Legacy of the Basilisk

by wolf970

The Horcrux is destroyed in the chamber. Harry will find out about his family, his place in the magical world, and perhaps a family and love.

43. Chapter 43

Chapter 375 "Harry Arrives"

No alarms sounded in Black Manor. One moment, Andromida and Colonel Vincent were deep in conversation, and the next, the doors opened, and Harry walked in, commanding the room.

Andromida turned, a small smile playing on her lips. "I see you've heard about the attack on Tonks's place. "

The Colonel rose from his seat, standing at attention. "Sir, " he said respectfully. Harry's sharp gaze shifted to him. "I Don't believe we've had the pleasure, Colonel. "

"Colonel Strong Vincent, " the man introduced himself, extending a firm hand. You're an American Harry said. "Yes, sir. Named after an ancestor who fought in the Civil War. "Harry's lips quirked in a faint smile as he took the Colonel's hand in a firm shake. "An American, huh? It is a pleasure to meet you, Colonel. "

The formalities exchanged, Harry turned to Andromida, his expression softening slightly. ""Is everyone okay? Are you hurt?""

Andromida stepped toward him slowly, wrapping him in a gentle hug. Harry stiffened briefly before exhaling deeply, tension visibly draining from his frame as he returned the embrace.

"We're fine, Harry, " she said softly, her voice steady and reassuring. "You don't need to worry. "Harry's eyes darkened as he pulled back, his tone low and dangerous. "I'm going to hunt them down and kill them all."

Andromida smiled knowingly, sensing the fire in his words. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I know you will, but don't forget—I'm not some helpless woman who needs saving."

Harry chuckled, the tension in the air easing for a brief moment. "Trust me, Andromida. You're the one woman I'm genuinely afraid of."

Before they could continue, the doors opened again, and a figure clad in striking red armor strode into the room. Her movements were fluidly controlled, and every inch of her radiated authority. She knelt briefly before speaking, her voice clear and unwavering. "I came as soon as I was summoned, Lord Potter-Black."

Harry turned toward her, his demeanor shifting back to calm authority. "Ten, you have my orders. Please select a team of twenty Crows and train them to your standards. From now on, you are part of Regent Black's personal protection detail—until further notice."

Ten rose smoothly, her expression impassive, but her eyes gleamed with fire. "Understood, my Lord. I will ensure Regent Black's safety."

Harry nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Dismissed."

Ten gave a respectful bow before turning on her heel and leaving, her red armor glinting faintly in the light. Harry glanced back at Andromida and the Colonel, the fire in his eyes still burning, though his expression remained calm.

"Whatever they started," he said quietly, "we'll finish it."

Andromida smiled, fierce and unyielding. "Together."

Colonel Vincent crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. "Looks like this fight just got a whole lot more interesting."

Harry turned to Colonel Vincent, his expression sharp and focused. "I have a mission for you, Colonel. Go to the Ministry and inform them I am officially ordering a Crows battalion stationed here in Britain. Their purpose will be to ensure the safety of the Blacks and assist the Aurors as per our standing agreement with Head Auror Scrimgeour."

Colonel Vincent gave a crisp nod. "Of course, sir." He raised his fist to his heart in a swift salute. "Strength and honor, sir."

Harry returned the salute with equal precision. "Strength and honor."

Andromida, watching the exchange with quiet amusement, smiled. "That salute of yours seems to have caught on. First, only your legion elves were using it, and now the Crows have adopted it too."

Harry chuckled softly. "It's more than a gesture—it's tradition. I've been told it's been in my family since the beginning, back when the Potters served as part of the Roman legions. Through generations, it's never strayed from us."

He paused, his gaze distant momentarily before locking back on Andromida. "Strength and honor isn't just a phrase—it defines us. It's who we are."

Andromida's smile deepened a hint of pride in her eyes. "And it seems that legacy is spreading."

Harry's lips quirked in a faint smile. "As it should."

Chapter 376 "Bishop and The Pope"

The grand wooden doors to Pope Benedictus Castellano's office swung open, the faint creak of the ancient hinges echoing in the quiet room. The Pope, seated at an ornately carved desk, looked up from the parchment he had just finished signing. His eyes, calm but piercing, met those of Bishop Dominic, who entered with a solemn air.

Without hesitation, Bishop Dominic dropped to his knees, bowing his head in reverence. Pope Benedictus rose slowly, his movements deliberate and graceful. He stepped around the desk, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the room. Extending his left hand, he waited as Dominic took it reverently, pressing his lips to the heavy office ring.

"Rise, Dominic," the Pope said, his voice steady, with a tone of quiet authority. "Now, tell me—what have we discovered in the ruins of the abbey?"

Bishop Dominic stood, composing himself before speaking. "Holy Father, what we found is… troubling.

Bishop Dominic's voice was steady but grim as he began his report. "As you know, Your Holiness, Cardinal Lucius Valenti, was behind it all. He somehow uncovered references to the lost Prison of the Veiled Saints—a place unknown to us. He also learned about the Sanctified Wardens who were sworn to guard it."

Pope Benedictus listened intently, his expression unreadable, though his eyes gleamed quietly. He gestured for Dominic to continue, folding his hands behind his back as he paced slowly across the room.

"One of our operatives, Raven, retrieved the Cardinal's brain after… the incident. Under advanced brain scans, it became clear that a group of independent curse breakers approached him. This expedition, it appears, was seeking information held by the Church, particularly regarding ancient texts that referenced a lost prison. They claimed to have uncovered a document about a place filled with imprisoned demons, compelling, magical artifacts, and treasures beyond imagination. Naturally, it piqued the Cardinal's interest."

Dominic paused, his jaw tightening slightly. "Cardinal Valenti had long harbored resentment toward you, Your Holiness. He was bitter over your ascension to the papacy, believing it should have been his right. When this expedition presented him with their findings, he saw an opportunity—not just for wealth and power, but also to undermine the authority of the Church."

The Pope's expression remained stoic, though a flicker of disappointment crossed his features. He had known Lucius Valenti for many years and once considered him a trusted ally. The depth of the betrayal stung, but he did not interrupt Dominic's report.

"Rather than aid the expedition with pure intentions, Valenti betrayed them," Dominic continued. "Once they had pinpointed the location of the demonic artifact, he ordered his guard to eliminate the entire expedition. No survivors. With their knowledge, he mobilized a faction of heretics within his order—those loyal to him alone—to retrieve the artifact. That is where things began to unravel."

Dominic took a breath before proceeding. "It was during this mission that the Hound intercepted the heretics. When our forces arrived, they already possessed the artifact. Still, before they could escape, the Hound followed them and had the Pound send Raven and Fenrir, the operatives, to retrieve the artifact from the heretics. This led to the information that ultimately exposed Cardinal Valenti's crimes."

There was a long silence as Pope Benedictus absorbed the report. His gaze turned toward the stained glass window behind his desk, where rays of colored light filtered into the room, casting faint patterns on the floor. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet but resolute. "Lucius Valenti… a man entrusted with power and sacred duty, driven by pride and greed to betray everything he swore to protect."

He turned back to Dominic, his expression hardening. "His actions have not only endangered the Church but have also risked awakening horrors best left forgotten."

Bishop Dominic stood silently, his hands clasped before him as Pope Benedictus continued pacing, his measured footsteps echoing through the room. The tension in the air was palpable as if the very walls of the office absorbed the weight of the conversation.

"But this is what we don't understand," Dominic began, his tone steady but troubled. "How did the artifact leave the Prison? According to the last known records, it was shipped to and received at the Prison." The documents did not say what Prison it was, but now we know why many of our records end without a prison name. It was removed to keep the Prison secret.

Pope Benedictus paused mid-step, turning his sharp gaze toward Dominic, but he said nothing, allowing the Bishop to continue.

"We also know that the prison's location was intentionally erased from official records," Dominic said. "It was scrubbed from every archive, with knowledge passed down verbally from the head of the Order of Librarians. That's how Magnus learned about the situation—through oral tradition. Unfortunately, we have no physical documents to confirm or track the Prison's existence. This leads me to believe that Cardinal Valenti forged certain documents and presented them to the expedition as genuine. Perhaps by sheer luck—or the intervention of something darker—they stumbled upon an artifact they believed was from the Prison."

The Pope resumed pacing, his hands folded behind his back, his expression grim. "If Valenti were capable of such deception, it would explain why no one questioned his involvement. He knew precisely how to manipulate those who trusted him." He stopped abruptly, fixing Dominic with a serious look. "I discovered disturbing information about the Cardinal a few weeks before you raided the Abbey."

Dominic frowned slightly but remained silent, waiting for the Pope to elaborate.

"I placed the Grey Knights in charge of investigating the matter," the Pope continued. "Their task was to determine the extent of Valenti's heresy. It didn't take long for them to confirm my fears—he had turned, Dominic. He was no longer loyal to the All-Father. Once we confirmed his heretical activities, I requested aid from the Mediator. She sent some of her most trusted people to assist the Grey Knights in identifying others who had turned. Several Cardinals have already faced the axe for their betrayal."

Dominic's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't known the extent of the purge. "That explains why the Grey Knights weren't available to assist us during the raid on the Abbey."

The Pope gave a curt nod. "Exactly. They were preoccupied with rooting out corruption from within, which left you to handle the situation at the Abbey without their support."

Dominic's expression softened slightly as he added, "Even without the Grey Knights, the Americans handled themselves exceptionally well. Their Reapers, as they call them, were thorough and efficient. They did exactly what was expected of them, and if we ever need their help again, I won't hesitate to call on them."

Pope Benedictus's stern expression relaxed briefly, a hint of approval in his eyes. "That's good to hear. I'll convey your sentiments to their President. He was eager to learn how his troops performed, and I'm sure he'll be pleased by your assessment."

Dominic inclined his head respectfully. "Their support made a significant difference, Your Holiness. Without them, the mission might not have been as successful."

The Pope turned again toward the window, gazing at the sprawling city beyond. His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of responsibility. "These are dangerous times, Dominic. We must remain vigilant. The shadows are growing longer, and it's clear that Valenti's betrayal was just the beginning. We will need all the allies we can muster—both within our ranks and beyond."

Dominic nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "We will be ready, Your Holiness."

"See that you are," the Pope said softly before returning to his desk. "Because this battle is far from over."

"I have been told that an expedition has uncovered something significant," Pope Benedictus said, his tone thoughtful. "They believe it to be a lost temple… or perhaps a forgotten church. The details are unclear, but the expedition's leader is a well-known Scotsman—a skilled and daring Curse Breaker who has worked with the Goblins on numerous high-risk ventures."

Dominic listened closely, intrigued. "Do we know his name, Your Holiness?"

"Yes," the Pope replied. "Alistair McBain. His reputation precedes him, though not always for the best reasons. He's known to take on dangerous expeditions, often with little regard for the risks involved. And wherever he goes, it seems trouble isn't far behind."

Dominic's eyes narrowed slightly in recognition. "Alistair McBain… I've heard of him. He often brings someone with him on his expeditions, right?"

The Pope nodded. "Indeed. His companion is a certain Dugan Thunderbeard—the same Dwarf who assisted us in America. He's well-known for his alliance with the Lycans and his friendship with Harry Potter."

Dominic smiled faintly, leaning forward. "The very one. Dugan Thunderbeard was instrumental during the American crisis. He may be unconventional, but he's loyal. Do you believe he'll aid McBain on this expedition?"

"I do," the Pope said without hesitation. "Thunderbeard is fiercely loyal to those he calls friends. If McBain is in need, Thunderbeard will be there."

Dominic leaned back, considering the situation. "If Thunderbeard is involved, we may have more to learn from this expedition than initially expected. He has a knack for finding things others overlook—and getting out of situations most wouldn't survive."

"Exactly," the Pope said. "Keep a close eye on them. We'll need to act quickly if they uncover something tied to the lost Prison or any ancient dangers. McBain and Thunderbeard may be able to help us, but we can't afford to be caught off guard."

Chapter 377 "The Meeting"

The atmosphere in Director Amelia Bones' office was thick with tension, the kind that lingered in the air before a storm. Minister Fudge sat in one of the high-backed chairs, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, his usual air of self-importance dampened by the gravity of the situation. Beside him stood Ambassador Lockwood, his impeccably tailored robes starkly contrasting the grim expressions around him. Director Bones herself stood near her desk, her sharp eyes scanning the room, betraying nothing of the concern she carried.

The door creaked open, and the room stilled. Auror Chief Alastor Moody entered first, his wooden leg thumping against the polished floor with each deliberate step. His scarred face was set in its usual grim scowl, but his magical eye swiveled wildly, scanning every corner of the room as though danger could pounce at any moment. Behind him, Lieutenant Nymphadora Tonks followed, her usual vibrant hair subdued to a natural brown, her face drawn and serious.

Tonks came to immediate attention, her posture straight and formal as she stood before her superiors. Moody, however, stopped just inside the door, leaning heavily on his staff and letting his mismatched eyes roam over the room's occupants.

Director Bones broke the silence, her tone measured but firm. "At ease, Lieutenant." She gestured toward the empty chairs in front of her desk. "Both of you, take a seat."

Tonks hesitated for a fraction of a second before moving to sit. Moody, predictably, remained where he was, his stance unyielding. Bones didn't press the matter, her attention returning to Tonks.

"How are you holding up, Lieutenant?" Bones asked, her voice softening just slightly. "I need to know if you're ready for this debrief."

Tonks straightened further, if possible, her tone was firm. "I'm fine, Director. I'm ready."

Moody grunted in approval, his lips twisting into something that might have been a smile—or a grimace. "She's tougher than she looks, Amelia. You won't find her backing down."

Bones nodded, satisfied. "Good. That's what I needed to hear."

Minister Fudge cleared his throat, fidgeting slightly in his chair. "This debrief is of the utmost importance. Headmaster Dumbledore will join us shortly, but we should begin with what we know."

Before he could say more, Moody's magical eye swiveled to the door, his body tensing. "He's here," he said gruffly, just as a knock sounded.

The door opened to reveal Elizabeth, who showed Dumbledore into the office with a new tray of tea and sandwiches, following behind the Headmaster.

Dumbledore stepped into the room with his usual air of calm authority, his sharp blue eyes twinkling as he took in the gathered faces. With a small, knowing smile, he addressed them. "Ah, it seems the gang is all here. These meetings are becoming quite routine, aren't they? It's truly remarkable—and a bit unsettling, if I may say so."

He moved toward an empty chair, his long robes brushing the polished floor, and settled comfortably. "I must admit, Minister Fudge, you've made a fair observation. Not since the rise of the last Dark Lord have we seen so many high-level meetings convened in such rapid succession. And yet, here we are again."

The room remained silent as Dumbledore continued, his tone growing more serious. "But unlike the days of Voldemort's reign, our current challenges seem to multiply and evolve. Wars raging in foreign lands, Liches and necromancers brazenly invading the world of the living… It seems there's no shortage of chaos."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping across the room. "And let us not forget the International Confederation of Wizards, who are now up in arms over the actions of one of our country's lords—actions taken on their orders, no less. A fascinating display of political theater, wouldn't you agree?"

Dumbledore paused, letting his words sink in before his eyes settled on Director Bones. His voice softened, but the weight of his words was unmistakable. "And I suspect, yet again, this meeting is centered around none other than Harry Potter."

There was a faint murmur among the room's occupants, but no one voiced disagreement. Dumbledore's expression turned thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. "He seems to have a way of finding himself at the heart of the storm, doesn't he? Or perhaps… the storm finds him."

He clasped his hands together, his demeanor calm but his eyes sharp. "Well, then. Let us discuss what has brought us here this time. I fear it may be as troubling as ever, but we must face it."

Director Bones straightened in her chair, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room like a hawk surveying its domain. She placed her hands firmly on the polished desk before her and spoke with measured authority. "Before we delve into the ICW, let's ensure everyone here is fully informed of recent events. Lieutenant Tonks, if you would, please provide a detailed account of what transpired at your manor."

Tonks rose from her seat, her expression grave. She took a steadying breath, then began. "My mother, Regent Black, had come to visit my manor—a gift from Harry—to see what I had done with the place. We had just completed a tour of the grounds and were sitting for tea when it began. Explosions ripped through the air, and the alarms blared, signaling that the wards had fallen."

Her voice tightened, and her grip on the back of her chair grew white-knuckled as she continued. "The sound of spellfire followed almost immediately. It was deafening. Before we could fully react, three Crows burst into the room, their faces grim. They informed us that the outer guards had been overwhelmed and that the injured had activated their emergency Portkeys to escape the battlefield."

Her eyes flicked around the room, her tone growing more intense. "Then, as if to drive the point home, the front of the manor exploded inward in a deafening roar. Smoke, debris, and shards of wood filled the air, and assassins clad in black poured through the breach like a wave of shadows."

Tonks paused, her voice lowering as she described the chaos. "They tried to rush us, but my mother—Regent Black—responded immediately. With a single sweep of her wand, she decimated the first wave of attackers, halting their advance before they could reach us."

Her gaze hardened, her tone laced with grim determination. "But they were well-trained. More attackers struck from the flanks, forcing us to divide our focus. At the same time, others dropped through the ceiling, shattering the room above us and raining debris as they descended. My mother stood at the front, repelling the assassins with deadly accuracy. Meanwhile, I charged the attackers on the right flank, engaging them in hand-to-hand combat."

Her voice faltered momentarily, but she pressed on. "The Crows guarding the left flank fought valiantly but were overwhelmed. All three went down under the weight of the assault. The fighting was brutal, chaotic—spellfire and steel clashing in every direction."

Tonks hesitated, her expression darkening. "And then she emerged. The leader of the assassins. A woman wearing a Chinese demon mask. Her aura alone was enough to send a chill down your spine. My mother engaged her directly, a raw power and precision duel that left destruction in its wake. The assassins who remained tried to close in, but she cut them down mercilessly, her every movement controlled and deadly."

She exhaled sharply, her voice trembling slightly. "Ultimately, my mother defeated the leader, severing her hand and tearing the mask from her face. The fight was over, but not without cost. The manor is in ruins, and the bodies of the fallen—both friend and foe—lie as a grim reminder of what happened."

Director Bones nodded solemnly, her sharp eyes never leaving Tonks. The room was silent, the weight of her account pressing down on everyone present. "Thank you, Lieutenant," Bones said quietly. "Your account confirms the severity of this attack—and the level of threat we're facing."

The silence that followed was broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, each second marking the growing tension in the room.

Dumbledore removed his pipe from his robes, lighting it with a flick of his wand. He took a slow puff, the faint scent of tobacco curling into the air, as Director Bones shot him a sharp glare. Unfazed, he gave her a small, mischievous smile, exhaling a steady stream of smoke.

"Were we able to identify any of the bodies?" Dumbledore asked his tone calm but probing as his eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Director Bones glanced at the detailed notes before her, her expression hardening. "Unfortunately, no. Though we recovered their bodies, any attempt to remove their hoods triggered a fail-safe. It activated an acid-like substance, reducing the remains to an unrecognizable mush within seconds. There's no way to determine who they were or where they came from."

Dumbledore frowned, the corners of his mouth tightening around the pipe. "So, we're left with nothing?"

"Not entirely," Bones replied. "We did manage to recover one item intact—the demon mask worn by their leader."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. "Interesting. And their fighting style? What did you observe?"

Tonks, who had been silent, took a moment to collect her thoughts. "They were proficient with magic," she said, her voice steady. "But magic wasn't their focus. They were far more skilled with weapons and close-quarters combat. Their strategy seemed designed to overwhelm and engage us in tight spaces, where they could exploit their strengths."

She paused, her expression hardening. "Despite that, my mother alone took down over fifty of them. Her precision and power… it was devastating."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "And you, Lieutenant? How did you fare?"

Tonks straightened slightly. "I held the right flank. Before the fight ended, I took down ten of them in hand-to-hand combat."

"And the Crows?" Dumbledore asked, his voice gentle but firm.

"They fought valiantly," Tonks said, her tone softening. "They held the left flank as long as possible and took down their fair share before they were overwhelmed. All three were gravely injured before the battle ended."

Dumbledore nodded, taking another puff from his pipe as he processed the information. "A formidable foe, well-organized and well-prepared. Yet, they underestimated the power of a Black."

Director Bones nodded grimly. "They did. But this attack raises far more questions than answers. Who sent them? What were they after? And why were they willing to sacrifice themselves so easily?"

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on the demon mask on her desk. "Indeed. It seems we have much to uncover. The enemy is playing a long game, and we've only just begun to see the board."

The room fell into contemplative silence as the weight of the situation pressed down on them, each pondering the many unknowns ahead.

The soft clearing broke the silence in the room of Minister Fudge's throat. His usually confident tone wavered slightly as he addressed the room. "We've asked you to join us, Albus, because Lord Potter-Black will be here shortly. We believe his response to these events will be… decisive. Too decisive, perhaps. We need your counsel to help us prevent him from doing something with repercussions none of us can foresee."

Dumbledore, seated comfortably and puffing on his pipe, didn't respond immediately. Wisps of smoke curled around his head as he stared into the middle distance, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he shook his head slowly. "You misunderstand, Cornelius. They've already set the wheels in motion by attacking those Harry considers family. Nothing we do here will deter him from his path."

Director Bones stiffened slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing. "What are you suggesting, Albus? That we let him charge ahead unchecked?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled faintly though his face was grave. "No. I am suggesting that you prepare for the consequences of his actions. Because mark my words—they will be swift and uncompromising."

He took another slow puff on his pipe before continuing. "They made a grave mistake. Harry sees Andromeda as a mother figure who has offered him guidance and care. And Nymphadora... well, he views her as a sister. That bond is not one to be trifled with."

Tonks, standing silently near Moody, visibly stiffened at Dumbledore's words. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she bit down on her tongue, forcing herself not to lash out. She could feel Dumbledore's piercing gaze on her, and the faint smile on his lips only fueled her frustration.

Moody, noticing her tension, let out a gruff laugh, his gravelly voice breaking the tension. "That's not even the half of it, Albus. They should've gone after Harry himself. Hell, he probably wouldn't have cared as much. But no… they went after his family. That was their biggest mistake."

He leaned forward, his magical eye swiveling as he emphasized his following words. "Now, nothing will stop him from finding those responsible. And when he does…" Moody's lips curled into a grim smile. "He'll deal with them in the most direct manner possible."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Fudge fidgeted uncomfortably, clearly unnerved by the conversation. "Surely there's a way to reason with him," he said weakly. "To make him see the bigger picture?"

Dumbledore finally turned his gaze to the Minister, his tone kind but firm. "Reason, Cornelius, is not something Harry will entertain where his family is concerned. If you want to help, you must stand aside. He will not stop until those responsible are brought to justice—his kind of justice."

The quiet intensity of Dumbledore's words settled over the room like a storm cloud, and no one dared argue further. They all knew Moody was right. Harry Potter-Black was a force to be reckoned with—and now, nothing would stand in his way.

Ambassador Lockwood shook his head, his expression grim. "This will play directly into the ICW's hands. The senators will seize this opportunity to paint Lord Potter-Black as a renegade—a loose cannon that must be stopped. They'll use this to justify further interference."

Director Bones frowned, her lips pressed into a thin line as she opened her mouth to respond. Before she could, the door to her office swung open, and an aide stepped inside. "Director Bones, a Colonel Strong Vincent from the Crows requesting to speak with you."

Bones straightened in her chair, her sharp gaze flicking to the aide. "Show him in."

Moments later, Colonel Strong Vincent entered the room, his polished boots thudding softly against the floor. He was a tall man with a commanding presence, his crisp uniform bearing the insignia of the 13th Battalion of Crows. He stopped before the group, his posture stiff and formal as he addressed them.

"Gentlemen. Ma'am," he said, his tone steady and authoritative. "I am Colonel Strong Vincent, commanding officer of the 13th Battalion."

Director Bones gave a curt nod. "You have a message for us, Colonel?"

"Yes, ma'am." Vincent's voice was clear and confident. "I am here to inform you that my 13th Battalion of Crows is now stationed in Britain. We have been deployed under the provisions outlined in the agreement with Head Auror Scrimgeour. Our mission is to assist with maintaining security and providing reinforcement where needed."

Director Bones fixed her sharp gaze on Colonel Vincent. Her tone was clipped and precise. "A battalion, Colonel? How many Crows does that consist of?"

Vincent stood at attention, his voice steady. "A full battalion consists of four companies, ma'am. That's five hundred Crows."

Moody's magical eye swiveled toward the Colonel as he let out a low grunt. "Does that number include the two companies already stationed here?"

Vincent's lips curved into a faint smile. "It does not, sir."

Moody raised an eyebrow, his rough voice cutting through the room. "So, in reality, we're looking at over seven hundred Crows currently stationed in Britain?"

"Correct," Vincent confirmed with a slight nod.

Minister Fudge's face paled slightly, his brows furrowing in surprise. "Seven hundred? Why so many? What exactly is Lord Potter-Black anticipating?"

Vincent's expression remained impassive as he answered. "Lord Potter-Black did not share the specifics of his reasoning, Minister. He only instructed me to ensure our forces were deployed and ready to reinforce when an attack occurred. His orders were clear: be prepared for anything."

The room fell silent momentarily, the weight of the Colonel's words hanging in the air. Bones leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled thoughtfully. "That's a significant force, Colonel. Whatever Harry is preparing for, he's anticipating something large-scale."

Moody grunted again, his magical eye whirling. "Seven hundred Crows isn't overkill—it's Harry being Harry. He doesn't gamble with lives. If he's calling this many, there's a damn good reason."

Fudge glanced uneasily at the others, his tone cautious. "I only hope he's not overreacting. The ICW is already watching him closely, and such a show of force could complicate matters further."

Dumbledore, silently observing, exhaled a thin stream of pipe smoke, his eyes twinkling faintly. "Harry's actions are rarely without purpose, Cornelius. If he's taken these steps, I suspect it is because the threat is far greater than even we realize."

Director Bones watched as Colonel Vincent exited the office, the door closing softly behind him. Her sharp gaze swept the room, settling briefly on each person before Minister Fudge broke the silence.

"I don't like having that kind of force in our country, especially one we don't control," Fudge said, his tone uneasy. His fingers tapped nervously on the armrest of his chair.

Bones leaned back in her chair, her expression calm but firm. "I understand your concern, Minister," she replied, her voice steady. "But the fact remains—it is within the rights of the Black and Potter families to maintain their forces. It's written into their charters, and those charters are ironclad. Our hands are tied."

Fudge scowled, his discomfort evident. "We've removed similar provisions from the charters of other noble families over the years. Why haven't we succeeded with these two?"

Bones allowed a faint smile to cross her face, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Because, Minister, the Black and Potter families are unique. Their influence runs deeper than most, and layers of ancient magical law protect their charters. Altering them would require unanimous consent from Wizengamot, which will never happen. And truthfully, I'm not sure we would want it to."

Fudge raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Why not?"

"Because," Bones said, leaning forward slightly, "we've relied on their forces repeatedly in times of crisis. The Blacks and Potters have never hesitated to lend their strength when the Ministry—or even the ICW—was in need. If anything, we'll likely continue to depend on them."

Fudge sighed heavily, still clearly uncomfortable with the situation but unable to argue further. "It's a dangerous precedent," he muttered.

"Perhaps," Bones conceded, her tone softening just slightly. "But in these uncertain times, having allies like them is necessary. And as much as it pains me to admit it, their autonomy allows them to act decisively when bureaucracy would slow us down."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of her words settling over everyone. Whatever unease lingered about the presence of the Crows, it was clear to all that they might very well be the key to surviving the challenges ahead.

Chapter 378 "Lockwood and The ICW"

Moody and Tonks exited Director Bones' office, their heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor. With the domestic matters settled for now, there was no need for their involvement in the following conversation. The door closed firmly behind them, and the atmosphere in the office shifted.

Ambassador Lockwood leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. "Now that we've addressed the domestic issues—for the moment—let us turn our attention to the foreign matters at hand."

He paused, his tone growing more deliberate. "I have personally intervened to facilitate a meeting between the Adjudicator and the Supreme Mugwump with Lord Potter-Black. Given the gravity of the situation, I will be present during the proceedings. However, I would like some insight—how do you think Lord Potter-Black will fare when facing their questions?"

Director Bones folded her hands on the desk, her expression unreadable. "Harry is... complex," she began. "He does not play by conventional rules or bow easily to authority. That said, he is strategic. He understands the importance of this meeting and what's at stake. He won't take it lightly."

Ambassador Lockwood raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Strategic or not, the Adjudicator and the Supreme Mugwump are not known for their leniency. Their questions will be sharp, and their judgment will still be harsher. How do you expect Harry to respond under such scrutiny?"

Bones allowed herself a faint smile. "Harry will respond as he always does—directly and with purpose. He's not one for flowery words or political maneuvering. If anything, his bluntness may work to his advantage. The ICW respects strength, and Harry has it in spades."

Lockwood frowned, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his chair. "Strength alone won't be enough. They'll want accountability. They'll push him on his actions and demand justification."

"Then they'll get it," Bones replied firmly. "Harry doesn't act without reason. If they question him, he'll lay out the facts. And if they try to corner him, they'll find he's not so easily intimidated."

Lockwood sighed, leaning back slightly. "Let's hope you're right. This meeting could determine more than Harry's standing—it could influence Britain's relationship with the ICW for years."

Dumbledore, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke, his calm voice breaking the tension. "Harry Potter-Black is no ordinary wizard, Ambassador. He carries the weight of a legacy that commands respect, even among the ICW. He is young but also decisive and unyielding regarding matters he holds dear. The Adjudicator and the Supreme Mugwump will recognize that—whether they admit it or not."

Lockwood gave a slow nod, though his expression remained cautious. "I hope you're right, Headmaster. Because if they don't… this meeting could have consequences far beyond Lord Potter-Black."

The room fell into a thoughtful silence as the gravity of the upcoming meeting settled over them, each person contemplating the storm that was sure to come.

The door to Director Bones' office creaked open, and Elizabeth stepped inside. Her expression was composed, but her voice carried the weight of the name she was about to announce.

"Lord Hadrian Potter-Black is here."

Director Bones straightened in her chair, exchanging a glance with Ambassador Lockwood before nodding. "Please, show him in, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth stepped aside, and Harry strode into the room with the quiet confidence of a man who had long since grown accustomed to scrutiny. His emerald eyes swept across the gathered officials, assessing each of them—Fudge, Bones, Lockwood, and Dumbledore—all seated in a semi-circle as if prepared for a tribunal.

His gaze finally settled on Dumbledore. "I assume you've been informed of the attack, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore exhaled slowly, setting his pipe aside as his piercing blue eyes met Harry's. "Yes, I was just informed of the situation." His voice was calm, but an unmistakable note of concern was beneath it.

Harry's expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his stance—something taut, restrained, barely leashed. "Then you understand why I am here."

Director Bones leaned forward slightly, hands folded neatly on the desk. "We do, Lord Potter-Black. And I suspect we also understand what you intend to do about it."

A flicker of something dark passed through Harry's eyes. "Do you?"

Director Bones leaned forward, her sharp gaze locking onto Harry's. Her tone was firm measured but laced with the weight of her authority. "You're planning to hunt them down, aren't you? To find those responsible and make them pay."

She exhaled slowly, observing him before continuing. "But you must understand, Lord Potter-Black, it is my responsibility to bring those responsible for the attack to justice. That duty falls to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, not personal vengeance."

Harry's lips curled into a faint smile, though no warmth was behind it. His emerald eyes gleamed with an intensity that sent a shiver through the room. "I understand, Director Bones, and I expect nothing less from you." He took a measured step forward, his presence filling the space like a storm rolling in. "But you're mistaken about one thing."

The air in the room seemed to thrum with quiet power as he continued, his voice calm but unwavering. "They didn't just attack a manor. They didn't just break wards or engage in an act of aggression. They attacked my family. They spilled blood under my name." His jaw tightened, his magic pressing subtly against the room like a predator pacing in the shadows.

"And as the Old Ways dictate," Harry continued, his voice lowering to a quiet but deadly timbre, "I have the legal right to respond however I see fit. These are ancient laws, ones older than this Ministry, older than the ICW, laws that govern the great houses and the noble bloodlines we still recognize today. You may seek justice in your way, Director Bones." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "But I will seek mine."

The silence that followed was thick and oppressive. Director Bones held his gaze, unflinching, but she knew the truth in his words. These were not modern laws written on parchment and dictated by bureaucracy—these were blood rights, binding and absolute. The Ministry had removed such privileges from most noble houses over the years, stripping them of their ability to act independently of the law. But the Potters and the Blacks… their charters had never been touched.

She folded her hands before her, her expression unreadable. "And what do you intend to do, Lord Potter-Black?"

Harry smiled again, but this time, it carried a chilling finality. "I intend to remind them why my House has stood for over a thousand years."

Andromeda entered her office, shutting the door with a quiet click. Her expression was composed, but her movements carried the weight of purpose. She strode toward the far wall and, with a precise flick of her wand, traced a silent command through the air.

The wall shuddered before sliding to the side, revealing a large crystal screen embedded within the stone. An image flickered to life as the runes along its edges pulsed faintly. Evasio Scarria's face appeared within moments—his sharp features relaxed into a knowing smile as he inclined his head in greeting.

"Regent Black," he said smoothly, his deep voice laced with warmth. "It has been far too long."

Andromeda let out a soft breath, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Please, Evasio, let's do away with titles. To you, I have always been Andromeda."

Evasio's smile widened slightly. "Fair enough. And I must say, it's good to see the Black name back where it belongs."

Her expression darkened slightly. "Then you've already heard the news."

Evasio tilted his head, his sharp eyes studying her. "Which news, exactly? The attack on your daughter's manor? Or are you referring to our new Lord's victories in Africa and the Americas? Or perhaps the growing unease within the ICW?"

Andromeda's lips pressed into a thin line. "The attack," she confirmed.

Evasio exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Yes, I heard. Troubling, though not unexpected. And I assume our Lord Potter-Black is already moving to address the matter?"

Andromeda's expression remained unreadable, but her next words carried a quiet certainty. "You assume correctly."

Evasio remained steady as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of generations of power and legacy. "I have already set my house's resources in motion, reaching out to known and hidden contacts. Within a day or two, I will have answers. We will find those responsible for daring to strike at the Black family so openly. In the shadows? That is expected—intrigue, whispers, and subtle blades have always been part of the game."

His expression hardened, his fingers tapping against the desk. "But this… this was no clandestine move. This was open warfare." His eyes gleamed with cold fire. "And those behind it will serve as a lesson to others—a warning of what happens when you dare to challenge the Blacks so brazenly."

Across the screen, Andromida leaned back slightly, listening intently before a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. I appreciate your support, Evasio. "Andromeda, you don't need to thank me." A chuckle rumbled from his throat. "As if I would not help. We are family, after all."

His dark eyes glinted with something dangerous. "When our Lord goes to war, so do we. If you need soldiers, ask, and I will send what I have."

Andromeda gave him a slight, appreciative nod. "I will keep that in mind, Evasio. Your support is invaluable, as always."

"Then it is yours," he said with a grin before the crystal screen flickered and dimmed, the connection severed.

As the room fell into silence, Andromeda exhaled slowly, steepling her fingers in thought. Across Europe, in the shadows beneath its great cities, the unseen hands of Evasio Scarria were already moving, whispering through the dark underworld, stirring long-buried networks into action. The hunt had begun, and those responsible would soon learn—some lines should never be crossed.

And attacking the Black family was one of them.

Harry arrived at Black Manor, his presence filling the grand hall as he stepped inside. Andromeda was already waiting for him, her expression composed but keenly observant as she took in his arrival.

She informed him without preamble, "I reached out to Evasio in Italy. "I wanted to make sure he knew about the attack."

Harry met her gaze, his lips twitching slightly. "And?"

"He already knew," Andromeda said with a knowing smile. "He's already mobilizing his resources to find out who was behind it."

Harry exhaled, a faint smirk crossing his face. "I haven't met the man, but his reputation precedes him."

Andromeda chuckled softly, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "Evasio and I grew up together. We attended more family gatherings than I can count. Even when I chose to leave the family behind, he never abandoned me. He ensured I had the money, the support, whatever I needed to survive."

Harry's smile widened slightly. "It seems I need to meet this man. He's the other half of the Black family I haven't had the chance to know."

Before Andromeda could respond, Harry turned slightly and spoke with quiet authority. "Dobby. Kreacher."

With two soft pops, the house elves appeared before him, their large eyes attentive and eager. "Yes, Harry?" they both intoned in unison.

Harry handed Dobby a sealed parchment, his expression sharp and commanding. "Take this to the General. Tell him to mobilize immediately."

Dobby nodded, gripping the parchment tightly. "Dobby will deliver it, sir!" He gave a quick bow and vanished with another pop.

Harry then turned to Kreacher, his tone unwavering. "Go to the auxiliaries. Tell them to mobilize as well. They will be needed."

Kreacher gave a slow, deliberate bow, his ancient voice rasping with loyalty. "Of course, Master. It shall be done." And with that, he, too, disappeared into thin air.

Andromeda studied Harry for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "You aren't wasting any time."

Harry's eyes darkened, his voice low but firm. "No. They declared war the moment they came for my family. Now, I'm answering."

Andromeda nodded, her smile fading into something more serious. "Then let's ensure they never forget what happens when you cross the House of Black."

Chapter 379 "House Elves"

As Lord Potter-Black exited Director Bones' office, his expression was unreadable, his stride purposeful. He barely paused as he passed Scrimgeour, offering the Head Auror only a curt nod before continuing down the hall without another word. Scrimgeour's sharp eyes followed him, his brow furrowing slightly before he straightened his shoulders and stepped forward.

Elizabeth opened the office door, her tone professional and crisp. "Director, Head Auror Scrimgeour is here to see you."

Sitting at her desk, Director Bones exchanged glances with Minister Fudge, Ambassador Lockwood, and Headmaster Dumbledore. Without hesitation, she nodded. "Let him in."

Scrimgeour entered, his keen gaze sweeping the room as he took in the assembled officials. His steps faltered briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he schooled his expression into something more neutral. His voice, however, carried a hint of restrained irritation.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said, his tone carefully measured, though the underlying tension was evident. "I wasn't aware a high-level meeting was taking place."

Dumbledore, ever composed, offered him a small, knowing smile, but Director Bones responded. "Not at all, Scrimgeour. Your presence is timely. Close the door—we have much to discuss."

Scrimgeour exhaled through his nose, stepping inside fully as the weight of the conversation ahead settled over the room.

Director Bones folded her hands on the desk, her sharp gaze settling on Scrimgeour. "What brings you here, Head Auror? "

Scrimgeour hesitated for only a moment before responding. "A few months ago, I received a report that many house-elves were being sold in Knockturn Alley. At the time, I didn't think much of it. They were bought and paid for through legitimate channels, and no crime was committed—at least, none warranted DMLE involvement. "

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "But then, I received a formal notice from the ICW. " His expression darkened. "All five major house-elf breeding facilities across the world have been emptied. The structures remain intact, untouched even, but every single house-elf—thousands of them—are gone. "

The silence that followed was deafening. The gravity of the statement sent a ripple of unease through the room.

Ambassador Lockwood was the first to react, his brow furrowing as he looked around at his fellow officials. "I haven't heard a word about this. This must have only just happened. "

Scrimgeour nodded. "It's fresh news. The ICW is demanding answers, but no one has any yet. It's as if the elves vanished overnight."

Quietly observing the exchange, Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled together. His blue eyes gleamed with quiet understanding. "And I suspect you've come here because you believe someone within Britain may know something?"

Scrimgeour exhaled sharply. "At this point, I don't know what to believe. But given recent events, I'd be a fool not to follow the trail while it's fresh."

Director Bones leaned back in her chair, her mind racing through the implications. "This isn't just a matter of missing house-elves. This is something much larger. If all five breeding facilities have been emptied, someone has successfully moved an entire population in secrecy."

The realization sent a chill through the room. The question now wasn't just how it had happened—but why.

Scrimgeour exhaled, his tone measured as he continued. "I sent Captain Hammer and her investigative team to question the merchants at the house-elf market. They've just returned with their initial report. " He glanced around the room, noting the attentive expressions before delivering the unsettling news.

"It wasn't just one person buying up house-elves—it was several. For a few months, individuals came in and emptied entire households of their elves. Each purchase was legal, adequately documented, and paid for in full. "

Director Bones narrowed her eyes. ""Coordinated?""

Scrimgeour nodded grimly. "Seems that way. The merchants even tried to contact their usual sources to restock, but they've received no reply. " He crossed his arms. "And now we know why. Everyone is missing.""

Ambassador Lockwood rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "This is highly unusual. I've never heard anyone interfering with the house-elf trade, let alone targeting every central breeding facility. There's no precedent for this. "

Scrimgeour sighed, shaking his head. "Neither have I. And I doubt this is just some elaborate business maneuver. Someone went to extreme lengths to do this quietly, legally, and without raising suspicion. There's a purpose behind it—won't know what it is yet.""Dumbledore's fingers steepled as he regarded Scrimgeour thoughtfully. "This was not a crime committed against the merchants—it was a removal. The question is… for what purpose? And more importantly, who could have orchestrated something of this scale? "

Scrimgeour gave a short nod. "That's why I'm bringing this to your attention. We're continuing to dig for leads, and I'll keep Captain Hammer and her team on it. "

Director Bones leaned forward slightly. "Good work, Scrimgeour. Keep me informed of anything new. "

Scrimgeour nodded briefly, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door. "I'll let you know the moment we find something concrete," he said over his shoulder before exiting, leaving the room heavy with questions and unease.

Chapter 380 "Duskbourne & Vail, Esquires"

Lucian Duskbourne strode through the grand entrance of his law firm, Duskbourne & Vail, Esquires, his polished leather shoes making a slight sound against the black marble floors. The firm's interior was a masterpiece of old-world elegance and ominous authority—dark mahogany walls lined with ancient legal tomes, enchanted chandeliers casting a dim golden glow, and an air of measured silence that demanded respect.

As he crossed the threshold, his sharp, ice-blue eyes caught sight of his ever-efficient assistant, Selene Voss. Tall and impeccably dressed in a sleek charcoal suit, her piercing emerald eyes and flawless posture made her presence commanding. She had worked with him for decades, long enough to know that small talk was unnecessary.

Selene approached smoothly, holding a crisp parchment sealed in obsidian-black wax. "Good morning, Mr. Duskbourne."

Lucian gave her a rare but fleeting smile. "And to you, Selene."

She extended the letter with precise elegance. "An urgent message from Lord Hadrian Potter-Black."

Lucian halted mid-stride, his smile fading as he took the letter with gloved fingers. "When did it arrive?"

"Exactly two minutes ago, sir," Selene replied. "Delivered by a white owl—his messenger."

Lucian's brows lifted slightly. The personal owl of Lord Potter-Black. That meant the message was not just important but critical.

"See that she is taken care of before she departs," he instructed, his voice smooth but firm.

Selene's lips quirked at the corner. "Already done, sir. She's currently resting in the aviary."

"Good." Lucian nodded and continued toward his office, Selene matching his pace effortlessly.

As they approached the heavy double doors of his office, they opened on their own, enchanted to recognize their Master. The room beyond was a sanctum of power steeped in centuries of history.

The air inside was thick with magic, making lesser men hesitate before stepping in. Towering bookshelves lined the walls with forbidden legal texts, blood-bound contracts, and treaties older than the Ministry. The scent of aged parchment, candle wax, and the faintest trace of cold iron filled the room.

At the center of it all stood a massive obsidian desk carved with intricate runes that pulsed with faint silver light. On its meticulously arranged surface were case files bound in enchanted leather, quills that wrote in self-correcting ink, and a goblet of deep crimson (whether it was wine or something more… potent was unclear).

Behind the desk, an arched floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the London skyline. Its enchanted glass darkened against the daylight, casting the room in perpetual twilight. Despite being a daywalker, Lucian preferred the embrace of shadows.

A grand black fireplace stood on the far side, flames flickering blue and silver, giving the illusion of spectral figures moving within. Above it, mounted like a trophy, was an ancient Roman gladius, its blade blackened with age yet still humming with latent power.

The atmosphere inside Duskbourne's office was heavy, expectant—as though the room knew something significant was about to unfold.

Lucian walked toward his desk with the grace of a predator, sliding the obsidian seal of the letter beneath his sharp nail. As he broke the wax, a slight pulse of ancient magic spread through the room, sending a chill.

Selene, standing to the side, waited, unphased by the shift.

Lucian's eyes narrowed as he unfolded the parchment, scanning its contents. His fingers curled slightly at the edges of the letter, the only tell of his reaction.

A tense silence stretched between them before he finally spoke, his voice a smooth blade against the quiet.

"Well," he murmured, folding the letter carefully. "It seems our Lord needs me."

Selene arched a single brow. "Shall I clear your schedule?"

Lucian's cold and deliberate smile returned. "Yes, please do so. I will review what he sent me, and then we are off to the ICW."

Selene gave a knowing nod and turned to leave.

Lucian placed the letter on his desk and leaned back in his high-backed black leather chair, fingers steepled in thought.

The storm that was Lord Hadrian Potter-Black had begun to move.

And where storms moved, power shifted.

It was time to see just how far this one would reach.

The knock on Sebastian Laurent's office door was sharp and precise—more of an announcement than a request for entry. Before he could respond, Etienne Moreau stepped inside, his usually calm demeanor marred by something unreadable.

Sebastian barely looked up from the reports on his desk, his quill scratching against parchment as he signed off on a Ministry document. "You look troubled, Moreau," he noted dryly. "What is it?"

Etienne exhaled, stepping closer. "I just received word that Lucian Duskbourne is on his way for the meeting between Lord Hadrian Potter-Black, the Adjudicator, and yourself."

Sebastian's quill paused mid-stroke. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. "I haven't even sent out the summons yet."

Etienne's expression darkened. "It seems the Adjudicator took the liberty of doing so."

Sebastian's jaw clenched slightly, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Then tell her to get to my office—now."

Before Etienne could respond, the office door swung open again, and Colonel Kostas strode in with the sharp efficiency of a soldier delivering urgent news.

"I was just informed that Lord Lucian Duskbourne is coming to visit you."

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, arching a single brow. "And why, exactly, should this concern me?"

Kostas hesitated for half a second—just long enough for Sebastian to notice. "You don't know who Lord Lucian Duskbourne is, sir?"

"I do not," Sebastian replied, his tone bordering on impatience.

The Colonel exhaled, exchanging a glance with Moreau before speaking. "I must admit, I'm surprised. Lord Duskbourne's clientele is small, exclusive—it consists almost entirely of one name."

Sebastian frowned. "The Blacks."

"Precisely," Kostas confirmed. "Lucian Duskbourne is the Black Family's lawyer. He has represented them for centuries, and his knowledge of magical law is unmatched."

Sebastian folded his hands before him, unimpressed. "That hardly warrants concern."

Etienne took a step forward, his voice lower now, as though the air in the room had changed. "That's not why he's feared, Sebastian."

Sebastian's gaze flicked between the two. "Then enlighten me."

Kostas' voice was measured, but an unmistakable weight was behind it. "Lucian Duskbourne is a vampire lord—a daywalker—one of the few in existence. He has lived for over three hundred years, and in that time, no case he has taken has ever been lost. No one crosses him, and he walks away unscathed. He is more than just a lawyer—a force unto himself."

A heavy silence filled the office.

Sebastian's fingers drummed against his desk, his mind calculating, adjusting, strategizing. He had dealt with powerful men before, but this… this was something else entirely.

The Black Family's executioner in the court of law was coming.

And the weight of that realization settled like ice in the room.

Chapter 381 "The Adjudicator's Misstep"

A sharp knock echoed through the office, cutting through the tension like a blade. Etienne Moreau moved swiftly, pulling the door open, his expression unreadable as he stepped aside to allow the Adjudicator to enter.

She strode in with her usual air of authority, her crisp robes flowing behind her like a judge's mantle. Her expression remained poised, though there was the faintest flicker of something—perhaps annoyance, perhaps expectation—when her eyes met Sebastian.

"You summoned me," she said smoothly, folding her hands before her.

Sebastian rose slowly from his chair, his movements deliberate, precise—like a predator deciding whether to strike. His amber eyes, usually calm and calculating, burned with something far colder.

"Oh, I most certainly did," he said, his voice a razor's edge, controlled but laced with fury. He took a measured step forward, the room shrinking around them. "Because I was just informed that you, without consulting me, sent a summons to Lord Hadrian Potter-Black."

The Adjudicator's expression didn't waver. "You didn't specify when you wanted the meeting," she said, her voice level. "With everything happening, we should address the situation immediately before it festers. So, I sent out the summons."

Sebastian's nostrils flared, his jaw tightening as he slowly, methodically placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward. "Did you not think that perhaps I had a plan?" His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, yet it carried enough weight to make the room feel suffocating. "That maybe, just maybe, I intended to handle this in a way that wouldn't turn it into a spectacle?"

The Adjudicator narrowed her eyes, unfazed. "I assumed expediency would be preferable—"

"Oh, you assumed?" Sebastian cut in, his voice icy, his hands tightening into fists against the desk. "You assumed that dragging him into a meeting while the blood of his enemies is still drying on his hands was the best course of action? That calling him before the ICW, while he is still fresh from a battlefield, would make him more reasonable?"

He straightened, exhaling sharply, his anger still pressing against the room. "You didn't think that's the problem. Because if you had, you would have realized that Harry would see this as nothing more than a schoolboy being dragged into the Headmaster's office for a scolding."

His eyes gleamed with quiet fury. "And you just turned this from a negotiation into an adversarial confrontation."

The Adjudicator's lips pressed into a thin line. "He is still accountable to the ICW—"

Sebastian let out a sharp, mirthless laugh. "Accountable? You don't hold Hadrian Potter-Black accountable like some rogue Auror or stray noble. You manage and maneuver him—you do not corner him." He exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair before pinning her with his gaze again. "And now, thanks to your impatience, he's going to walk into that room ready for a fight rather than a conversation."

The room was thick with tension, but it only sharpened when Etienne Moreau cleared his throat. His voice was quiet, but it carried a weight.

"There's more," Etienne said, looking between them. "Lucian Duskbourne is coming to the meeting."

The air in the room changed when the words left his mouth.

The Adjudicator's composure slipped—for just a breath of a second. Her lips pressed together, and her fingers twitched against her robes before she masked her reaction. But Sebastian saw it.

He tilted his head, his voice now silk and steel. "Ah… so you understand the gravity of what you've done."

The Black Family's executioner in the court of law was coming.

Lucian Duskbourne.

Vampire. Daywalker. A Lord of the Undead who had practiced law for over three centuries. He was the Black Family's sword in the courts, their shield in matters of magical law—and their blade when the legal system failed them.

No case he had taken had ever been lost. Not one.

And now, thanks to your impatience, he was on his way to this very meeting. Sebastian said.

Sebastian let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. "Tell me, Adjudicator, when you sent out your little summons, did you consider that Hadrian wouldn't come alone? That his legal weapon might come with him?"

The Adjudicator remained silent, but her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Sebastian took a slow step back, his gaze sharper than ever. "Lucian Duskbourne is not just an advocate, nor is he merely a legal representative. He is a predator—one who knows the law better than anyone else in this room and uses it with the precision of a dagger. You cannot intimidate him. You cannot outmaneuver him. And unlike you, he will have spent decades preparing for something like this."

His voice dropped lower. "You think Harry will take this meeting as a summons to be scolded? No, Adjudicator. With Duskbourne at his side, Harry will see this as a trial. And he will act accordingly."

Silence. Heavy, thick, oppressive.

The Adjudicator's lips finally parted, her voice controlled but quieter than before. "I will handle this."

Sebastian scoffed. "No, you won't." His eyes gleamed like gold in candlelight. "I will."

He turned to Etienne. "Ensure everything is prepared for his arrival. And reinforce the room."

Etienne frowned. "Reinforce?"

Sebastian's expression was unreadable. "If this goes how I think it will, we will need it."

The Adjudicator exhaled sharply before straightening her posture. "I acted in the best interest of the ICW."

Sebastian laughed, but there was no amusement in it. "You acted in haste. And now, we're about to determine what that mistake will cost us."

The Adjudicator gave him one last, measured look before turning sharply on her heel and exiting the office.

Sebastian let out a slow breath, briefly closing his eyes before muttering.

"Merlin, help us all."

Chapter 382 "The Morning Before the Storm"

The soft morning light filtered through the grand windows of Greengrass Manor, casting a warm glow over the elegant bedroom where Harry, Daphne, and Tracy were preparing for the impending ICW meeting. The mood should have been tense, but for a fleeting moment, it wasn't.

Harry adjusted the cuffs of his formal robes, then turned toward Tracy, catching her by surprise as he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against her lips.

Daphne, standing nearby, smiled knowingly as Tracy blinked up at him, her lips still curved from the kiss.

"Not that I'm complaining," Tracy said, arching an eyebrow with playful curiosity, "but what was that for?"

Harry smirked, his green eyes twinkling. "For telling me I have lawyers—and a particularly terrifying one at that."

Tracy laughed, the sound rich and amused. "Oh, Lucian Duskbourne?" She shook her head. "Honestly, I only remember that because my father came home one night shaking and never did that. He had to pour himself two glasses of fire whiskey to steady his hands before telling us what happened."

Daphne, now curious, turned toward her friend. "What happened?"

Tracy grinned. "The Wizengamot was trying a Black family member—I don't even remember which one—but they brought Lord Lucian Duskbourne. My father said he sat through the trial thinking it would be an easy conviction."

She paused, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Then Duskbourne stood up."

Harry crossed his arms, waiting. "And?"

Tracy's smirk widened. "And he tore the case apart. He dismantled the evidence, tore through the Aurors' testimonies, and shredded the prosecution like a wolf through a flock of sheep. The whole case crumbled so badly that it never even made it to deliberation—the Wizengamot dismissed it outright. Not a single person voted against freeing the Black family member."

Daphne whistled low. "That bad?"

Tracy nodded. "That's good. My father swore he never wanted to be in a courtroom where Lucian Duskbourne was on the opposite side. Ever."

Harry chuckled before kissing her again, making Tracy laugh softly against his lips.

Daphne rolled her eyes but smiled as she reached for him next. "Alright, share, Potter."

Harry smirked before leaning in and kissing her just as thoroughly, his hand brushing lightly against her waist.

It was at that exact moment the door swung open.

Roxanne Greengrass Enters the Chaos

"Well, well," Roxanne Greengrass said, leaning against the doorway with an amused smirk.

Harry immediately pulled back from Daphne, standing straight, but Tracy was already laughing.

Daphne, for her part, groaned. "Mum."

Roxanne stepped into the room, her elegant green robes flowing around her as she arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "I must say, I was expecting to walk in and find the three of you nervous about the ICW meeting, but clearly, you have other priorities."

Tracy snorted, covering her mouth, while Daphne glared at her mother.

"Mum, we were just—"

"Kissing?" Roxanne cut in smoothly, her smirk widening as she walked further into the room. She turned to Harry, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, Lord Potter-Black, if you plan to sweep my daughter off her feet, you might consider waiting until you're not under my roof."

Harry, to his credit, managed not to blush—though he couldn't hide the amused smirk pulling at his lips. "Noted, Mrs. Greengrass. I'll try to keep the scandal to a minimum."

"Good," Roxanne teased before turning toward Tracy. "And you, Miss Davis—what would your mother say if she walked in on this little moment?"

Tracy grinned shamelessly. "She'd probably say, 'About time!' and then ask Daphne if she had any competition."

Daphne groaned again, burying her face in her hands.

Roxanne laughed lightly before patting Harry's shoulder in mock approval. "At least you have excellent taste, Lord Potter-Black. That, I can't fault."

Harry chuckled. "I do my best."

"Mm," Roxanne hummed, giving her daughter a knowing look before moving toward the door. "Now that I've properly embarrassed you all, I'll let you finish getting ready. But try to look at least serious before you walk into the ICW chamber, won't you?"

With that, she left, still smirking.

When the door closed behind her, Tracy burst into laughter while Daphne covered her face again.

"That was awful," Daphne muttered.

Harry only smiled, pulling both girls into his arms. "No, that was fantastic."

Harry stood with Daphne and Tracy, preparing to leave for the ICW meeting. His shoulders were tense from the weight of what was to come.

As he adjusted his robes, Daphne touched his arm gently, drawing his attention. Her pale blue eyes softened, and a small, knowing smile curved her lips.

"Harry," she began, her voice steady but warm. "Once the meeting is done, I want you to see Fleur."

Harry blinked, caught off guard. "Fleur?"

Tracy stepped in, her grin as mischievous as ever. "Yes, Fleur. Your other girlfriend, remember?" she teased, her tone playful but supportive.

Harry hesitated. "I—are you sure? I mean, after today—"

Daphne cut him off with a light squeeze of his arm. We're very sure. Fleur is waiting for you at your manor, and she'll take care of you the way only she can. You need this, Harry."

Tracy nodded in agreement. ""Exactly. You deserve to breathe momentarily, and Fleur is perfect for that. Believe me, you have our full approval.""

Daphne leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Now go make her night as memorable; she'll make yours. "

Tracy followed, kissing him gently on the other cheek. "And enjoy yourself. You've earned it. "

Harry looked between them, searching for any sign of hesitation or mischief beyond their usual teasing. Instead, he found only sincerity. With a small smile, he nodded. "Thank you. For… everything.""

And then, without a sound, he vanished.

The moment he disappeared, Daphne let out an exasperated sigh, crossing her arms. ""I hate when he does that.""

Tracy smirked, leaning casually against the banister. "You mean the part where he ignores every protective ward we have in place and just vanishes like he's Merlin reborn? "

Daphne scowled lightly. "We have layers of wards that make unauthorized Apparition impossible. He shouldn't be able to come or go unless we expressly allow it. "

Tracy hummed thoughtfully. "And yet… he does. "

Daphne shook her head, her tone tinged with frustration. "It's not normal."

Tracy grinned. "Maybe he found Merlin's lost books. That would explain how he does things no one else can."

Daphne laughed lightly. "If only it were that simple."

Tracy's grin grew wider. "You do realize we just blessed him to lose his virginity to Fleur, right?"

Daphne sighed but nodded. "Yes, and I stand by it. He needs the release, and we're not ready for that yet."

Tracy chuckled. "Not to mention, our parents would kill him. And us."

Daphne gave a wry smile. "Exactly. And Fleur is… Fleur. She's older, mature, and Veela. She'll take care of him."

Tracy smirked. "And when it's our turn? Harry will have lots of practice."

Daphne finally laughed, shaking her head. "And we'll enjoy our wedding night that much more."

Tracy winked. "Exactly."

Unbeknownst to them, Roxanne Greengrass stood just outside the room, her arms folded, listening to the entire conversation.

A slow smile crept across her face, a mixture of amusement and relief.

"At least they're being cautious," she thought. "But I'll ensure they're on the potion anyway—just in case their blood or common sense fails them."

With a final chuckle at their candid conversation, Roxanne turned and walked away, already plotting how to have the delicate discussion with her daughter and Tracy.

"Teenagers," she mused, her smirk widening. "Honestly."

Chapter 383 "The Storm Approaches"

The tense discussion in Director Bones' office was abruptly interrupted as the door swung open, and Elizabeth stepped inside, her usual composed demeanor slightly shaken. She strode over to Ambassador Lockwood, handing him a sealed parchment.

"This just arrived for you, Ambassador."

Lockwood nodded and swiftly broke the seal with his fingers. As his eyes scanned the contents, his expression darkened, and his jaw tightened. Then, he shot to his feet so fast that his chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Minister Fudge flinched at the sudden movement, his face paling. "What in Merlin's name is the matter, Lockwood?"

Lockwood barely looked at him, his grip on the parchment tightening as if restraining his emotions. His voice, when he spoke, was clipped and filled with an underlying urgency.

"Lord Potter-Black has been summoned to the meeting with the Supreme Mugwump and the Adjudicator."

Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes narrowed as he set his pipe down. "Summoned? By whom?"

Lockwood exhaled, his voice edged with frustration. "The Adjudicator. She sent the summons without informing the Supreme Mugwump."

A heavy silence filled the room, the implications of those words settling like an anvil on their chests.

Bones cursed under her breath, shaking her head. "She overstepped."

Lockwood nodded stiffly. "And Harry is furious."

Fudge scoffed, though the nervous twitch in his fingers betrayed his unease. "What does that boy think he can do? This is a formal ICW matter—"

Lockwood slammed the parchment onto the table, silencing him instantly. His following words sent a chill through the room.

"Harry has summoned Lucian Duskbourne."

The name landed like a curse.

A deep, unnerving silence followed.

Dumbledore inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around his pipe. "Merlin's beard…" he murmured.

Bones closed her eyes briefly before muttering, "Well, that changes everything."

Fudge, on the other hand, went visibly pale, swallowing hard. His voice was unsteady. "He… he's called for him?"

Lockwood nodded. "Not one of his associates. Lucian Duskbourne himself."

Fudge looked like he might be sick. "That… that man terrifies me."

Bones exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "You shouldn't call him a man, Minister. He's a Vampire Lord. A Daywalker. A three-hundred-year-old legal weapon, and now he's been unleashed."

Dumbledore took a slow, deliberate draw from his pipe before speaking again, his voice quieter but carrying undeniable weight.

"The ICW has miscalculated."

Bones leaned forward, her tone grim. "This isn't just a simple hearing anymore. Lucian Duskbourne doesn't argue cases—he destroys them. I've only seen him work once, and he annihilated the Ministry's prosecution like it was child's play."

Lockwood shook his head. "The ICW thought they could summon Harry like an errant schoolboy. Now they're about to discover exactly what that mistake will cost them."

Fudge wiped at his brow. "Is there a way to—?"

"No," Dumbledore interrupted. "Lucian is already coming. And that means Harry has declared this a battle."

Lockwood exhaled, his hands tightening into fists. "I need to go. I have an emergency Portkey waiting."

He turned on his heel and strode out the door, his coat billowing behind him like the first gust of wind before a storm.

As the door clicked shut, Dumbledore exhaled, watching the smoke curl from his pipe with a thoughtful expression.

"I didn't know Harry knew about the Black Family's legal power," he murmured.

Bones let out a slow breath. "Or that Regent Black would have advised him to use it."

Dumbledore turned his piercing gaze toward her, his voice like a quiet prophecy.

"Lucian Duskbourne is not just coming to defend Harry."

He took another deep draw from his pipe before setting it down.

"He's coming to bury the ICW's case before it begins."

Chapter 384 "The Precarious Balance of Power"

Sebastian and the Adjudicator strode toward the ICW meeting room, their footsteps echoing through the stone corridor. The tension between them was palpable, a silent battle of wills simmering beneath the surface.

As they reached the massive double doors, Sebastian halted abruptly and turned sharply toward the Adjudicator. His amber eyes burned with controlled frustration, and his voice was measured but edged with steel.

"I will take the lead in this meeting, " he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Adjudicator's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, his gaze cutting into her like a blade. "And let me be very clear—if you so much as veer off course, if you turn this into a battle instead of a negotiation, I will remove you from the room myself. "

Adjudicator's lips pressed into a thin line, but Sebastian continued, his voice lowering into something far more dangerous.

"You have made our position untenable. What should have been a controlled discussion has become a war of reputations, and we are on the back foot. Now, we will attempt to salvage something from this disaster—if that is even still possible. "

The Adjudicator squared her shoulders, but there was an undeniable flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She knew what he meant. Lucian Duskbourne was coming.

Sebastian let the weight of that realization settle between them before turning back toward the doors.

With a final, clipped remark, he pushed them open.

The heavy doors swung open, and Ambassador Lockwood strode into the room, his breath measured but carrying the tension of a man who had rushed to arrive. His typically composed demeanor was fraying at the edges, and his expression was one of barely restrained urgency.

"Supreme Mugwump, Adjudicator, " he greeted, adjusting his robes with a quick motion. His sharp gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on Sebastian before he exhaled heavily. "I trust you both know that Lord Potter-Black is on his way. "

The Supreme Mugwump gave a slow, assessing nod. "We were informed, " he said, calm but probing. "His lawyers are accompanying him. "

Lockwood scoffed. "Oh, he did more than just inform us. " He stepped forward, placing both hands on the table. "I just left a high-level meeting in Britain—one attended by Minister Fudge, Director Bones, and Headmaster Dumbledore. " His eyes swept across the room, the weight of his words settling over them. ""And do you know what they were discussing?""

The room fell into a heavy silence, the Supreme Mugwump observing him.

Lockwood didn't wait for a response. His voice lowered, his tone sharp and deliberate.

"An attack. "

The Adjudicator frowned slightly. "An attack? "

Lockwood nodded, his expression grim. "On LordPotter-Black's family."" He let the words sink in before continuing. "Regent Black's daughter's manor was attacked. Masked assassins breached the wards and stormed the estate. "

Sebastian stiffened, his face darkening, while the SupremeMugwump's ordinarily unreadable expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing.

"Their methods were… efficient, " Lockwood continued, his voice carrying an edge of something dangerous. "And though the attack was repelled, it was not without casualties. "

The Supreme Mugwump inhaled sharply through his nose. ""Does he believe the ICW had any involvement?""

Lockwood shook his head. "No. If he did, we would not be sitting here discussing legal ramifications. But what you must understand is that this changes everything. " He let out a slow breath. "The timing of this—combined with your unsanctioned summons—means that this meeting is no longer just about ICW policies and procedures. "

Sebastian, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his voice low and cold. "It means this isn't just a political maneuver anymore," he said, his amber eyes burning with restrained fury. "Harry isn't just coming here to argue technicalities." He glanced toward the Adjudicator. "He is coming for blood."

The Adjudicator folded her hands before her, her gaze unwavering. "And yet he chose to respond in court rather than with a sword."

Sebastian let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You don't understand." His gaze flickered between them all before he leaned forward, voice dropping into something even more dangerous.

"He's not bringing a sword because he doesn't need one."

Lockwood let that settle before adding, his voice like a hammer falling onto stone:

"Lucian Duskbourne is his sword."

Silence strangled the air.

The Supreme Mugwump exhaled slowly, finally nodding. "Then we must be prepared for the full weight of House Black's legal power."

Lockwood's lips pressed into a thin line. "Prepared?" He scoffed. "There is no preparation for what is coming."

Sebastian sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled together. "I suggest you brace yourselves."

The Supreme Mugwump gave him a sharp look. "For what?"

Sebastian's smile was cold, edged with something far too knowing.

"For the reckoning."

The room fell silent again.

Then, the doors opened once more.

Lockwood exhaled sharply as he took a seat, his gaze sweeping across the room before settling on the Supreme Mugwump and the Adjudicator.

"I am telling you this so you are not caught off guard by what Lord Potter-Black is going to say," he warned, his voice low and measured.

Before anyone could respond, the heavy mahogany doors creaked open on their own, the ancient magic woven into the room reacting to a presence it recognized—but did not welcome.

A hush fell over the chamber as Lord Lucian Duskbourne entered.

He moved like a shadow-given form, his presence cold, precise, and unshakable.

He was unnervingly tall, standing just over six and a half feet, yet not imposing in the way a warrior would be. Instead, his thin, almost skeletal frame was wrapped in the quiet, predatory stillness that made even the most powerful men uneasy.

His skin was deathly pale, smooth as polished marble, with no trace of age despite his three centuries of existence. His bald head gleamed faintly beneath the candlelight, emphasizing his face's sharp, angular structure—high, prominent cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, and lips so thin they barely seemed to exist.

But it was his eyes that unsettled most.

They were deep-set and colorless, an ethereal gray so light that they bordered on silver, cold and devoid of warmth—the eyes of a being who had seen centuries pass like fleeting moments.

His robes were a masterpiece of precision, tailored to absolute perfection.

He wore a three-piece black suit, but it was no ordinary attire. The fabric was so dark it seemed to swallow the light, lined with the faintest silver embroidery that shimmered when he moved, the intricate patterns resembling old runic sigils lost to time.

Beneath his suit, he wore a silken, high-collared white shirt pressed so sharply that it seemed unbothered by movement or gravity. Over it was a black vest embroidered with runes that pulsed faintly as if responding to his presence.

His long black coat swept the floor, its hem barely brushing against the stone, the fabric shifting as though woven from something other than mere thread. The lapels of his coat were made of obsidian silk, and a single, jet-black signet ring gleamed on his right hand—a seal so old that few could even recognize it.

His shoes were polished to a perfect shine, a detail only a man of absolute control would maintain.

Every inch of him radiated power, not in the way of brute force but in the way a guillotine radiates inevitability.

His voice was low, velvety, and smooth—too smooth, too precise.

The accent was impossible to place, shifting with an unsettling fluidity as if it belonged to no single country or era. At times, it held the formal cadence of old European courts, and in the next breath, it carried the sharp enunciation of modern intellect.

It was the kind of voice that sank into the bones, that lingered in the back of the mind long after the words had been spoken.

"Supreme Mugwump," he greeted, his lips barely parting as he spoke, his voice like the whisper of silk over steel.

His silver eyes flickered briefly to the Adjudicator, unreadable, before settling directly on Sebastian Delacour as if peering through him rather than at him.

"And you must be responsible for salvaging this… unfortunate situation."

Sebastian felt a chill run through his spine, but he held Duskbourne's gaze, unwilling to yield even an inch.

Lucian's expression remained unchanging, unreadable, utterly detached.

Then, slowly, with a grace so deliberate it seemed rehearsed, he pulled off his black leather gloves, finger by finger, before tucking them into his coat.

And with that, the room was no longer theirs.

It belonged to Lucian Duskbourne.

Chapter 385 "The Opening Gambit"

Lord Lucian Duskbourne smiled—a slow, practiced movement that never quite reached his cold, silver eyes—as he lowered himself gracefully into his seat. Every action was smooth, deliberate, and rehearsed to perfection, as if time itself yielded to his pace.

With a measured elegance, he placed his black leather briefcase onto the polished table, the soft click of its latches echoing through the tense silence of the room. He lifted the lid with a fluid, effortless motion, removing a single, thick file with an air of quiet certainty.

Then, just as smoothly, he shut the briefcase, locked it, and placed it neatly beside him.

The three occupants—the Supreme Mugwump, the Adjudicator, and Sebastian Delacour—sat watching him, their eyes filled with varying degrees of wariness, curiosity, and apprehension.

For a long moment, Lucian said nothing.

The weight of his silence coiled through the air, stretching it thin, forcing them to sit in discomfort.

Then, at last, he spoke.

"I am pleased to meet you, Supreme Mugwump Delacour finally."

His voice was soft but commanding, laced with that untraceable accent. Each word was shaped with care, as if language itself were a weapon to be sharpened.

Supreme Mugwump Sebastian Delacour nodded, his blue eyes sharp and assessing, the same piercing gaze that ran through his bloodline. "Lord Duskbourne," he acknowledged, his voice calm but wary. "You come in strong company."

Lucian's thin lips curled slightly, but the gesture held no warmth. "Naturally." He folded his hands over the file before him. "Lord Potter-Black does not appreciate… misunderstandings."

Delacour's brow lifted. "Misunderstanding is an interesting word."

Lucian inclined his head slightly, his silver eyes unreadable. "It is the polite word."

Sebastian Laurent exhaled sharply, his amber gaze flicking to the Adjudicator before settling back on Lucian. "Then let us clarify matters, shall we?"

Lucian gave a slow, knowing nod, tapping the file with an elegant finger once.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice like the hush before a storm. "Let us."

Lucian Duskbourne leaned back slightly in his chair, tapping the edge of the file with one long, elegant finger—the movement slow and deliberate. The tension in the room thickened, but he appeared utterly unbothered by it—as if he owned the air they breathed.

"I have read the file my Lord Potter-Black sent me, " he began, his voice smooth and laced with quiet menace. That untraceable accent made every syllable feel heavier than it should.

His silver eyes drifted across the room, his expression composed, detached in a way that only an immortal could be. Then, he exhaled slowly, feigning a look of calm curiosity.

"What I do not understand, " he continued, his gaze now locking onto the Supreme Mugwump, "is why you chose to summon him directly from the battlefield—denying him rest as if his service was something to be demanded rather than requested. "

His tone sharpened slightly, though his expression never wavered. "And worse… why would you issue such a summons without a specific date? "

His following words came softer, more pointed, his silver gaze shifting unhurriedly and dangerously to the Adjudicator.

"But then again, " he mused, "I can quite read between the lines. "

The room felt colder.

His thin lips curled ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving the Adjudicator.

"You wanted to remind him where power lies. "

Sebastian inhaled sharply but remained silent. Lucian's fingers tapped the file once—tap, tap, tap—before he tilted his head just slightly.

"By sending a summons with no date, you intended to force Lord Potter-Black into confirming a time with you—as if he were some schoolboy playing at war, needing to ask permission. "

His silver eyes darkened, and the slight color shift unsettled him.

"That, " he said smoothly, " was a mistake. "

The Adjudicator opened her mouth, but Lucian merely lifted a single gloved finger, silencing her before she could speak.

"You see, my Lord is indeed young by human standards, " he admitted, his voice carrying no mockery—just fact. "But I suggest you carefully reconsider whether his age is a valid leverage point in this room. "

His expression hardened a subtle but lethal shift in presence.

"For if we are to weigh power by experience alone…" His fingers brushed over the runes on his briefcase, and for a split second, the room seemed to breathe around him.

"…Then I assure you, no one here is older than me. "

A silence settled like a suffocating mist.

He let the moment and words sink in before leaning forward slightly.

"You have already deemed him of age when it suits your needs, " he continued, his voice quieter now, laced with cold amusement. "You requested him to handle your… delicate issues in the Americas, did you not? "

His silver eyes gleamed.

"Ah… but now that he is not so easily controlled, suddenly his age is relevant? "

He let that question linger, his smile returning—sharp, precise, and devoid of warmth.

"If you attempt to use his youth against him in this room…" his fingers drummed once more against the file—tap, tap, tap—before he finally closed it with a deliberate motion.

"…then I shall, as they say, be forced to involve myself further. "

The SupremeMugwump's gaze flickered with understanding. Sebastian exhaled slowly. Lucian's voice dropped into something colder than death itself.

"And I assure you… neither you nor the ICW will want that. "

Chapter 386 "The Dance of Words"

Sebastian straightened his jacket, the precise motion shielding him from the unease curling in his chest. He was a diplomat and a strategist, but standing in the presence of Lord Lucian Duskbourne was like standing at the edge of an abyss. One wrong step, and there was no coming back.

Yet when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, measured, and carefully controlled.

"I understand and agree with you," he said, his amber eyes locking onto Duskbourne's silver gaze. "Harry's age is no issue, neither with me nor the ICW."

He folded his hands before him, carefully choosing his following words.

"We asked him to command armies, just as he did in Africa when the Church sought his help—and he provided it."

The Adjudicator remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, her pride warring with self-preservation.

She knew.

She knew she was out of her league here.

Lucian watched her momentarily, his unreadable expression lingering just a second longer than necessary before he turned back to Sebastian.

His thin lips curled slightly, the movement slight but unmistakable. "I see you are a reasonable man, as I have heard you to be."

He tilted his head just slightly, his silver eyes gleaming with something unspoken.

"You are spoken of very well behind certain doors… doors that most do not even know exist."

Sebastian's brow lifted just slightly, but then he smiled.

A careful, practiced smile.

"Thank you for that, Lord Duskbourne."

Lucian's fingers tapped lightly against the table, the sound barely audible but carrying a weight nonetheless.

Sebastian inhaled smoothly and continued. "I would like to point out that the summons sent to Lord Potter-Black was done in haste—and not with my blessing."

Lucian gave the slightest inclination as if acknowledging the admission but not absolving it.

"But," Sebastian continued, his voice steady, "that is in the past. We are here now. And I would like this to be a meeting of friends, not enemies."

Lucian smiled then.

A slow, deliberate smile that sent a ripple of unease through the room.

"Oh," he murmured, his voice carrying that impossible-to-place accent, smooth as polished steel.

"I see."

His fingers rested lightly on the closed file before him, and for a fleeting second, his gaze had an almost amused glint.

"I have always found such sentiment… fascinating."

Sebastian held his breath momentarily, waiting for what came next.

Then, Lucian leaned forward slightly, his presence pressing against the room like a shadow stretching over a battlefield before the first blade was drawn.

"Tell me, Monsieur Delacour…" His voice was quiet, but there was a weight behind it, the kind that demanded absolute attention.

"What, precisely, do you believe friendship is worth?"

Sebastian held his ground, his amber eyes unwavering as he met Lucian Duskbourne's piercing silver gaze. He could feel the weight of the vampire's presence pressing against him, a force not entirely magical but something more—something ancient that made weaker men shrink in their seats.

But Sebastian was not a weak man.

His smile was slow and deliberate, but it lacked the nervous energy of someone trying to mask fear. No, it was the smile of a man who knew exactly who he was—and had earned the right to stand in any room before any being without bowing.

"I understand," he said, his voice measured and steady, "that this meeting was meant to be adversarial."

He exhaled slowly, not as a sign of weariness but of restraint. "But it does not need to be."

Lucian's expression remained unreadable, but there was a glint of something behind his eyes—something assessing, something amused.

Sebastian pressed on. "You asked me what I believe friendship is worth." His fingers traced over the cuff of his jacket, a habit of an old soldier preparing for battle.

"I have seen its cost."

His voice hardened, his words now carrying the weight of experience, not theory.

"I have faced down things that live in the shadows, whisper in the dark, and leave no bodies behind. I have bled for my brothers-in-arms in the alleyways of Paris, where the night belonged to those with knives and magic. In the hills of France, where the cold seeps into your bones, the only warmth is the man beside you, willing to die for you. In the deserts of Africa, when we thought hope was lost, all we had left was the brotherhood that said—we will not back down. We will fight to the end."

His amber eyes burned with conviction, his back straight, unwavering.

"So, yes," he said, his voice quieter now but no less powerful. "I know the worth of friendship." He let the words hang briefly, then added, "It is usually paid for in blood."

Lucian Duskbourne's lips curled slightly, not quite a smirk or a smile. There was approval in his gaze now, a flicker of respect.

Sebastian Delacour had faced death and did not blink.

Perhaps they understood each other for the first time in this meeting.

Chapter 387 "The Storm Unleashed"

The room had settled into a fragile balance, a careful tension woven between Sebastian Delacour and Lord Lucian Duskbourne. Both men stood their ground, measuring each other with words instead of steel.

Then, Duskbourne smiled. A slow, deliberate expression that carried no warmth but something far more dangerous—acknowledgment.

"I always like to know the measure of a man or woman who stands before me," he mused, his voice as smooth as polished obsidian, each word spoken with calculated elegance.

His silver eyes flickered briefly over Sebastian Delacour as if reassessing him—not as a simple diplomat, but as a soldier, a survivor, a man who had bled and did not break.

"And I have found," he continued, his fingers tapping once against the polished table, "that you are worthy of the name and reputation that precedes you."

Sebastian remained still, his amber gaze unwavering.

"Very well," Duskbourne conceded, leaning back ever so slightly. "We shall attempt to keep this meeting—" he drew out the word with deliberate mockery—"civilized."

The way he said it, lingering on the syllables, made it clear that civility was only temporary and could be revoked immediately.

"But," he added, his voice dropping just a fraction, enough to make the air in the room feel heavier, "I must warn you—"

His silver eyes sharpened, something predatory flashing within them."My Lord is in a foul mood."

Sebastian's fingers twitched against the table, but he said nothing.

Duskbourne's smile didn't falter.

"Our family was attacked," he continued, his voice still smooth but now laced with something colder, something almost deadly. "And Lord Hadrian Potter-Black does not take such things lightly."

His fingers tapped once against the file before him, a single, final sound that sealed the weight of his words.

"And now, you have summoned him here, demanding his presence before this council."

He exhaled slowly, almost mockingly.

"You have asked for the Dragon to appear before you."

He tilted his head ever so slightly.

"And now—he is here."

Before anyone could react, the doors to the chamber did not simply open—they were blasted open.

The thunderous crash of enchanted wood slamming into the stone walls sent a shockwave through the room. The magical doors, built to open slowly and with reverence, had been torn from their hinges by sheer force.

A surge of raw, furious magic flooded the chamber.

It was thick, suffocating, ancient, like the weight of a tidal wave before it crashed against the shore. The air seemed to tremble, bending beneath an unseen storm, a force that demanded attention and reckoning.

The Supreme Mugwump flinched, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. The Adjudicator visibly recoiled. Even Sebastian Delacour, who had faced wars, assassins, and political nightmares, instinctively stiffened, his heartbeat accelerating as the room was swallowed by pure, undiluted presence. Ambassador Lockwood gripped the edge of the table and did not move.

Only Lucian Duskbourne remained utterly unmoved.

He didn't flinch. He didn't tense. He smiled.

A slow, knowing, satisfied smile.

And then, standing in the ruined doorway, surrounded by the crackling remnants of shattered wards and furious magic, stood—

Lord Hadrian Potter-Black.

His emerald eyes blazed with an unearthly light, and his magic rolled off him in violent waves, pulsing through the chamber with an intensity that made the air hum. His expression was not one of anger—no, anger was too weak a word.

This was wrath.

Controlled. Focused. Absolute.

And in that moment, as silence reclaimed the room, everyone understood—

The Dragon had arrived.

Chapter 388 "The Dragon and the Shadow"

A hush settled over the chamber, the lingering echoes of shattered magic still vibrating in the air, even as the great doors rose and repaired themselves with a single wave of Harry's hand.

The crackling tension in the room did not ease. If anything, it deepened—an invisible force pressing against the walls, as though reality had to make space for what had just entered.

And then, very slowly, Lucian Duskbourne stood.

Not a single wasted movement. Every shift was deliberate, precise—like a predator rising from stillness, unconcerned, unhurried because it already knew it was at the top of the food chain.

He bowed his head, an acknowledgment without submission, and his thin, colorless lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

"Lord Potter-Black."

The words were smooth and elegant but carried an almost amusing undertone.

Harry's emerald gaze locked onto Lucian's, unreadable but powerful. And yet, there was recognition there—respect.

Then, without breaking stride, Harry extended his arm.

Lucian met him halfway, grasping his forearm at the elbow in the warrior's greeting of old.

There was no forced pleasantry, no unnecessary words—just the grip of two men who understood the power and, more importantly, understood the weight of their names.

Lucian's silver eyes flickered, his lips curving slightly as he regarded the younger man.

"It is good to finally meet you in person."

Harry nodded once, his grip firm before they released.

Lucian tilted his head slightly, watching him the way a chess master watches a piece being moved to an interesting position. Then, after a measured pause, he exhaled slowly—as if tasting something spoiled.

"I am sorry for you to appear before this meeting."

His voice was silken, deliberate, and edged with quiet disdain, the weight of his words stretching across the room.

The Supreme Mugwump shifted uneasily. The Adjudicator remained silent, but the sharp set of her jaw betrayed her discomfort.

Sebastian Delacour watched, his mind racing to adjust to this new dynamic—one where he was no longer negotiating with a frustrated nobleman but a force of nature personified.

Harry's expression didn't shift, but his presence deepened, filling the space like a storm front rolling in.

He let the moment breathe. Let the weight of his entrance settle upon the room like an iron chain.

Then, his lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"So am I."

The temperature seemed to drop.

Lucian's expression didn't change, but something in his silver gaze sharpened—appraising, calculating.

Harry's magic still hung in the air, a pulse beneath the skin of reality, and though the doors were fixed, the memory of their destruction remained.

Lucian tilted his head slightly. "Ah," he murmured, almost amused. "So the tone of this meeting is already set."

Harry stepped forward, and the air seemed to pull inward, drawn toward the raw power that moved with him.

His emerald eyes burned.

"You summoned me," he said, his voice steady, unshaken. "So let's not waste time pretending this was ever meant to be civil."

Lucian's smile deepened, his thin fingers tapping once against the table.

"Indeed."

The Supreme Mugwump cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his chair, but Harry's gaze didn't waver.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying the weight of inevitability.

Lucian Duskbourne, ever the shadow in the background of power, merely smiled.

"Yes, my Lord."

A thick, suffocating silence hung over the chamber as Lord Lucian Duskbourne slowly opened the file before him. His movements were precise and measured—a predator uncoiling in slow motion.

Across the table, Lord Hadrian Potter-Black sat, his emerald eyes locked onto the Adjudicator, unblinking, unmoving, as though daring her to speak.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

The weight of his magic still lingered in the room, humming beneath the surface, an unspoken warning.

Lucian's fingers brushed over the parchment. His silver eyes were sharp, dissecting the room before him. Then, with a voice as smooth as polished steel, he spoke.

"I believe this meeting is a farce."

The Supreme Mugwump stiffened. Sebastian Delacour's jaw tightened.

Lucian ignored them all.

"This," he continued, his voice slow, deliberate, as if savoring something bitter on his tongue, "was nothing more than an ill-fated attempt—and not a very good one—to remind my Lord of his supposed place. A lesson, if you will. That he is merely a boy from a small island. That his power means nothing here."

His thin lips curled in amusement as he turned a page in the file, his gaze flickering up to the Adjudicator with the lethal disinterest of a cat watching an insect struggle.

"How wrong you were."

The room was so quiet that even the candle flames seemed hesitant to flicker.

Lucian's fingers drummed once against the file—tap, tap, tap—before he continued.

"You see," he said, his voice deceptively light, "it was not my Lord who rushed to you, eager to involve himself in your war."

A pause.

A slow, pointed glance around the room.

"No," he mused. "He did not want to go."

Sebastian exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing against the table.

Lucian's silver eyes gleamed. "It took four long months—for the ICW, the Eternal All-Father Church, the British Ministry, and the Goblins to agree. Four months of deliberation, negotiation, and desperation—before you all came to my Lord, practically begging him to go to war."

His voice never rose, never turned sharp—it didn't need to.

Instead, each word fell with the weight of a death sentence.

"And when he finally answered your call," Lucian continued, "you did not present him with a contract, an accord, or even the courtesy of diplomacy."

His silver eyes burned cold and unforgiving.

"No, you merely sent him out with marching orders."

He leaned forward ever so slightly, his gaze piercing through the Supreme Mugwump like a blade sliding between ribs.

"You sent a Thirteen-year-old to end a war."

The words hit like a hammer, ringing through the chamber.

Lucian let them linger, let the weight of the truth sink into the bones of every man and woman in the room.

And then, softly—almost mockingly—he added:

"To defeat the Lich King."

The Supreme Mugwump looked away, but Lucian wasn't finished.

He turned another page in the file, his thin fingers tracing the ink, his voice dangerously smooth.

"And let us not forget," he continued, "this was not just any Lich." His silver eyes flickered. "No, this was a being of immense power—a member of the Council of Thirteen."

A chill seemed to seep into the walls.

"One of the most feared entities in existence," Lucian went on, his voice eerily calm, "and you demanded that this 'schoolboy' destroy him."

Sebastian Delacour swallowed.

But Lucian wasn't finished.

He leaned back in his chair, allowing the weight of that revelation to settle before continuing.

"And what of his forces?" he murmured, almost idly. "Ah, yes." He turned another page, the parchment whispering against his fingers.

"The Lich King's armies were not just mindless undead, no. They were led by General Kragnar, a War Troll of legend, a creature so steeped in blood."

His silver eyes flickered toward the Adjudicator once more.

"And Kragnar was not alone."

He pressed a finger against a name on the page.

"Four hordes of Dark creatures stood against my Lord on the battlefield."

He lifted his gaze. "Giants. Ogres. Orcs. Goblins. Creatures so vile that their very existence is illegal in half the magical world."

Silence choked the air.

Lucian turned the final page and exhaled softly.

"And let us not forget the legions of undead, under the direct command of Number Thirteen— of the Council of Thirteen."

His fingers stilled on the file.

The silence in the room was absolute.

Lucian smiled then.

A slow, deliberate expression that was not kind.

"So, I must ask," he murmured, like a dagger slicing through silk, "when you sent him into this nightmare, was that when you considered him an adult? Or was it only now—when he has returned victorious—that you seek to reduce him to nothing more than a 'child' unworthy of standing in this room?"

His silver eyes gleamed.

"I do hope you clarify that for me."

Chapter 389 "The Weight of War"

The chamber was thick with tension, the very air heavy with the weight of words unsaid. Lucian Duskbourne sat motionless, his silver eyes glinting like a blade catching candlelight, the only indication of the storm brewing beneath his carefully maintained composure.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he turned another page in the file before him, his thin, elegant fingers tracing the ink as if it were a map leading to an inevitable conclusion.

His voice, when he spoke, was quiet yet absolute.

"You did not meet with him," Lucian said, his tone a razor's edge of mockery and disdain. "You did not sit across from him, discuss terms, negotiate a contract."

His silver gaze flickered toward the Supreme Mugwump, then to the Adjudicator.

"No. You told him—go forth and destroy your enemies."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Lucian continued, his voice never rising, but each word cutting deeper.

"You gave no terms, no treaties, no expectations. Just one singular command."

His fingers tapped the parchment softly, an eerie, rhythmic sound—tap, tap, tap.

"End the war as quickly as possible."

Lucian paused, allowing the weight of those words to settle like lead upon the room.

"And so," he said, lifting his cold, unblinking gaze, "my Lord did just that."

The Adjudicator shifted uncomfortably, but Lucian pressed forward.

"He arrived on the battlefield… and in three days, it was over."

His silver eyes narrowed slightly as though daring them to deny it.

"The Lich King was dead."

His fingers turned the page.

"The War Troll General was dead."

Another page.

"None of the hordes escaped."

Silence.

The Supreme Mugwump remained stoic, but his grip on the arm of his chair tightened.

Lucian let out a slow, deliberate breath as though savoring the moment.

"My Lord flew the Black Flag."

At those words, even Sebastian Delacour's expression darkened.

Lucian tilted his head slightly.

"Tell me, do you understand what that means?"

The Supreme Mugwump's lips pressed together.

Lucian smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"No quarter," he whispered. "No mercy asked. No mercy given."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice now a murmur of inevitability.

"He slaughtered them all."

Chapter 390 "The Hidden Fortune"

The room was silent momentarily, the weight of Lucian's words settling like a thundercloud before a storm.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he turned another page as though unfurling another unpleasant truth.

"And then," Lucian continued, "he found something."

His fingers brushed over the ink.

"Wealth beyond what most mortals could ever dream of."

A pause.

"One billion gold pieces."

The Supreme Mugwump's breath hitched.

The Adjudicator's fingers curled against the table.

Lucian exhaled softly, feigning mild amusement. "Ah… so you didn't know."

He lifted his silver eyes, sharpened like steel.

"You had no idea the Lich King possessed such wealth," he mused, "because you had no eyes on the battlefield. You sent my Lord out with his orders and expected results."

His fingers stilled on the page.

"Under the Law of Conquest, established in 1250, since no other hand laid claim upon the Lich King, the spoils—by law—belonged solely to my Lord."

The Supreme Mugwump shifted, his expression unreadable but his silence damning.

Lucian smiled again.

"And yet," he continued, his voice laced with mocking amusement, "despite this… my Lord did not keep it."

He let the words linger, then continued.

"No, he divided it."

Sebastian Delacour's fingers tightened against the table as Lucian pressed on.

"Eight war-torn nations received direct funding to rebuild their cities, without indebting themselves to the ICW."

His silver eyes flickered.

"You see, my Lord, understood something you did not."

He slowly turned another page.

"He knew that if these nations had come to the ICW for aid, you would have offered them loans. And in doing so, they would have been forced to bend their knees to your demands."

The Supreme Mugwump's jaw tensed.

Lucian's smile turned sharper.

"But they did not need your money," he whispered, "because my Lord made sure of it."

Chapter 391 "The Wrath of Power Denied"

And then, without warning, Lucian slammed his hand against the table.

The sharp crack of impact echoed through the room.

The Adjudicator flinched.

Sebastian remained still, though his breath came slightly deeper now.

Lucian's silver eyes burned. "He did not need your permission."

His voice was no longer soft—it was final."It was his by right."

His fingers dragged across the parchment, his following words a death sentence to the silence in the room. "And unlike any conqueror in history, he did not hoard his wealth."

Lucian tilted his head. "He paid every single soldier who marched into battle."Another pause."Even the ICW forces."

His gaze locked onto the Supreme Mugwump. "Your war cost you forty million Galleons." Lucian lifted his hand and let a single page fall onto the table. A receipt. A record.

"My Lord paid you one hundred and sixty-six million Galleons." The silence was deafening.

Lucian leaned back slightly, his fingers steepled and his silver gaze unreadable. "And yet," he murmured, "you were not satisfied."

He slowly closed the file, letting the sound reverberate through the chamber. "So now… you spread rumors." His smile disappeared. "You whisper in halls of power that my Lord is a Dark Lord rising." His voice dropped into something colder than death itself.

Lucian let the silence stretch, coil, tighten until the room felt like it might snap beneath its weight. And then, softly, he uttered the words that killed the illusion of their authority: "What do you mean he is rising?" The Supreme Mugwump looked away, but Lucian did not. "My Lord has power."

His voice pressed into the room like a blade at the throat. "He has wealth. He has glory." Lucian tilted his head slightly.

"But does he flaunt it?"A pause. "Does he crave the front page of every magical newspaper?" No answer. Lucian smiled, slow and final. "No. He does not." He tapped the file once. "But he did something far worse in your eyes, didn't he?"

His silver gaze gleamed with mocking understanding. "He did what was right."

The Supreme Mugwump exhaled slowly.

Lucian's smile widened."So tell me," he murmured. "Who, exactly, is afraid?"

Chapter 392 "The Reckoning of Fools"

Lucian exhaled slowly, a deliberate motion as if he were already bored of this charade. His silver eyes swept the room, taking in the discomfort of those who dared sit across from him.

Then, slowly, precisely, he closed the file before him, his long, pale fingers pressing against the parchment like a final seal upon a coffin.

"I believe," he began, his voice smooth as silk yet sharper than a blade. Before you even attempt to speak, I already know the true reason you are afraid."

A pause. A calculated silence, stretching just long enough to make them squirm.

He tilted his head slightly, a predator watching his prey realize the trap had already been sprung.

"My Lord has made allies."

His silver eyes gleamed coldly, watching the Supreme Mugwump tense just slightly.

"Or rather," Lucian corrected himself, his tone dripping with quiet amusement, "he has established an accord with an enemy you once believed to be untouchable."

His smile was glacial.

"The Dragon Cabal."

The room stilled, a sudden, thick silence choking the air.

Lucian tapped a single finger against the table, the sound of a slow, rhythmic pulse against the tension gripping the chamber.

"My Lord does not believe in holding petty vendettas."

His gaze flickered toward the Adjudicator, sharp and knowing.

"The Dragons sent a delegation to negotiate the acquisition of a book or two." He paused for effect, his voice lowering just slightly. "Their representatives, however, took it too far."

His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it.

"They acted without authorization," he said smoothly. "They attacked."

He leaned back, watching the realization settle in.

"My Lord was caught in the crossfire. And he responded. Decisively."

Lucian turned a page in the file, letting it fall flat against the table.

"In the ensuing battle, my Lord killed the leader of the opposing forces." His silver eyes snapped upward, locking onto the Supreme Mugwump. "Which, I must say, turned out to be… quite the revelation."

The Mugwump remained silent.

Lucian let a smirk play at the edges of his lips.

"A captain, wasn't he?" His tone was mocking, deliberate. "A captain of one of your own special forces units."

The Adjudicator flinched.

Lucian's smile sharpened.

"How… interesting. Or did you forget that one of your operatives attacked my Lord?"

No one spoke.

Lucian tilted his head, his pale fingers again drumming against the file.

"But then," he mused, "within one week, the Dragon Cabal did something they had never done before."

A pause.

"They let it be known that the attack was not authorized."

Lucian let out a soft breath, feigning amusement. "Not only that, but they paid the bookstore for the damages."

He turned his silver gaze on the Adjudicator, watching her try to mask the unease in her posture.

"They paid reparations for the civilians injured in the crossfire."

Another beat.

"They even sent money to the British Ministry for the wounded Aurors in the exchange."

Silence.

Lucian tapped his fingers against the table.

"So tell me," he said, soft and knowing, "is this truly the lawless, criminal organization you act as if it were?"

His silver eyes gleamed.

"They were acquitted of all criminal charges after they severed ties with the Great Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald."

His gaze swept over the table, his smirk still lingering.

"How they came into his service?" His voice lowered, filled with something dangerous, final.

"That is my Lord's secret."

His fingers drummed once against the wood.

"And a secret it shall stay."

Chapter 393 "The Final Verdict"

Lucian let the silence suffocate the room, let them all drown in their miscalculations.

Then, with measured precision, he leaned forward, his voice dropping into something colder, something edged with finality.

"My Lord did as you asked."

He flicked his gaze toward the Supreme Mugwump, then the Adjudicator.

"And now you dare to whisper behind closed doors that he is a Dark Lord rising."

His silver eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening against the file.

"This meeting," Lucian said slowly, deliberately, "is over."

The Adjudicator opened her mouth, but Lucian slammed his hand against the desk with a force that made the candles flicker.

"Enough," he said, his voice a death sentence.

"You will cease this slander, or I will ferret out those responsible and deal with them."

His voice dropped into something lethal.

"If it comes to my attention again…"

He let the words hang, pregnant with meaning.

A final, unspoken warning.

Then, without another word, he rose from his seat.

He did not bow. He did not acknowledge their presence further.

Instead, he turned on his heel and followed the only man in the room who did not say a single word throughout the meeting.

Lord Hadrian Potter-Black stood.

His emerald eyes burned, filled with a wrath that had not yet been unleashed but remained poised—waiting.

He turned and strode toward the grand double doors without speaking or glancing backward.

They flew open before he even reached them.

The wind howled through the chamber as if nature responded to his presence's weight.

And then—

He was gone.

Lucian followed, his coat barely rustling as he stepped into the hall, leaving behind a room with ghosts of their failures.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

The Supreme Mugwump exhaled heavily.

The Adjudicator looked pale.

Sebastian Delacour leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him. His amber eyes burned with something unreadable as he murmured,

Chapter 394 "The Cost of Arrogance"

Sebastian Delacour took a slow, steady breath, feeling the oppressive pressure in the room finally ease.

The lingering weight of Hadrian Potter-Black's presence had vanished, but its imprint remained, etched into the chamber's very air.

Sebastian shook his head slowly and deliberately as if to clear his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured.

"In all my time," he murmured, his tone edged with something close to awe and apprehension, "I have only ever met one other person who could do that to a room."

He exhaled sharply.

"And that was Albus Dumbledore."

The Supreme Mugwump sat deathly silent. His lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line.

Across from him, Ambassador Lockwood let out a breath that sounded far too relieved before pulling a silver flask from his robes. He uncapped it with a flick of his thumb and took a long, slow drink, his fingers barely steady.

When he lowered it, he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse with lingering nerves.

"This is a meeting I never want to have again."

Sebastian hummed, not disagreeing.

Across the table, the Adjudicator sat frozen, her face drained of color. Though the magic that had suffocated her moments before was fading, she still felt its echoes, the remnants of something far more significant than herself pressing against her soul.

She forced herself to breathe, her right hand trembling as she slowly rose from her chair.

Even standing was an effort. Her legs felt weak and uncertain like she had just survived a long, exhausting duel.

Sebastian watched her carefully, his amber eyes calculating and cold.

Then, when he finally spoke, his words were razor-sharp.

"I will summon you in a day or two," he said, his voice level but firm, "to discuss your handling of this matter."

The Adjudicator's lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Sebastian continued, unrelenting.

"You have," he said, "single-handedly destroyed every inroad we had with Lord Potter-Black."

The Adjudicator's shoulders tensed.

Sebastian's gaze was unwavering, his posture rigid—the stance of a man who had spent years perfecting the art of command.

"You once attempted to slander me—" his voice took on a cutting edge "—for what you called my 'softness' toward him. Because he is my daughter's boyfriend."

The Adjudicator swallowed, silent.

Sebastian's jaw tightened.

"Well," he said slowly, deliberately, "now I will use that connection to repair the damage you have caused."

His amber eyes narrowed, filled with quiet authority.

"Because yes, he is my daughter's boyfriend." His fingers curled against the table, his voice like iron.

"But more importantly, he is honorable and respectful."

His words landed like a stone upon still water.

"I will use my relationship with him," he said, his voice controlled but edged with steel, "to rebuild the trust you shattered."

The Adjudicator's head bowed slightly, her face unreadable.

Sebastian leaned forward. His fingers steepled before him.

"You acted on the whispers of senators who wanted you to act without thinking. You allowed yourself to be a pawn in their game, and in doing so, you have risked everything."

His following words were final.

"I was under the impression that you were better than this."

A beat of silence.

Sebastian straightened, his expression cold as winter frost.

"You will either learn from this…"

His amber eyes gleamed sharply, dangerously.

"Or I will remove you from your office."

The Adjudicator stiffened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

But then, slowly, she bowed her head toward him.

"I will await your summons," she said, her voice measured but shaken, "so that we may correct my actions and ensure I never make this grave mistake again."

Her voice held no arrogance now—only acceptance.

With that, she turned swiftly, her robes whispering against the marble floor as she strode toward the grand double doors.

When she was gone, Ambassador Lockwood exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face.

Then, without a word, he handed his silver flask to Sebastian.

Sebastian took it, uncapped it, and took a long, healthy pull.

The burn of fire whiskey was grounding. Bracing.

Lockwood let out a low chuckle, though it carried no genuine amusement.

"She should consider herself lucky she survived this lesson."

Sebastian lowered the flask, his gaze dark and unreadable.

"Oh," he murmured, swirling the liquid absently.

"We all should."

Chapter 395 "Shadows and Whispers"

The halls of the ICW compound were silent as Lord Lucian Duskbourne and Lord Hadrian Potter-Black stepped beyond its towering wards, leaving behind the tense remains of a battle fought with words instead of steel.

Lucian came to a sudden halt, his silver eyes gleaming as he turned toward Harry, his pale features unreadable.

"Come with me," he said smoothly, his voice as quiet as a breath upon glass yet carrying the weight of unspoken gravity.

"There are things that must be said."

Harry regarded him for a moment, then smiled faintly.

"I'll follow."

Lucian gave a single, barely perceptible nod—and then, he was gone.

His form faded like mist in the wind, disappearing without sound, motion, or even the trace of a displaced breeze.

Harry exhaled through his nose, smirking slightly.

Impressive.

Then, without a sound, he vanished as well.

But as he traveled, Harry deliberately slowed his magic, allowing himself to sense the world as he arrived.

The moment his consciousness stretched into reality, he felt it—Lucian.

The vampire lord stood before his grand office, waiting—as if he already knew Harry was coming.

Interesting.

A flicker of amusement passed through Harry's eyes as he adjusted his trajectory at the last moment, shifting his arrival point ten feet behind Lucian.

The second Harry materialized, Lucian's silver eyes snapped open.

In less than a blink, Lucian moved—a blur of shadow and silence, his body twisting sharply as he flashed several feet to the left, his long coat billowing as he turned.

By the time he landed, his cold gaze was already upon Harry.

Harry smiled.

"Shall we go in?" he asked, his voice light and teasing.

Lucian's expression remained impassive for a moment, then—

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

Without another word, he turned and opened the heavy oak doors, gesturing for Harry to enter.

As Harry stepped forward, he couldn't help but think—

This might be interesting after all.

Chapter 396 "The House of Silent Contracts"

As Lord Hadrian Potter-Black and Lord Lucian Duskbourne strode through the towering entrance of Duskbourne & Vail, Esquires, Harry couldn't help but take in the sheer presence of the place.

The law firm's entrance hall was a masterpiece of controlled intimidation, where elegance met calculated menace.

The walls were lined with black marble, polished so finely that the golden veins running through the stone seemed to glow under the dim lighting. Tall, arched ceilings loomed overhead, supported by twisting columns of obsidian, their surfaces etched with arcane sigils—runes that hummed so softly that Harry could only perceive them, even with his finely attuned senses.

At the far end of the expansive hall, behind a grand onyx reception desk, sat Duskbourne's assistant—a striking woman with ice-blonde hair pulled into a severe knot. Her emerald green eyes, sharp as a dagger's edge, lifted when Lucian entered.

She rose gracefully to her feet, every motion precise, effortless.

"Do you require anything, Lord Duskbourne?" she asked, her voice silken but edged with undeniable authority.

For the first time since leaving the ICW, Lucian allowed a small, amused smile to touch his lips.

"Not at this time," he replied, his tone smooth, practiced but lighter than before. "Please inform Miss Voss that I have returned and that the matter at the ICW is settled."

The assistant gave a single, elegant nod. "Of course, Lord Duskbourne."

Harry caught the flicker of something unspoken in Lucian's eyes at the formality but said nothing as they continued deeper into the fortress of contracts and law.

As they entered Lucian's private office, Harry couldn't help but admire its atmosphere.

Unlike the grandeur of the entrance hall, this space was designed for power—not to flaunt it, but to wield it.

The walls were lined with dark oak bookshelves, their spines embossed in gold and silver, containing legal precedents so old that some predated written magical law. Ancient tomes and bound contracts rested under protective glass between the towering shelves, some radiating faint traces of dormant magic.

A crimson rug stretched across the floor, its woven patterns depicting what looked like a forgotten battle, its details too intricate to be purely ornamental. A single, unlit fireplace dominated one wall, its blackened stone carved with intricate scales—the unmistakable motif of a dragon watching silently.

But what caught Harry's attention most was the table at the far end of the office.

It was not the grand, imposing desk near the center but a darker, smaller table tucked toward the back of the room—a place for conversations, not declarations.

Harry's lips curved slightly.

This wasn't a power play.

This was an invitation.

Lucian moved with practiced ease, taking his seat at the table as Harry followed, intrigued.

Once settled, Lucian leaned back, his silver eyes gleaming as he glanced toward the entrance before letting out a quiet laugh.

"I have told my assistant—repeatedly—to stop calling me 'Lord Duskbourne,'" he admitted, shaking his head in mild amusement. "But she insists it would set a bad example, so she flatly refuses my order."

Harry chuckled, reclining slightly in his seat.

"I understand completely," he said, his voice carrying the weight of shared experience. "I've met strong-willed women before."

His emerald eyes flickered with something amused yet knowing.

"They're set in their ways."

Lucian smirked, exhaling softly.

"That they are."

For the first time since the ICW meeting, the room felt lighter—if only slightly.

But beneath the surface, both men knew this was merely the beginning.

Chapter 397 "Oaths in Blood and Law"

The heavy silence in Lucian Duskbourne's office was not the kind that brought discomfort. It was the silence of calculation, of unspoken things waiting to be revealed.

Lucian leaned forward, his silver eyes catching the dim candlelight, gleaming with a sharpness honed over centuries. His fingers steepled before him. His voice was measured yet undeniably deliberate.

"I have been waiting for a summons from you for some time now," he admitted, his gaze never leaving Harry's emerald eyes. "I wasn't sure how you would react to who I am."

Harry remained still, his face unreadable, listening without interruption.

Lucian exhaled slowly, his lips curving into a slight, knowing smile.

"I am a Vampire Lord, to be truthful." His voice carried no hesitation—no attempt to soften the weight of the words. "But I walked away from the clans long ago. I left their politics, their blood feuds, their old grudges. Instead, I did something… different."

His smile widened, but it was not without a trace of old memory.

"I became a lawyer."

Harry's lips tugged upward at that, but he remained quiet.

Lucian's gaze turned slightly distant, his voice dipping into something more reflective.

"I stumbled upon a man once—a Black—locked in battle against an ancient evil. I saw something in him, something worth saving. So I fought by his side, and together we destroyed it."

His fingers drummed softly against the table, a rhythmic echo in the quiet room.

"That man," he continued, his silver eyes flickering with something reminiscent, "would later become Lord of the Great House of Black."

Harry felt something shift in the air.

Lucian's smile turned sharp, but there was no amusement—only certainty.

"He returned the favor," Lucian said, his voice dropping slightly. "And when the Eternal Church of the All-Father sought my execution—as all holy orders do when faced with my kind—he intervened."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind already processing the weight of such an action.

"The Church," Lucian continued, "granted me deliverance. Not just from their hands but from any holy order. They made it law."

A pause. A small, lingering moment, as if testing the weight of those words.

"And shortly after that, I became the official lawyer of House Black," Lucian said smoothly. "And I have served it ever since."

He leaned back slightly, watching Harry with something just shy of curiosity.

"So," he murmured, his voice smooth as black silk, "I was wondering…" His silver eyes gleamed.

"What are your views on me, Lord Potter-Black?"

Harry exhaled slowly, folding his hands before him, letting the question settle before responding.

"I have no ill will toward any vampire, werewolf, or any other creature labeled 'dark,'" he said, calm but laced with finality.

Lucian raised an eyebrow slightly.

"My only concern," Harry continued, "is when they step across the line. When they kill innocents, when they do dark deeds."

His emerald eyes gleamed with something fierce, something absolute.

"But you," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "have shown honor."

Lucian stilled.

"You uphold the traditions of House Black," Harry continued. "Traditions that I now represent. Traditions that, despite everything, still mean something."

The words hung between them, solid as steel.

"I do not simply value you as an employee of House Black," Harry said, his voice unwavering.

Lucian tilted his head ever so slightly.

"I see you as family."

Lucian's fingers twitched slightly, but he gave no outward reaction.

Harry's following words were softer but no less dangerous.

"You have worked in the shadows, behind the scenes, guarding House Black's interests for longer than anyone else alive."

His emerald eyes burned with quiet intensity.

"If anyone sought to harm you, I would treat it as an attack on my blood."

Lucian inhaled slowly, his sharp silver eyes searching Harry's face.

Harry held his gaze, unflinching.

"And I would respond accordingly."

Lucian was silent for a long moment.

Not out of hesitation or doubt—but out of something far rarer.

He had been surprised.

He did not let it show.

Instead, after a long, measured pause, his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile.

The kind of smile that belonged to a man who had seen everything—and yet, somehow, had still been caught off guard.

And then, very slowly, very deliberately, he inclined his head.

"Then, my Lord," he said softly, his voice touching with something almost imperceptible—something close to respect.

"Let this be the first of many conversations.

Chapter 398 "Voss: The Shadow Who Watches"

Lord Lucian Duskbourne leaned back in his chair, a slow, deliberate smile curling across his lips. His silver eyes gleamed with amusement and something more profound—anticipation, perhaps.

Harry slowly shifted his gaze, tilting his head slightly to the right. His voice carried a note of quiet amusement.

"You can uncloak yourself now.

For a moment, the room remained silent.

Then, as if reality had been tricked into believing she wasn't there, a figure materialized from the shadows, unraveling in layers of soft darkness and shimmering displacement.

She was tall, poised, and eerily graceful, her every movement so precise it felt unnatural—like a predator choosing to move at human speed to put those around her at ease.

Her complexion was flawless but cool, her skin pale with a subtle hint of warmth, as if she had been human long ago but had since stepped beyond that existence. Sharp cheekbones framed her face, leading to full lips that curved into a knowing smirk.

But it was her eyes that were truly striking.

Unlike her father's silver gaze, Selena's irises were a deep, piercing violet, an unnatural shade that glowed faintly when the light hit them just right—a gift—or a curse—from her sire, no doubt.

Her dark, almost black hair cascading down her back in sleek, controlled waves, the kind that seemed impossible to shift unless she willed it so. She wore a fitted black suit, its tailored lines emphasizing her elegant frame. However, true artistry lies in the subtle silver embroidery that wove through the fabric—a tapestry of ancient runes and forgotten sigils of House Black.

She stood with the practiced stillness of someone who had long since mastered the art of waiting. Watching. Studying.

Lucian sighed softly and shook his head, his smile turning just slightly exasperated.

"I must apologize, Lord Potter-Black," he said smoothly, though his tone carried no real regret. "But my daughter is always… keen to know who we are dealing with."

Harry, however, smiled, his emerald gaze flickering with amusement.

"Please, call me Harry." His voice was calm and steady, but he carried an authority that demanded respect without asking for it. "We are family, after all. And believe me, the Lord's Ring is already heavy enough."

Selena's violet eyes locked onto him, assessing, weighing his words.

Then, after a brief pause, she tilted her head slightly.

"How did you know I was there?" she asked, her voice like silk laced with steel.

Lucian's gaze sharpened just slightly, intrigued by her question.

"No human has ever been aware of me when I was cloaked," Selena continued, her expression unreadable. "Only my sire can detect me—even then, only if he concentrates."

Harry's smirk deepened ever so slightly.

"Let's just say it's hard to sneak up on me." His emerald eyes gleamed with something knowing, something unspoken. "Or stay unnoticed for long."

Selena's lips curved slightly, not quite a smile or smirk.

Meanwhile, Lucian exhaled through his nose, shaking his head again.

"I was aware of the attacks on our family," he said, and for the first time, he let the word family settle on his tongue as if tasting it for the first time.

He smiled.

Harry recognized that it wasn't just amusement—it was possession. It was acknowledgment.

Lucian leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

"I have already spoken with Evasio Scarria, the Head of House Black's European branch." His voice carried the quiet confidence of a man who knew the inevitable.

"He is reaching out," Lucian continued, "and will soon discover the identities of the assassins who dared to attack our family."

Harry tilted his head slightly, filing away the emphasis on ours.

"But," Lucian added, his silver eyes narrowing just a fraction, "if he is unsuccessful, I will personally take over." His smile was thin, sharp—a blade hidden in silk.

"I will find them."

His voice was absolute.

Harry nodded, his expression unwavering.

"Have your forces on standby," Lucian advised, though they both knew it wasn't necessary—Harry had already made preparations.

Harry leaned back slightly, arms crossed.

"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Evasio yet," he admitted, then added, "but my mother held him in high regard." His voice was softer when he spoke of her but no less firm.

Lucian smiled a rare, genuine expression.

"You will like Evasio," he assured him. "He is thorough. And not many are foolish enough to cross him."

Selena, still watching Harry closely, finally spoke again.

"You truly believe we are your family."

It wasn't a question.

Harry turned to her, his emerald gaze locking onto hers, unflinching, unwavering.

"Yes," he said.

She studied him, her gaze searching for deception, for hesitation—but there was none.

"Vampire, human, werewolf, demon, angel—or whatever else may walk this world." His voice was calm, firm, and resolute.

"I hold no ill will toward any unless they kill innocents, unless they murder without regard, unless they commit a truly evil act."

Selena's lips curled slightly, something flickering across her violet gaze—not quite belief, but perhaps, for the first time, curiosity.

"You cannot help that you are vampires. That you must have blood to survive."

Harry's voice was measured, and his words were chosen with precision.

"But I highly doubt you stalk the streets at night and slaughter innocents for their blood."

Selena's expression turned disgusted, almost offended.

"I would never drink the blood of some streetwalker."

Lucian's smirk deepened.

Harry, despite himself, laughed.

Selena did not rise to the bait set before her, smiling slightly.

"I look forward," she said smoothly, "to meeting our new family."

With that, she inclined her head slightly before turning and walking toward the exit.

As she disappeared through the doorway, she left something unspoken in the air—an invitation.

Lucian watched her go, then let out a low chuckle.

"Only I can usually make her stop talking and leave."

Harry grinned. Shaking his head.

And then, as if punctuating the moment, the office doors slammed shut behind them.

For the first time since the ICW meeting, they both laughed.