR JOB IS TO UNRAVEL THE TRUTH, TO DISCOVER THE HIDDEN THREADS OF EVIDENCE, AND THEN, AND ONLY THEN, SHALL WE RENDER OUR JUDGEMENT! AS THE DIRECTOR OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT, AND THE HEAD OF THE INTERNAL AFFAIRS DEPARTMENT, I WARN YOU, IF I AM SUBJECTED TO ONE MORE OUTBURST LIKE THIS, I SHALL BRING THIS HEARING TO ITS KNEES AND WILL RAIN DOWN PUNISHMENT AND SANCTIONS UPON YOUR ENTIRE OFFICE!"

A self-satisfied smile curled on Harry's lips as he observed Amelia's wrath. She was a force to be reckoned with, an ally worth her weight in gold. "Mr. Potter," her voice carried the ironclad weight of authority, "you purport that the Patronus charm was cast in response to the malevolence of Dementors. Yet, the unlikelihood of their sudden appearance in Little Whinging gnaws at the edges of reason. Although Dementors have never before ventured into those streets, we must scrutinise the dispatch records to corroborate your claims. Rest assured, your rights shall be protected throughout this arduous process."

Gratitude surged within Harry, swelling like a rising tide. Amelia had forever been a champion of fairness and righteousness. "Thank you, Madam Bones," he replied, his voice poised and resolute.

"However," the Minister piped up, "let's not forget that Mr. Potter is not above the law. When it is discovered he's been lying, he'll face dire consequences."

Amelia fixed her gaze upon the Minister, her eyes ablaze with a ferocity matched only by an inferno. "The court, Minister, is intimately acquainted with Mr. Potter's standing," she retorted, her words a scorching reprimand. "And we, down to the last jot and tittle, shall uphold the law with unwavering devotion. Now, let us proceed with the review of the dispatch records."

He gazed at her, his nod dripping with unwavering confidence. There was a determined gleam in his eyes, ironic in its intensity. This very moment had been etched into the fibres of his being for years, eternally etched in his mind's eye. It had been the focal point of his thesis paper, a relentless obsession that consumed him. From the day he stepped foot into the hallowed halls of the Auror training academy, he fixated on this trial, his trial in the unforgiving clutches of the fifth year. He yearned to decipher his missteps, to unravel the tangled threads of fate, and most importantly, to safeguard against such a catastrophe ever occurring again.

The fruit of his labour emerged as a sprawling 40-page thesis, delving into the realm of government accountability and the dire need for protection against unjust persecution. It would become the cornerstone of the Sirius Black Act of 2000, a legislative behemoth demanding not only fair trials but also the provision of lawyers for those unable to afford their own, along with copies of the sacred Wizarding Law bestowed upon every incarcerated citizen. A testament to his unwavering determination, his unyielding resolve.

"Madam Bones," he spoke, his voice laced with unwavering conviction, "if need be, I am prepared to bear witness under the effects of Veritasium, and am willing to voluntarily subject myself to the extraction of memories to authenticate my claims."

It was a mere theatrical display, and Harry knew it all too well. The Ministry wouldn't squander a single drop of Veritasium on such a minor trial, and memories, oh how they danced on the fringes of tampering, their vulnerability making them inadmissible as evidence. Nevertheless, this was a psychological ploy, this grand gesture would project an air of unassailable confidence, one that would not go unnoticed by the ever-watchful Wizengamot. For who could fathom that a mere fifteen-year-old possessed the arcane knowledge to tamper with a memory's delicate fabric?

Amelia nodded, acknowledging his offer before slamming down her gavel. The trial was momentarily halted, a pause that hung heavy in the air, as if the very breath of anticipation suffocated the room. The crowd murmured in hushed tones, their voices weaving a tapestry of speculation. Meanwhile, Harry sank into the creaking embrace of the wooden chair, an oasis of calm amidst the tempestuous sea of legal proceedings. His mind fortified with impenetrable occlumency shields, a fortress safeguarding his thoughts from prying eyes.

Half an hour slithered by, every second a serpentine coil tightening around the collective patience of the assembly. Then, a diminutive blonde witch materialised, her arrival a signal of impending revelation. She strode toward Amelia, her steps calculated and purposeful, bearing in her hands a plain leather-bound tome. A nod from Amelia, a gavel's thunderous descent from Fudge's hand, shattered the stagnant silence.

"Take your seats! The court is now in session!" Fudge's voice boomed, commanding obedience. The stands hushed, a congregation held captive by the weight of the Wizengamot's presence. "Mr. Potter," Fudge continued, his voice dripping with insinuation, "the court has decided to entertain your request for the dementor dispatch records. However, I shall grant you one final opportunity to renounce your allegations against the Ministry, to accept a plea deal. Rest assured, this vexatious waste of time shall not be held against you during sentencing." His body leaned forward, arms crossing over his chest, his gaze descending upon Harry with an air of superiority.

Harry's gaze pierced through the smoke-laden atmosphere, fixating on the man occupying the Chief Warlock seat. Defiance smouldered in his eyes, a fire that refused to be extinguished. "No, sir," he declared, his voice steady and resolute. "I shall not yield. The spell I cast was none other than a Patronus, an incantation crafted solely to repel the wretched abominations known as dementors or lethifolds. And I stand by my words without falter. Two dementors assailed me and my muggle cousin in the very heart of a muggle subdivision, and I defended myself."

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of his actions carried forth through his unwavering resolve. Harry turned his gaze towards Amelia, the stern countenance of the woman serving as the bastion of justice. Their eyes met, a silent pact forged amidst the tempestuous storm of the courtroom. "Even if, perchance, I were to engage in frivolous underage magic, the circumstances surrounding this trial bear the indelible mark of politics. Choosing this very courtroom, tainted by the sentencing of the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, and altering the trial's time at the last possible moment—only to send a memorandum after a reasonable departure from my dwelling would have been expected. These actions bespeak a trial rooted in political machinations. And now, Minister Fudge, you have danced upon the precipice of depriving me of my rights once more."

Addressing Madam Bones, Harry's tone held a mixture of urgency and demand. "Honourable Madam Bones, I after the records are admitted, I humbly ask that you grant me a sidebar so that I may have the opportunity to file grievances against the Ministry. Let the truth be unveiled, for it is the duty of justice to illuminate the shadows that lie within." And with that, he nodded to the stands and took his seat once more.

The woman nodded invisibly impressed at his words and demeanour, her eyes gleaming with an unyielding determination as she cast a final glare in Fudge's direction. Then, with a subtle gesture of agreement towards Harry, she spoke. "For the sake of time, I will not allow for a sidebar at the current moment, however I shall extend an open invitation to my office. Visit me after this trial, and we shall delve deeper into this matter. The law, above all else, must be upheld regardless of the toll it exacts. The courtrooms are not the playgrounds of individuals; we are no dictatorship, I dare say."

Amelia's voice resonated with authority, carrying an undeniable weight that reverberated within the chamber. "Let it be entered into the record," she proclaimed, her wand tapping against the aged leather book. And lo and behold, above Harry, a grand replica of the page materialised. Its appearance mirrored the haunting revelation Harry had experienced when the horcrux-imbued diary had unveiled his true identity in the Chamber of Secrets. A chill slithered down his spine, but he fought to suppress the shudder that threatened to betray him. No, now was not the time for fear.

Fixing his gaze upon Fudge and Umbridge, Harry's resolve solidified as his eyes honed in on the pinnacle of that ill-fated page. There, etched in crimson ink, was the Ministry seal, bearing witness to the words he had anticipated—'Little Whinging, Surrey.' The power of foresight, a gift born from his journey through time, had not forsaken him. An investigation would undoubtedly reveal that the dispatch orders had originated from a halfblood desk worker within the records department, an unknowing pawn under the influence of the Imperius Curse.

"Being the only wizard residing in Little Whinging, it is evident that someone from the Ministry has unleashed Dementors upon me," declared Harry. "Therefore, I implore the court to drop all charges against me, as this evidence proves my innocence. I also request that the Departments of Magical Law Enforcement and Internal Affairs conduct a thorough investigation to identify the person who issued the order, since only a handful of people have access to the necessary seal."

Harry leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, and relished in the fact that Fudge's face had turned a deep shade of puce. Umbridge, on the other hand, balled her fists and narrowed her eyes at him. Harry couldn't help but think that this school year at Hogwarts was going to be quite eventful.

To his surprise, instead of proceeding with a vote, Director Amelia Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood up and spoke. "As Director of Magical Law Enforcement, I propose that all charges against the defendant be dropped. He has proven that he acted in self-defence and has not violated any laws. Given these circumstances, there is no need for a vote. Harry James Potter, you are hereby cleared of all charges, and I assure you that the matter will be thoroughly investigated. This court is adjourned." Harry nodded gratefully to the court and made his way towards the door, noting with disappointment that Dumbledore was nowhere in sight. Before he could exit, Director Bones called out to him. "Mr. Potter, if you could spare me some time, I would like to discuss your grievances against the Ministry in my office in thirty minutes." Harry nodded, and with a renewed sense of hope, he left the courtroom.


Harry's palms grew clammy as he settled into the plush chair outside Amelia Bones' office. The weight of his own heartbeat pressed against his chest, an anxious symphony resonating within. Uncertainty gnawed at him, questioning whether this endeavour would truly make a difference. But he couldn't afford to remain passive this time around; he had to take a stand. And so, with trembling resolve, he waited.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a figure that exuded authority and intimidation. A tall, formidable woman stepped out, her presence casting an imposing shadow across the corridor.

"Mr. Potter, please come in," she beckoned, her voice laced with a modicum of warmth. "It's good to see you again."

Her words soothed Harry's frayed nerves, momentarily easing the tension that gripped his insides. He mustered a feeble smile, a fragile attempt to cloak his unease. "It's good to see you too, Madam Bones," he responded, his voice tinged with lingering discomfort.

Amelia Bones, the very embodiment of power, insisted, "Please, call me Amelia." With a graceful gesture, she invited him to take a seat within the confines of her office. Harry sank into one of the chairs positioned before her formidable desk, finding a modicum of solace in the act. A deep breath filled his lungs, his gaze finding solace in the unflinching eyes of Amelia Bones. "Thank you for everything you did," he spoke, his words carrying the weight of sincerity. "I don't know what I would have done without your help."

A warm smile creased Amelia's countenance, radiating the faintest glimmer of reassurance amidst the encroaching shadows. "You're welcome, Mr. Potter," she replied, her voice a soothing balm on his frayed nerves. "It was the least I could do. You didn't deserve to be subjected to such treatment. And, truth be told, you seemed to possess an inner strength, navigating the storm without my intervention."

Harry's gratitude welled within him, mingling with a deep sense of indebtedness. He nodded earnestly, his eyes reflecting the unspoken emotions that stirred beneath the surface. "I heard that Minister Fudge wasn't pleased with the verdict," he ventured, his voice laced with apprehension.

Amelia's sigh echoed through the room, laden with weariness and exasperation. Lines etched themselves deeper upon her brow, remnants of battles fought within the confines of politics. "Yes," she acknowledged, her tone heavy with the weight of truth. "He's not handling it well. In his obstinacy, he continues to insist that we erred, that you are still guilty."

"He's an inept fool," Harry spat out, his voice thick with indignation and anger. The words dripped like venom from his lips, poisoned by the frustration that had festered within him for far too long. "He cares more about his own reputation than the very safety of our kind, the very existence of the wizarding world itself."

Amelia, her countenance thoughtful and troubled, nodded in agreement, her gaze piercing the depths of their shared disillusionment. "You speak more truth than you know, Harry," she conceded, her voice carrying the weight of resignation. "Cornelius Fudge has always been blinded by the allure of appearances, shackled to the deception that power and prestige bring. It's a perilous trait for a leader, one that blinds him to the insidious darkness that lurks beneath the surface."

Harry nodded, feeling a sense of determination wash over him. He knew that he couldn't do this alone, and there were too many questions left unanswered about Dumbledore and his motives before Harry would decide to trust him or not. He needed allies, and Amelia Bones seemed like a good place to start.

Harry's frustration swelled within him, an inferno threatening to consume his resolve. The wizarding world teetered on the precipice of an unfathomable threat, the resurrected spectre of Voldemort looming ominously. Yet, the Minister of Magic, consumed by his own hubris, remained oblivious to the gathering storm. Even though he had lived through it once, it still baffled him, the capability for the Minister to close his eyes and pretend like the building was not on fire.

"What are we to do, then?" Harry demanded, his voice tinged with a resolute determination. "We cannot idly stand by, allowing Fudge to jeopardise the lives of countless witches and wizards. Disregarding any personal feelings he may have against me in particular, or the claims I have been making, he is using the power of the courts and the government like a dictator."

Amelia sighed, the weight of their predicament pressing heavily upon her weary shoulders. "Regrettably, the options are scarce," she confessed, her voice tinged with a blend of weariness and reluctant acceptance. "Fudge wields power, a web of influence that entangles the entire wizarding community. Convincing them of the truth, of the return of Voldemort, will require irrefutable evidence, a monumental task indeed. And yes, Mr. Potter, given recent revelations and the discreet updates from our Auror department, I find myself leaning towards belief, albeit cautiously. There is a flicker of credibility to your claims, buried amidst the chaos of uncertainty. However, for now, we must toil in the shadows, gathering intelligence, preparing for the inevitable storm that looms on our horizon."

That part had taken him by surprise, in the previous timeline he had never quite known just how the head of the DMLE had felt about his claims from the graveyard, and it brought him fair bit of joy to hear he had at least one ally in the ministry.

"Now, Mr. Potter, about your ethics complaint. I am quite impressed with your knowledge of the law and court proceedings, and you took me by surprise with your request for the audit. You are a fifth year student, correct?" He nodded before she continued. "How did you learn so much about the law?"

Harry grinned and chuckled, ready to provide the excuse he had prepared in case the topic came up. "Well, you know, after the whole Sirius Black breakout in third year, I started thinking about joining the Aurors once I graduate. So, I started reading up on wizarding law, and I found it really interesting," he explained, shifting his weight to his other side. "And then, after my name came out of the goblet last year, I got even more curious about magical records and contracts. It was one of the first things I dove into. Hermione gave me a law book over the summer to help with the trial, and it jogged my memory."

"Mr. Potter," Amelia began, her voice laden with a touch of reverence, "your understanding of wizarding law is nothing short of extraordinary. Your eloquence and composure during the trial left an indelible impression, and your grasp of the intricate legal tapestry was nothing short of astonishing." A pause, pregnant with significance, hung in the air. "I dare say, young man, that you possess the makings of an exceptional Auror. A full corporeal Patronus merely solidifies my conviction. However, it would be a disservice on my part not to tempt you towards the noble path of a public defender. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is ever in need of skillful lawyers, and you, Mr. Potter, could prove to be a formidable advocate. However, I doubt you are here for my recruiting pitch. Now for your complaints, if you would be so kind as to complete these forms, I shall pass them along to a team of internal affairs investigators."


Harry emerged from Amelia Bones' office, his mind swirling with the dizzying implications of their meeting, a storm of relief and lingering unease crashing within him as he stepped into the corridor. The office door clicked shut, sealing him in the dimly lit hallway, a solitary figure adrift in a sea of shadows.

As he turned a corner, his ruminations were shattered by a voice he knew all too well. "Harry! Over here!" Mr. Weasley's voice pierced the silence, his lanky frame leaning against the cold stone wall. A mixture of concern and relief etched upon his face, the lines of worry etched deep. "Kingsley said you'd be here. He filled me in on the trial!"

Harry quickened his pace, his heart pounding, until he reached Mr. Weasley's side. "What happened? Is everything alright?" he blurted, anxiety tightening its grip on his voice.

"Don't fret, Harry. Everything's fine," Mr. Weasley replied, his voice a whisper that hung heavy with secrecy. "Dumbledore just left, and I managed to snatch a moment with him. He couldn't make it to the trial in time, but he wanted to speak to you. He said he's proud of how you conducted yourself in there! Outstanding job, Harry! We had no idea you were so familiar with wizarding law! Dumbledore was left dumbfounded, his smile stretching from ear to ear!"

A maelstrom of emotions swelled within Harry, a tumultuous tide crashing against the walls of his chest. His admiration for Dumbledore had always mingled with suspicion, the shadows of doubt casting long shadows upon their relationship. Yet, in this moment, Dumbledore's words carried weight, reverberating through his being. "Proud?" Harry echoed, his voice laced with disbelief.

Mr. Weasley's hand found its way to Harry's shoulder, a gesture of solace amidst the chaos. "Yes, Harry. He's ecstatic that you've been doing self studies, we'll have to sit down and talk about it sometime. I've written a fair share of regulations on Muggle artefacts myself. If you aim to be an Auror, knowing those could prove invaluable."

Harry's brow furrowed as he absorbed Mr. Weasley's words, a mixture of hope and confusion swirling within him. The notion that his efforts had not gone unnoticed, that he had been seen as more than a troubled youth this time around, ignited a spark within him, a flickering flame of renewed confidence. It was as if a weight had been lifted, and he stood a little taller, his spine straightened against the burdens that had threatened to crush him. But in the same breath, it was unexpected. Throughout the day leading up to the trial, fear had gripped him, whispering that his actions would only invite suspicion and draw the unwanted gaze of the headmaster. Yet the risk, in his own calculated measure, had paid off handsomely.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry murmured, his voice thick with gratitude. "I... I never expected this. It means the world to me."

Mr. Weasley's warm smile enveloped them both. "You deserve every ounce of it, Harry. Dumbledore has always had a knack for recognizing true talent and character. Remember, you're not alone in this fight. We're here, by your side."

With a nod, Harry fell into stride beside Mr. Weasley as they made their way toward the elevator. He listened, nodding along to Mr. Weasley's excited chatter about giving him a tour of the departments.

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