Chapter 14
Harry Potter stood in the dusty Apartment atop Hogwarts. The hidden room he had discovered with Luna Lovegood now radiated a sense of purpose as he prepared to reconnect the Floo network. Hours of intensive research had equipped him with the necessary spells and some additional time spent with Lavender had resulted in his acquisition of the specialized floo powder. He finally felt ready. Clutching his wand with determination, he muttered the incantations while tossing in the powder, and the fireplace burst to life with vivid green flames.
"Floo connection active," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face.
He threw a pinch of Floo powder into the roaring flames and called out, "Potter Manor!"
Almost instantly, Sirius Black's face materialized in the flames, surprise and curiosity etched on his features. "Harry! What's going on?"
"Hold on, Sirius. Call Remus too." Sirius summoned Remus Lupin, whose face soon appeared beside the convict's.
"Harry, where on earth are you?" Remus asked, his brows knitting together in curiosity.
"You're not going to believe this," Harry said, stepping back to reveal the furnished, shadowy apartment. "Luna and I found this abandoned apartment on the rooftop of Hogwarts. I've just reconnected the Floo."
Sirius and Remus exchanged astonished glances, their eyes widening as they took in the surroundings—the aged tomes, the moth-eaten curtains, and the intricate carvings on the fireplace mantel.
Sirius echoed, "An abandoned apartment at Hogwarts? With a floo connection? Incredible."
"Brilliant work, Harry," Remus said, clearly impressed. "This place could be a valuable resource."
"Luna and I found some old letters here that indicate the apartment may have been set up by Dilys Derwent as a safehouse for muggleborns and half-bloods that were under threat from pure blood interests. It doesn't seem to have been in use since she died, so it seems unlikely anyone else knows of its existence. The floo address should you need it, by the way, is Maurader's Hideaway."
Sirius nodded, still absorbing the room's atmosphere. "Indeed. But there's something pressing we need to discuss. We met with Nibgit, as we had discussed would happen. The goblins are very interested in us, considering our future roles in the Wizengamot."
Harry's curiosity piqued. "Why are they interested in us?"
Remus explained, "The goblins want to renegotiate the Treaty of Blood and Gold. This treaty functionally confines them to Gringotts and the spaces beneath it. It restricts their ability to use wands and own property in the wizarding world. There's widespread dissatisfaction among the goblin community around the terms, and Nibgit hinted at the possibility of another rebellion in the future."
"A rebellion?" Harry repeated, feeling the gravity of the situation. "That sounds serious."
"It is," Sirius agreed, his tone somber. "I've already pledged my support to the goblins if I'm seated in the Wizengamot in the future. But I didn't speak for you, Harry. They want to secure your support as well."
Reflecting on the goblins' role in reestablishing Sirius and assisting him in his own journey, Harry realized how much he owed them. "So, this is why they've been so helpful. They're seeking favor for their cause."
"Exactly," Remus said. "But you need to grasp the full implications. Supporting the goblins might prevent a potential conflict, but the interests of the wizarding community may be harmed in giving so much back to the goblins. For one, allowing them wands would make any future rebellion all the more likely to succeed. Allowing them back into the wizarding markets other than banking may interrupt the fortunes of many wizarding families that are ill-prepared to compete economically. However, the wizarding world is not equipped to handle a goblin rebellion alongside the threat of Voldemort."
Harry's mind raced with the possibilities and responsibilities he faced. The goblins had been pivotal in his journey, and their request carried substantial weight. "I understand. I don't feel particularly for the old families that hold their economic monopolies, but it sounds as if re-integrating the goblin clans back into the wider magical community could be extremely disruptive to a lot of people. Did Nibgit mention any type of timeframe on the danger?"
Sirius looked at Harry with a serious expression. "No, he mentioned only that it was 'on the horizon.' Remember, Harry, we're here to support you every step of the way."
Harry nodded in acceptance. "My initial thought is that I have very little choice. The goblins have already provided so much to me and this would help even the score. There is part of me that doubts I could make a difference anyhow, the Wizegamot would have to approve the new treaty and I highly doubt they would give the goblins everything they want. Perhaps by pushing for negotiation we can stall any goblin threat while the wizarding world deals with Voldemort."
"I think you are correct, Harry. I doubt the lords go for any real re-negotiation without a more pressing threat from the goblin nation. That said, we do not really know when the threat of Voldemort could reappear. It could be many years yet, and if Voldemort hears about the dissatisfaction of the goblins he is smart enough to use that threat in his own goals. The same for the goblins the other way, frankly. I think it is critical that we not let either of them know about the other."
Sirius nodded his agreement with Remus' analysis.
Harry gave it a moment of thought and agreed as well. "Not to change topics too hard, but what should we do with this place? I think we should have Sirius pop in and out at some point to see if there is some reaction to his presence here, but I doubt there will be. Dilys' letter seemed to indicate that these rooms were not tied into the main wards for security reasons."
"Agreed," Sirius said, glancing around the room with approval. "It's perfect—a hidden gem right under everyone's noses."
Harry couldn't help but smile. "We'll need to clean it up and make it more livable, but I think this place has a lot of potential."
In the grand chambers of the Wizengamot, the air crackled with tension as members of the progressive and conservative factions squared off over a contentious bill proposing an inquiry into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The chambers themselves were a marvel of wizarding architecture, reminiscent of the House of Lords in muggle Parliament but with a distinctly magical touch. Floating candles floated about and under the vaulted ceilings, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the room. The walls were adorned with moving tapestries depicting key moments in wizarding history, and the floor sparkled with intricate mosaics that occasionally shifted and changed, reflecting the ebb and flow of magic in the room.
On one side of the chamber, Lucius Malfoy, flanked by his conservative allies, including Roland Lestrange, Nathaniel Nott, and Evan Rosier, argued vehemently in favor of the inquiry. Their voices echoed off the enchanted stone walls, each word dripping with disdain for the perceived incompetence of the DMLE.
"We cannot ignore the blatant failures of the DMLE," Lucius declared, his tone cutting through the murmurs of agreement from his faction. "The escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban is a clear indication of their inability to maintain order within our society."
Opposite them, members of the progressive faction, including Catherine Brown, Augustine Townsend, and Augusta Longbottom, stood firm in their opposition to the inquiry. They argued that the DMLE was already overburdened and understaffed, and that an inquiry would only serve to further impede their ability to protect the wizarding community.
"The DMLE is doing the best they can under difficult circumstances," Lady Brown insisted, her voice carrying the weight of years of experience. "To subject them to further scrutiny at this time would be both unjust and counterproductive."
As the debate raged on, tempers flared and accusations flew across the chamber. The progressive and conservative factions clashed again and again, their voices rising in volume and intensity. Lucius Malfoy accused the progressive faction of being soft on crime, while Elon Bath countered with accusations of fear-mongering and political opportunism.
"How convenient it is," Lord Bath sneered, "that the very heads of the families of convicted Death Eaters now push for changes through law that their imprisoned kin wanted to see implemented by violence!"
A collective gasp swept through the chamber at Bath's sharp accusation. It was an insult too far, a breach of the decorum that held the Wizengamot together. Ovidius Greengrass and Laird Meadowcroft, who had been swaying on the issue, now seemed to lean towards the conservative position, their faces darkening with indignation.
Amelia Bones watched the proceedings with growing horror. As the head of the DMLE, it was her department that was about to suffer, and for her sins. She reflected on the courageous actions of her brother Edgar Bones, who had positioned their family against the rising Death Eater threat. She vividly remembered the flames and the price they paid for their stance. Her heart ached as she wondered if she had the same strength to sacrifice for the right thing. The image of her niece haunted her thoughts—could she face Susan if she did not act with integrity now?
The din of the argument washed over her like a roaring tide as Amelia's resolve strengthened. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the mosaic floor, and called for a halt to the debate.
"Members of the Wizengamot," Amelia began, her voice cutting through the clamor like a knife through butter. "As head of the DMLE, I request a closed session."
A chorus of protests erupted immediately, voices from all factions rising in opposition to the leveraging of the Chamber magics.
Albus Dumbledore raised his hand, calling for silence with his calm authority. "As Chief Warlock, I grant the request for a closed session as requested by the appropriate department head," he declared.
Everyone in the chamber could feel the magic seep into the air, a tangible force that quashed their ability to share anything about what was to be discussed. It was as if the very walls of the chamber hummed with an ancient power, binding their wills and ensuring secrecy. Not a one looked happy with this development, and Amelia had likely already sealed her political fate.
The Lady Bones took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to reveal. "Esteemed Lords and Ladies," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of her confession, "before we proceed with this inquiry, there are matters of utmost importance that must be addressed.
"I must confess," Amelia continued, "that I, along with Department Head Croaker and Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, were not only aware of Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban, but were active participants in it."
A collective gasp rippled through the chamber as the gravity of Amelia's words sank in. Dumbledore's expression remained unreadable, but there was clear betrayal in the eyes of her fellow neutral caucus members.
Questions began to be yelled from everywhere in the chamber but Amelia pressed on, her voice unwavering. "We conspired to keep this information hidden, fearing the repercussions of revealing the truth. But now, in light of recent events, I can no longer remain silent. Not one Auror in my department did anything they were not ordered to do from the very top of our government."
"Minister Fudge demanded of me options to find Harry Potter in the summer of 1996, when it was presumed that Mr. Potter had taken residence at his family manor after meeting with Gringotts. Potter Manor was well-warded and there were few options available to us to search the properties. A plan was concocted between myself, Minister Fudge, and Saul Croaker to leverage Sirius Black's likely access to the property in order to find the boy.
"While there were numerous contingencies planned, things went awry and it was assumed by Minister Fudge and Croaker that the Potter wards had killed Sirius Black. This became, obviously, not the case once the Black Lordship was claimed."
The chamber erupted into chaos once more as accusations flew and voices clamored to be heard.
"An inquiry is indeed necessary," Amelia spoke loudly again, reclaiming the attention of the room, "but focusing it solely on the DMLE is incorrect. While my department was involved, the primary actors were the executive and the Department of Mysteries. I offer to tender my resignation should it be so desired."
"As well you should!" The voice came from Duncan Toole, a longtime friend and political ally who was clearly feeling the anger of betrayal.
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air as Amelia continued to speak of the efforts to find Sirius Black after he was presumed dead and how those efforts were increased once it became clear he was not. Eventually, she finished her revelation.
Silence fell over the chamber as the members of the Wizengamot absorbed Amelia's confession. The fury and indignation that had marked the earlier debate were now realigned by the weight of the truth.
"It is time we strive for justice and unity, rather than succumbing to division and mistrust," Dumbledore said, his voice resonating with a sense of profound wisdom. "Let Amelia's confession be the start of a path towards transparency and restoration. It is clear we will need many more such sessions to understand the enormity of what occurred and I invite each of you to submit your requests for such."
Amelia looked around the chamber, meeting the eyes of her colleagues. She saw a mixture of shock and anger, and, in at least one face, a dawning respect. She had taken a step that many would shy away from, and in doing so, she hoped to pave the way for a brighter future for the wizarding world.
As the closed session drew to an end, the members of the Wizengamot left the chambers with much to consider. As they exited, the magical bindings latched and the weight of their oaths lingered, reminding them of the heavy responsibilities they bore.
The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as the sixth and seventh-year students of Hogwarts gathered, their whispers and murmurs filling the cavernous room. At the head of the hall, Professor McGonagall stood with her customary stern expression, but there was a twinkle in her eye that suggested something special was about to unfold. As the students settled, she raised her hands, calling for silence.
"Attention, please," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd. "I am pleased to announce the newest competition that will challenge your knowledge and understanding of Magical History and Government. This competition is not merely an academic exercise but a vital exploration of our past, which informs our present and shapes our future."
She paused, allowing the significance of her words to sink in. "It is essential to recognize that history is not just a series of dates and events. It is a tapestry of decisions, actions, and consequences that have brought us to where we are today. Understanding why things worked in the past helps us discern which aspects of our society can endure change and which must remain steadfast."
The students listened intently, some nodding in agreement while others exchanged curious glances.
"Today's task," she continued, "will be a simple knowledge search, but one that underscores the importance of our historical foundation. You are to find the name of the wizard who brokered the freeing of King Richard II from his Muggle captors in the year 1399."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the hall as the students absorbed their assignment. McGonagall allowed them a moment to discuss before raising her hand for silence once more.
"You will work in your assigned teams," she announced. "This exercise will not only test your research skills but also your ability to work collaboratively."
Harry glanced at Hermione, Blaise, and Padma, and felt a surge of determination and a tickle of a memory.
"The competition will commence immediately," McGonagall declared. "You have until the end of the day to submit your findings. Good luck to you all."
With that, she stepped back, allowing the students to rise and begin their quest. The Great Hall erupted into activity as teams huddled together, strategizing their approach.
The teams dispersed, some heading straight for the library while others lingered to discuss their plans. Harry's team decided to split their efforts. Hermione and Padma, using their superior knowledge of the Library, would head that direction while Blaise and Harry would instead start by visiting the History of Magic section on the fourth floor, where they hoped to find a less obvious source of information.
Harry and Blaise stepped out of the bustling Great Hall and into the light filtered through the tall, stained-glass windows, which cast colorful patterns on the stone floor. As they made their way through the castle, the familiar sounds of students chatting and portraits gossiping faded into the background. They turned a corner, and the corridor ahead was lined with suits of armor, each standing at attention. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight of Sir Cadogan, who had invaded a nearby frame.
"Good luck, lads!" Sir Cadogan called out, his sword clanging against his armor as he waved.
"Thanks!" Harry replied with a grin at the quixotic knight.
The two continued on, their footsteps echoing through the stone passageways. They reached the foot of the grand staircase, its steps seemingly endless as they spiraled upward. Blaise glanced at Harry, and they began their ascent, the stairs shifting and moving beneath their feet. They paused at a landing, and allowed a group of first-years to pass by.
"We should take the shortcut behind the tapestry," Harry suggested, nodding toward a nearby wall.
Blaise motioned for Harry to lead on. They approached the tapestry depicting nymphs frolicking in the garden of manor house, and with a quick glance around to ensure they were alone, they slipped behind it. The narrow passageway was dimly lit, the walls adorned with ancient, faded paintings. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of aged parchment and old wood.
"Never ceases to amaze me," Blaise murmured as they navigated the twisting path. "All these passages, I wasn't aware of this one."
"That's Hogwarts," Harry replied, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space.
They emerged from the passage into a History and Arts corridors. Here, the portraits were older and more subdued. The historical figures within them nodded sagely or continued their quiet activities, seemingly not interested in the students passing by.
"Let's start our search," Harry said. "You take this floor?"
Blaise nodded in agreement.
As Harry navigated upwards to the fourth floor, the tickle of a memory came back and he stopped, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Wait," he said, turning to Blaise. "I think I remember something. Follow me."
Harry led Blaise up one more flight of stairs, turning down a series of increasingly narrow hallways until they reached a secluded corner of the castle that few students ever visited, but Harry and Luna had explored just a couple weeks prior. There, hanging amidst a cluster of richly decorated but seldom-noticed portraits, he found what he was looking for.
"There," Harry said, pointing to the portrait of a distinguished-looking man in period dress, his stern face framed by a cascade of dark hair.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. I remember seeing his portrait date of 1395, certainly one of the older portraits I've seen outside of the main halls. It puts him at the right time."
The portrait looked down at them with a mixture of curiosity and hauteur. "Yes?" John of Gaunt, as his nameplate indicated, inquired, his voice deep and resonant. "What is it you young wizards seek?"
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward. "Hello sir, we are taking part in an official challenge related to your time in history. I realize that the events happened slightly after your portrait was made, but do you happen to know the name of the wizard who brokered the freeing of King Richard II in 1399 from the muggles? Can you tell us anything about it?"
The painted noble's eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and wisdom. "Ah, a quest for knowledge. Very well then, I shall tell you what I know. The tale of King Richard II is a complex tapestry of ambition, betrayal, and downfall. The King's heavy reliance on a few courtiers caused discontent among the nobility. In 1387, a group of aristocrats called the Lords Appellant took control of the government."
"What was your role at that time, sir?" Blaise asked.
"Please, call me John. I've been dead near on six hundred years now, my obsession with formality died some centuries ago. In 1386 I had left England in a later aborted attempt to claim the crown of Castille. You see my wife at the time had a legitimate claim of her own."
"But Richard II took control again after the Lords Appellant uprising?"
"Yes, by 1389, he was back in power and managed to govern in relative harmony—until 1397, that is. He sought revenge on the Appellants, resulting in executions and exiles. Those two years are often referred to as Richard's 'tyranny.'"
"What happened after that?"
"After all I had done for him,in 1399, after my death, Richard disinherited my squib son, Henry Bolingbroke, who had already been exiled. Henry returned to England with a muggle army that grew with every new village. Finding little resistance, he deposed Richard and crowned himself king."
"And what became of Richard?" Harry asked.
"According to the muggles, he was thought to have starved to death in captivity in 1400. However, the ruling family in Scotland at the time made a rather daring rescue of the man thinking they could use him in the future as a claimant to the English throne."
"Who was the ruling family of Scotland?"
"The Duke of Albany, Robert Stewart. The Duke had been fighting his own succession battles for years in his attempts to claim the Scottish throne. Rumor has it that he murdered his main rival and then had the official inquest find that the man had departed from this life by 'divine providence.'
"Anyway, he never made any official attempt to claim the throne. I'm told that while Richard II was forced out as the muggle head of state, he and his family continued to hold the title of magical head of state until the 1500s when Richard V surrendered the powers of the monarchy to the magical Commons."
"That's quite the tale indeed, John." Harry said. "Thank you for your time this morning. If you don't mind, I'd love to come back and hear more about your own adventures in Castille another time."
"The conversation would be welcome, lad. I do not have any other portraits, and it does get lonely down this long hallway from time to time."
The two seventh years hurried to the Hogwarts Library to gather the rest of their team and then all together made it back to the Great Hall to turn in one of the fastest completion times for a Hogwarts Challenge in school history.
Nott Manor loomed ominously in the heart of the ancient magical wood, an imposing structure that seemed as if it stepped out of the dense forest surrounding it. That old wood forest was a tangle of twisted, gnarled trees, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, shrouded in perpetual twilight. The air here was thick with enchantments and wards. Magic hummed through the underbrush and made the carpeted forest floor seem almost sentient.
The manor itself was a dark gothic masterpiece, a testament to a designer that favored intimidation over comfort and light. Its stone walls were blackened with age, adorned with a multitude of grotesque gargoyles that leered menacingly at anyone who dared approach. These stone sentinels were of particularly hideous design, each one more twisted and nightmarish than the last, with eyes that seemed to follow visitors, mouths twisted in eternal, mocking grins, and wings that looked poised to take flight at any moment.
Heavy iron gates, flanked by two of the largest and most fearsome gargoyles, marked the entrance to the estate. Beyond the gates, a long, cobblestone path led to the grand front doors, which were framed by intricate carvings of intertwined serpents. The path itself was lined with wrought-iron torches, their flames flickering with an unnatural greenish light that barely pierced the gloom.
Inside, Nott Manor was labyrinthine. The walls were lined with heavy, dark tapestries depicting scenes of ancient, arcane rituals and battles long forgotten. Massive chandeliers, forged from black iron and dripping with wax from countless candles, hung like spectral guardians from the ceiling, casting long, eerie shadows across the polished stone floors.
The weight of the architecture was almost tangible, as if the very stones of the manor bore down upon its inhabitants and visitors alike. The interior was devoid of the reverence often found in gothic churches; instead, it exuded a sense of foreboding and malevolence. Long corridors stretched out in every direction, their walls adorned with grim portraits of the Nott family, each generation seeming more severe and unwelcoming than the last.
Throughout the manor, the decor continued in the same vein. The dining hall was a vast, echoing chamber with a long, heavy table at its center, surrounded by high-backed chairs upholstered in dark velvet. The walls were lined with more tapestries and grim hunting trophies, the eyes of long-dead beasts glaring down at the diners. This was where the Conservative Party was meeting today, Lucius hid a small grimace of distaste for the interior designer.
"Amelia Bones has committed political suicide," barked Caractacus Burke, his icy voice cutting through the murmurs of the gathering. "She has undermined our efforts by admitting to our involvement in Sirius Black's escape. Now, we find ourselves in a less advantageous position."
Barrett Falkner, a stout and often brash member of their caucus, slammed his fist on the table. "Not to mention that business with Elon Bath, casting accusations that we are Death Eaters! We must quash this before it gains any more traction."
Stern nods of agreement and hushed whispers of anger rippled through the room.
Adrian Urch leaned forward, his gaze steely. "Minister Fudge is weak, as we all know. We must finish the job we started in December and ensure that his power is curtailed. His role should be more ceremonial, a figurehead so that the Wizengamot can control from behind the scenes."
Gregor Poore from the back spoke up, voice laced with venom. "And what of Saul Croaker? His liberties as Head of the Unspeakables have proven too great a liability. That he would try what he did with an Ancient Family like the Blacks."
Lucius's lips curled into a cold smile. "An excellent point. We must devise legislation to bind Croaker's powers, to ensure that the DoM no longer operates without oversight."
There were murmurs of approval. The weight of these discussions seemed to loom over them like the very walls of Nott Manor, dark and heavy.
"We must act swiftly," Ferrell Bellock spoke. "Fudge must feel the pressure but believe it's coming from the public, not us. We can use the recent betrayal to push for reforms, ostensibly for greater transparency and accountability. In reality, this could allow us to install our own loyalists in key positions."
Lord Nott added coldly, "We should also leverage this opportunity to discredit Bath further. Feed rumors, insinuations... make it clear that those pointing fingers at us have their own skeletons in the closet."
Lucius stood, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the assembled conservatives. "My friends," he began, "I propose a toast."
He raised his glass of dark liquor to the others who raised theirs in turn.
"To our foes, that they may be crushed under the weight of their own hubris. Amelia Bones' betrayal will be the catalyst for our ascendancy."
The eyes of the gathered party gleamed with malicious intent as they drank.
The meeting soon came to its natural close, and one by one, they began departing from the dining hall of Nott Manor, their hushed whispers trailing behind them. Lucius Malfoy remained standing, his eyes surveying the room with a cold, calculating stare. He was determined to turn the recent debacle into a victory.
As the last few stragglers left, Lord Nott approached Lucius, his gait smooth and measured. "Lucius," he said quietly, "would you care to stay a while longer? I believe we have not had the chance to reminisce properly."
Lucius felt a chill run down his spine, but he masked his discomfort with a courteous nod. "Of course, Tiberius. It would be my pleasure."
Nott's usually stern face twisted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He motioned for Lucius to follow him, leading him down a corridor that seemed to grow colder and darker as they went deeper into the manor. At the end, Nott tapped a mechanism hidden inside a candelabra, revealing a concealed doorway that creaked open with an eerie groan.
"After you," Nott gestured.
The private study was a macabre spectacle. The walls were adorned with twisted relics of Nott's time as a Death Eater: preserved hands of fallen foes, and grim depictions of wanton violence. Dark, aged tomes lined the shelves, their spines cracked and titles barely legible. The floor was a patchwork of ancient, graying furs that muffled their footsteps to an uncomfortable silence.
At the far end of the room, a wall of Death Eater masks, some still bearing traces of past battles. Lucius could not imagine the hubris required to have such things on display anywhere in his residence, even inside a hidden study. Let alone bringing others here to see the gruesome trophies.
Sitting around the heavy ebony table were Caractacus Burke, Evan Rosier, and Roland Lestrange. Nott closed the door quietly behind Lucius and joined the group.
Nott's voice was somberly reverent. "Welcome, old friends and comrades in arms."
Lucius remained standing, letting the familiar faces and haunting decor of the study sink in. His hand instinctively rested upon his wand hidden in his cane, though he did not draw it.
"Some weeks ago I approached each of you related to an individual who has contacted me. Someone who claims to be working towards the resurrection of our lord, the Dark Lord. I gather you today to inform you that the resources you've each provided have been well used. A path has been set and steps are being taken to ensure our Lord's return."
The room fell deathly silent as Nott's words took hold.
"Now," he continued, "it is imperative that we weaken those who would oppose his return. Politically, we must continue our efforts to undermine the Ministry and its so-called 'leaders.' But we must also be prepared to act decisively, as men of action. The time for subtlety is ending. The Death Eaters must ride again."
There was a collective intake of breath, and even Lucius couldn't suppress a shiver at the words. Those gathered stared at each other, a shared understanding passing unspoken between them.
"And what steps have been taken so far?" Burke asked, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous curiosity.
Nott's lips curled into a grim smile. "Preparations have begun for our Lord's resurrection. Alliances are being reforged overseas, and we are making strategic moves here domestically."
Rosier and Lestrange exchanged looks of grim satisfaction, while Burke leaned back with a sinister grin. It was clear that Nott was holding identities and plans close to chest.
Lucius finally spoke, his voice steady but with an edge of resolve. "Then we must ensure we are well-prepared and that our moves are precise. We cannot afford to fail. Not now, not ever."
Nott nodded, pleased. "The Dark Lord's return will herald a new era. The time to claim what is rightfully ours approaches, sooner than you may believe."
Hermione sat at her desk, flipping through the pages of her Arithmancy textbooks and occasionally jotting down notes. Her focus was interrupted by a knock at the door. She glanced up to see a familiar barn owl struggling to carry a large, thick envelope.
Curiosity piqued, she quickly untied the envelope and gave the tired bird a gentle pat and a treat for its efforts. She recognized the official seal of St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys and felt a knot tighten in her stomach.
She wasted no time in opening the envelope. Inside, a formal letter accompanied several pages of detailed records. She began to read:
*Dear Miss Granger,
In response to your inquiry regarding the records of one Harry James Barton (also known as Harry Potter), we are able to provide the following details within the scope of permissible disclosure:
Harry Barton was admitted to St. Brutus' August 13th, 1991. His case file includes multiple incidents of petty theft and identity theft. Additionally, school records indicate his involvement in several physical altercations with fellow students, though the specific circumstances of these incidents often suggest a defensive posture rather than aggressive initiation.
Hermione's eyes narrowed as she continued to read. It was difficult to reconcile this image of Harry with the studious, easy-going boy she knew.
Despite these disciplinary issues, it is noteworthy that Mr. Potter's educational performance has been exemplary. His academic records show outstanding proficiency in multiple subjects, particularly in mathematics and sciences, as well as remarkable aptitude in complex problem-solving and critical thinking skills.
A small frown tugged at Hermione's lips. "Of course he has always been brilliant," she muttered to herself.
It is also worth mentioning that Mr. Potter's behavioral issues generally emerged when his release from the institution and return to home life was under discussion. The school psychiatrist included a note that indicated Mr. Potter seemed to prefer being at St. Brutus' to his home life.
Hermione made a mental note of this. Considering what Harry's uncle was ultimately imprisoned for, it seemed unlikely that Harry had a good home life. Likewise, it was clear that the environment of St. Brutus' had not dampened Harry's innate intelligence and resilience and perhaps had strengthened it.
Respectfully,
E. G. Buckley
Headmaster, St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys
Hermione placed the letter down, her mind swirling with new information. Theft and physical altercations—it all seemed so unlike the Harry she knew. But the mention of his defensive posture during fights and the exceptional academic achievements resonated deeply with her understanding of him.
She wanted to discuss this with Harry, but knew she had to approach the topic gently—these were sensitive issues, after all.
Her chance came a couple days later.
Harry, Blaise, and Padma had been working in the library for hours, pouring over a variety of subjects for their upcoming exams. The study session gradually wound down, and Blaise was the first to close his book with a satisfied sigh.
"Alright, I think that's enough for today," he said, stretching. "Padma, care for a game of chess in the common room?"
Padma smiled and nodded, beginning to gather her notes. "Sounds like a plan. Harry, Hermione?"
Harry looked up, his eyes gliding over Hermione, who seemed unusually quiet. She intercepted his gaze and took a deep breath.
"Actually, Harry, could you stay back for a moment? I need to discuss some Arithmancy notes with you," she said, her tone steady but carrying an undercurrent of unspoken tension.
Harry's eyebrows knitted slightly. Hermione had been distant lately, and the request made him cautious. Still, curiosity and the nuance in her voice convinced him to stay. "Alright, I'll catch up with you later, guys," he said to Blaise and Padma who exchanged knowing glances before leaving.
When they were alone, Hermione fidgeted with the end of her quill before looking up at him with piercing eyes. "Harry, you've been working on some advanced Arithmancy theories, haven't you? It's been months since you last mentioned it, but I noticed your notes again. You're trying to integrate higher-level mathematics into Arithmancy, aren't you?"
"You've been sneaking at my work, again?" he asked, a bit defensively.
"Only what you left out, Harry. I've seen you working with integrals, and I've figured out that the wizarding world hasn't incorporated that concept into Arithmancy yet. You're pushing boundaries."
Harry hesitated for a moment. Hermione was brilliant, better with the book stuff than even he was. She was also a muggleborn, which meant that muggle mathematics were her heritage as well. He decided to trust her and pulled a notebook from his bag. He opened it, flipping to a page covered in complex equations and notes. "I think integrals could allow us to create wards that are able to be powered anywhere so long as there was any ambient magic."
Hermione's eyes lit up as she examined the notebook. "You're talking about including the fourth dimension into warding schemes? That's brill," she spoke quickly and with enthusiasm as she scanned his notes. "But how would you inscribe?"
"That's another issue I've been working on. I think I've got it solved."
Hermione continued scanning his notes. "Have you considered adding Flamel's constant to account for local magical interference? It could make the calculations more accurate."
Harry studied her suggestion and then nodded slowly. "I didn't know that existed, I'll look into it. Thank you for the suggestion."
She looked up into his eyes, determination mixed with apprehension. "I know we didn't get off to the best start, together. Before I ask something I want to share something about myself," she began.
Harry's curiosity deepened, and he gave a small nod, signaling her to continue.
"My parents," she started, her voice softening, "they're dentists. Married to their work and always busy. I was... a lonely child. They wanted a token kid, you know? Someone to show off but not really understand. They never got my interests, and now that I'm part of the wizarding world... it feels like we're even further apart. I despair at ever being able to connect with them in a meaningful way again."
"At the same time, I worry that I'll never be able to connect with this society fully either. As a muggleborn, I know that my future is limited in many ways. So, here I am, unable to return to the world I'm from because I could never give up magic, and at the same time unable to grow in this world because I'll always just be a muggleborn."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Harry could see the genuine pain in her expression.
She brushed a stray tear from her cheek. "I'm sharing this because... I want you to know that I understand, at least a little, what it's like to feel disconnected, to have a past that shapes you in ways others might not see."
Harry's expression became slightly more guarded at the direction of the conversation.
"It's not easy," she continued, "but sometimes, sharing our burdens can make them a bit lighter."
"Thanks, Hermione. It means a lot that you'd share that with me. It really does."
She gave him a small, encouraging smile and then looked down at her hands, gathering her courage. "Harry, there's something I need to ask you—it's sensitive."
His expression immediately grew guarded again. "What is it?" he asked, his voice hardening.
"The Bartons. I've learned about St. Brutus' and some incidents in your past," she said gently.
Harry's face flushed with anger. His hands clenched into fists. "You've been digging into my past?" he demanded.
Hermione leaned forward, her eyes pleading. "I've not told anyone, I promise. I was only trying to understand you better, Harry and the boy I read about doesn't match the one I know."
For a moment, tension crackled between them. This moment had been coming for a long time, undoubtedly, at some point, someone would learn about his past. Perhaps it was better to speak to someone friendly first. His voice, when he spoke, was resigned but still laced with frustration. "It's not something I like talking about. My time there... it's complicated."
Hermione reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I don't need to know everything, Harry. Could you tell me about growing up with the Bartons?"
Harry took a deep breath, looking at her. He saw the genuine concern in her eyes. For the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of relief. "Yeah, I think I can."
Harry told Hermione a little bit about his childhood, and she told him about hers. They spoke about a shared love of mathematics, though Hermione had largely dropped her study of it when she continued onto Hogwarts. Their heart-to-heart continued for more than an hour before the two said goodbyes, both emotionally exhausted.
As Harry laid down that night he reflected that perhaps he and Hermione had a bit more in common than he had originally assumed. While he was not sure that the burden of his past felt lighter, he felt a little bit more optimistic that even if his past were to come out, he would be accepted for who he was.
Harry slid into his usual seat in the Law and Government classroom. His mind started to wander as the stern Professor Whitlock took her place at the front of the class. Despite her young age, her no-nonsense attitude commanded as much respect as any professor he had encountered. Yet, Harry found it challenging to keep his thoughts within the confines of the subject matter today.
Professor Whitlock began her lecture on the intricacies of magical legislation, but Harry's mind drifted to recent events. Neville had proven to be a formidable force, but he was clearly a one-trick pony and had relied on his personal strength and the strength of his immediate friends. His reluctance to engage in politics as a give-and-take rather than a right-or-wrong had led to his inevitable fall from grace. Draco Malfoy, the architect of that fall, had surged to power, capitalizing on both his victory and every misstep Neville made.
Draco's leadership had been effective. He bolstered the conservative faction, tightened his grip on Hogwarts politics, and advanced his own agenda. What astonished Harry was not just Draco's tactical acumen but how he played people like chess pieces, including members of the neutral caucus like the Galen boy.
Lavender had stepped up to fill the void Neville left with surprising fervor. Harry's initial read that she had all but run the faction prior to Neville's fall seemed correct. Her new role as head of the progressives in Hogwarts saw her scrambling to maintain alliances, reaching out to the neutral faction, and frequently to Harry himself. He saw her exhausting all avenues, including attempts to sway him. Still, he remained wary.
"Mr. Potter?" Professor Whitlock's voice broke into his musings, bringing him back to the present. "We are about to break into small groups to discuss the differences in powers between the Commons and the Wizengamot. Please find your groups quickly."
Before Harry could move, Lavender got to her feet and reached out to pull him into her makeshift group. Parvati Patil followed, her eyes scanning the room for additional members.
"Harry, you're with us," Lavender said with a determined smile, steering him toward the corner where Parvati was already setting up.
As they sat down, Harry couldn't ignore the urgency in Lavender's demeanor. The group wasted no time; Parvati pulled out a parchment, outlining the Wizengamot's judicial authority, while Lavender took on the Commons' legislative powers. Their explanation was clear and concise, breaking down the separation of powers in a way that laid bare the differences between the two.
"The Wizengamot acts almost like our judiciary," Parvati explained, her eyes intent on Harry. "They interpret laws and can act as a supreme court of sorts."
"Meanwhile, the Commons," Lavender interjected, "focuses on drafting and passing laws. Think of them as the legislative body that holds some power to change things, or they would if the Wizengamot didn't have such extensive veto power."
Harry nodded, absorbing the information, but he felt the undercurrent of their real intent.
"We need more voices with a progressive lean, Harry. Voices like yours," Lavender said, her tone shifting. "We are struggling to balance out the power that Lord Malfoy is amassing. He and his allies are doing everything they can to weaken the power of the government, especially the DMLE. Your influence could tip the scales."
Parvati nodded in agreement. "It's clear to the two of us that your upbringing has given you a wildly different view of our world than someone like Malfoy. Ignoring his family's history with yours, you don't seem to like him much, nor do you seem to give much credence to the idea of blood purity. I mean, that's clear enough from the backgrounds of everyone you've found yourself entangled with."
Harry felt their expectations weighing on him, but the weight was nothing compared to those of the goblins and his family. He didn't want to be a pawn in anyone's game, yet the pull to stand against the conservative politics was growing.
"I'll think about it," he finally said, remaining non-committal.
A spark of hope lit in Lavender's eyes. "Please do, Harry," she said earnestly. "We would both love to have you at our side."
Parvati leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "Speaking of influence, Harry, what about your seat on the Wizengamot? Have you decided whether you'll take it early or wait for the summer session?"
Harry's hand moved almost unconsciously, twirling a galleon between his fingers with practiced ease. "I'm leaning toward the summer session," he replied, his tone measured. "There's a lot to consider, and I want to be fully prepared when I do take the seat."
Lavender's eyes flickered to the coin before meeting Harry's gaze again. "That makes sense," she said. "But the sooner you take it, the sooner we can start making real changes."
Harry nodded, acknowledging her point but not yet ready to commit. He could see the disappointment in their eyes but also a glimmer of hope. The conversation left him with much to consider as Professor Whitlock continued with the lecture.
As the lecture concluded, students began packing up their things and filtering out of the classroom. Harry, still turning the galleon between his fingers, gathered his notes and prepared to leave. Just as he slung his bag over his shoulder, Draco Malfoy approached, a smug expression plastered across his face.
"Potter," Draco drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "I couldn't help but notice the way Brown and Patil were practically falling over themselves to secure your help."
Harry's eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to face Draco. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
Draco smirked, leaning in slightly as if to share a private joke. "Oh, nothing much. It's just amusing how desperately they're peddling their... wares."
Harry's expression remained unchanged, though his grip on the coin tightened.
"While flesh may be enticing, Potter," Draco continued, his voice low and insinuating, "it is temporary. Fleeting. But victory? Victory is permanent."
Harry's green eyes met Draco's brown ones, a storm of emotions swirling within them. Draco held his gaze, clearly enjoying the moment of perceived superiority.
"You think about that," Draco added, straightening up. "When you're done playing their little games, you'll see the truth. Aligning with me ensures a future where your contributions are recognized and rewarded. And if flesh is what you're after, I'm sure there is plenty here as well."
Harry felt a mixture of anger and revulsion but managed to keep his expression neutral. "Right then, Malfoy," he replied, his tone icy.
Draco's smirk widened. "Potter. See you around."
The night was clear, the stars blinking clearly in the canvas of the sky. Harry found himself walking the skyway, the narrow bridge connecting the three inner towers of Hogwarts. The wind brushed against his face, cool and crisp as it whistled through the ancient stone battlements. There was a certain tranquility in the solitude, away from the tangled webs of politics and rising threats.
He sighed, inhaling the smoke of his cigarette deeply, trying to calm the tumult inside him. Each step he took seemed to echo in the silence, a reflection of the myriad thoughts swirling in his mind.
Harry paused at the midpoint of the skyway and leaned against the cold stone railing. Staring past the Hogwarts rooftops into the vast expanse of the Forbidden Forest beyond, he felt the weight of upcoming choices like a leaden cloak on his shoulders, or perhaps a noose around his neck.
Neville Longbottom was supposed to be the Chosen One, the child of prophecy. Yet, it was Harry who had been thrust into the heart of the storm. How could he reconcile his desire for vengeance against Voldemort with the reality that he might actually get the chance to act? Would he be ready?
And what of the goblins? Their murmurs of rebellion were growing louder by the day. He had no clue how to stall such a formidable uprising, let alone prevent it. Their expectations were beyond what he could do himself, and he had not yet declared for a faction in order to secure additional support. Beyond that, he was unsure that any other than himself, Remus, and Sirius, were even aware of the imminent threat of Voldemort's return.
The sound of soft footfalls approaching broke his reverie. He turned to see the familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore, his long grey hair and beard gently fluttering in the wind, his blue eyes filled with both wisdom and concern.
"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore greeted, his voice a gentle murmur in the still night. "You are out beyond curfew."
Harry straightened up, a mix of relief and uncertainty flooding him. "I know, Headmaster. I was hoping our paths might cross tonight."
Dumbledore dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. "It seems the fates have conspired in your favor. I sensed you might need company."
A silence settled between them, comfortable yet heavy with unspoken worries. Harry ashed his cigarette and took a deep drag before deciding to unburden his mind. "Professor, how do you handle it? All the directions, the compromises, knowing what to give up and what to keep fighting for?"
Dumbledore looked out into the night, his expression contemplative. "Ah, the art of compromise. It is a delicate balance, Harry. One must always be willing to bend, but never so much as to break."
Harry frowned, his brows knitting together. "But how do you know when what you're giving up is worth what you're getting in return? Doesn't it bother you to compromise with people you inherently disagree with?"
Dumbledore's gaze returned to Harry, his eyes kind but serious. "Harry, the world is rarely black and white. There are shades in every decision, every compromise. One must weigh the greater good against the immediate loss. It is not always easy, nor is it always clear. Wisdom teaches us to look at the broader picture, to consider the wider implications."
Harry shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. "But what if you believe someone is truly evil? How do you justify giving them any ground?"
The Headmaster's expression hardened slightly, a flicker of steely determination in his eyes. "There are times when we must stand firm, when no compromise is acceptable. But in many cases, even those who seem irredeemable may have their humanity. To find peace, one must often seek understanding where there is none."
Harry felt his shoulders slump. "I just... I don't want to make a mistake."
Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "You are wise to worry, Harry. It is when we stop questioning our actions that we truly lose our way. Trust in yourself, in your ability to discern right from wrong. Remember, it is our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities."
Harry nodded slowly, the advice sinking in, though not fully assuaging his doubts. "Thank you, Headmaster."
The two stood in silent companionship for some time as Harry leaned on the rampart and played the conversation over in his mind several times. Several minutes later he stood, decision made.
Stumping his cigarette out on the rampart he turned to Dumbledore and spoke, "I'll take my seat with the spring session of the Wizengamot. Could you help me with the transit arrangements?"
"Of course, Harry. It would be my honor. And know that in the halls of power, you will always have an ally in me."
Harry managed a small smile, feeling a slight lift in his spirits. "Cheers, Headmaster."
With one last nod, Harry turned and started walking back towards the dorms.
As Dumbledore watched Harry disappear into the shadows, he sighed, the weight of his own burdens settling on him once more. He turned and made his way back to his office, the ancient corridors of Hogwarts holding their secrets tightly.
Entering his office, he found Fawkes perched on his stand, a symbol of rebirth and hope. Dumbledore sank into his chair, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows. He whispered softly, his voice carrying the bitterness of old wounds. "It was a cruel trick of fate that left us with Neville Longbottom rather than young Harry Potter."
He leaned back, his eyes closing as he allowed himself this moment of vulnerability before the dawn would bring new challenges and new compromises.