- MOTUS FACERE -

2:15pm - August 3rd, 1976 - Wizengamot Chambers, Ministry of Magic - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

The Wizengamot chamber was brimming with unease. Rows of witches and wizards in deep plum robes had gathered in a hush. The ancient hall, lined with tall marble pillars and bearing centuries-old insignias of noble Houses, now served as a battlefield of ideas and fears. Overhead, enchanted torches sputtered as if uncertain whether to blaze or extinguish. Albus Dumbledore, now rested, stood at the center podium, the Chief Warlock's seat elevated above the surrounding tiered benches. His eyes, usually twinkling, were grave beneath his half-moon spectacles. To his right hovered a silver recording quill, poised to etch this day's proceedings into record.

With a gentle clearing of his throat, Dumbledore began. "Honored members," he said, voice carrying easily in the hush. "We convene under dire circumstances. In less than twenty-four hours, our world has changed. The Minister of Magic, Harold Minchum, is dead. Lord Voldemort, whose terror has blighted our society, is no more. And in the wake of that terrible victory, the Death Eaters have been all but annihilated. Yet, we find ourselves adrift, a ship without a captain in a storm of uncertainty,"

A ripple of murmurs ran through the assembly. Everyone in the room took note of the fact that over three-forth of those who had been aligned to the 'dark' side of the Wizengamot were gone. Many of these witches and wizards had weathered past crises, but none so sudden and absolute. Now, with the enemy vanquished by an unknown hand, the question of governance was paramount. Albus noted that Fleamont Potter was sitting near Augustus Longbottom and Edgar Bones. Arcturus Black III, the Lord of House Black, was sitting in the 'grey' aisle. Albus wasn't surprised.

Bartemius Crouch Sr. rose from his seat near the front, his posture rigid and voice sharp. "Order must be restored," he declared. "With Minister Minchum gone, we must appoint a steady hand to guide the Ministry. Someone who can reassure the public, direct the Aurors, and prepare for the inevitable investigations that must follow this crisis,"

Across the aisle, Abraham Bletchley spoke in a low, carrying tone. "True. But who among us can command both respect and trust in these tumultuous times?" His monocle gleamed in the torchlight as he surveyed his peers. Albus Dumbledore was out of the question. He had been offered the position three times in the three decades since he defeated Grindelwald in battle. Each time he refused. Bletchley continued. "We need a leader known for integrity and impartiality. Someone who has proven their merit against the Dark Arts and shown no personal ambition for power,"

Fleamont Potter spoke, his voice echoing through the chamber. "I agree that we must choose carefully. The wizarding world is frightened and reeling from the events that transpired last night. I propose we consider Edgar Bones for the position of interim Minister,"

A stunned silence followed his words. Edgar Bones, a seasoned Auror, had been instrumental in bringing critical intelligence to the DMLE. He was not a Wizengamot regular nor a political powerhouse, but his reputation for fairness, bravery, and measured judgment had grown exponentially in recent months. Even more so in the past twelve hours. He had overseen investigations, negotiated tense stand-offs, and always maintained a calm, even hand. Hallmarks of Edgar's career. The reactions came swiftly.

"Edgar Bones?" questioned Julius Ogden, squinting down from his bench. "He's an Auror, not a politician,"

"Precisely!" interjected Theodosia Shacklebolt, her silver hair tied in a severe knot. "We need someone untainted by political machinations. Someone who will focus on safety, stability, and truth rather than legacy or ambition,"

Barty Crouch Sr. folded his arms. "Edgar Bones served admirably during the dark times, aiding in exposing several Death Eater cells and working closely with the DMLE to enforce law and order. He is respected by Aurors, Hit Wizards, and even some members of the Department of Mysteries. Few have cleaner hands or a steadier moral compass,"

A murmur of agreement spread. Many in the Wizengamot recalled Edgar's presence at the crime scenes hours after Voldemort's defeat, meticulously collecting evidence, speaking quietly to fellow Aurors, and offering comfort to Ministry staff in shock. He had shown leadership without title, calm under unimaginable stress. Dumbledore inclined his head, his beard shifting slightly as he regarded the assembly. "Edgar Bones is known to me as a man of principle. He is not allied to old prejudices, and he has never sought power for his own sake. In these trying times, a leader who is reluctant to assume power may well be our best choice,"

No one laughed at the subtle humour laced in Albus' words. It was too tense a moment for that. Instead, a sense of relief rippled through the chamber. A neutral figure - competent, trusted by law enforcement - might be exactly what Britain needed. Madam Marchbanks leaned forward, her voice resonant despite her age. "Shall we call for a vote, then? Edgar Bones, as interim Minister, until we can arrange proper elections and a more permanent appointment. He would serve at the pleasure of this body and with a council of senior officers,"

Bletchley nodded. "Yes, let us put it to a vote. We have debated enough. The public will panic if we delay much longer,"

Dumbledore raised his right hand. "All in favor of appointing Edgar Bones as Interim Minister of Magic, please indicate now," One by one, hands lifted. The count was unanimous. Even those who hesitated realized that unity was paramount. After all, a divided Wizengamot would only feed the fires of uncertainty. Dumbledore lowered his hands. "Very well. By unanimous vote, Edgar Bones is hereby appointed Interim Minister of Magic," The scribe's quill scratched furiously at the parchment, recording every syllable for posterity. "This appointment shall stand until such time as the Wizengamot deems it appropriate to hold full elections, or until conditions have stabilized sufficiently,"

The decision hung in the air like a healing spell cast over old wounds. It was not a permanent solution, but it was a start. The wizarding world would wake tomorrow to find a caretaker at the helm. Someone more interested in justice and safety than playing political chess. In the ensuing moments, the Wizengamot laid out Edgar's initial tasks. He would appear to the public that very evening, explaining to the public that Voldemort was gone and that stability measures were in place. He would coordinate with the DMLE to safeguard remaining key infrastructure and track down any scattered Death Eater remnants. Edgar would also meet with department heads and reassure allied countries of Britain's stability.

As the session drew to a close, a subtle calm took hold. Though the future remained uncertain - who was the mysterious attacker that slew the Dark Lord, and what might they want? - the wizarding world now had a focal point in Edgar Bones. Fleamont Potter took note that the torches burned steadier overhead, as if approving over this unexpected but welcome choice. Harry had been right. Edgar was a good choice as an Interim Minister. As Fleamont joined those on the way out, there was a sense that order could be restored.

5:22pm - August 3rd, 1976 - Gringotts Bank, London - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

After resting for a bit after his long night, Harry decided to return to Gringotts to debrief Ragnok or be debrief. He stepped through the gleaming bronze doors of Gringotts, his hooded cloak pulled tight around him. Not to conceal his face, he had dropped most glamours since the previous night, but as not to draw attention to himself. The goblins at the entrance eyed him warily, though no trace of fear showed on their sharp, angular features. They knew who he was now, or at least had some inkling of his importance to the Goblin Nation. The shift in their posture, the way their weapons were held just a fraction more respectfully, did not escape his notice.

Beyond the grand, marble-floored foyer, Harry approached the towering desk manned by an older goblin official. Zock, if he recalled correctly. Zock recognized him instantly and jerked his head toward the corridor that led to the private offices. Harry bowed in gratitude. It still astounded him how quickly a reputation could be earned in the wizarding world. In goblinkind as well. After all, he and Rose hadn't been in this universe for a day. In that time, he had neutralized Voldemort's Horcruxes, killed the Dark Lord, assassinated the Minister of Magic, and had forged a blood-bound alliance with Ragnok. Now, with the Ministry in flux and Edgar Bones set as Interim Minister, it was time to cement his relationship with the goblins. He suspected today's meeting would be significant.

Torches flickered along the carved stone corridor, illuminating runes etched into the walls. At the end of the hall, Ragnok's door stood ajar. Inside, Harry could hear the low, guttural cadence of the Grimnash tongue as Ragnok and Torvik spoke in hushed tones. He entered silently. The office looked as sterile as before. An ornate wooden desk. Shelves lined with ledgers and scrolls, and a large tapestry behind Ragnok's seat depicting some ancient forge ritual. Ragnok and Torvik turned as one, their yellow eyes glinting.

"Harrek Jaemes Pottar," Ragnok greeted, his accent rumbling through Harry's name. "Welcome back. We have matters of great importance to discuss,"

Harry stepped closer, crossing his arms. "I assumed as much. The world has not stood still since we last spoke,"

Ragnok's grin revealed pointed teeth. "Indeed. The High Chouncil has considered my request. They will hear you out in three days time, on the 6th of August, in the High Council Chambers in Scotland,"

Harry's eyebrows rose slightly. He knew this was significant. The High Council of goblinkind rarely met with an wizard, let alone offered them audience. "That's soon. Are there any protocols I should be aware of?"

Torvik cleared his throat. "You will be required to speak in Grimnash. Make promises. Possibly offer a gift. The Council values strength tempered with honor and practicality. They will wish to see evidence you understand our crafts, our customs, and that you are not another wizard seeking only profit,"

Harry nodded. "I can manage that. I've studied much in my time away. What else?"

Ragnok leaned back in his chair, tapping a wickedly sharp nail on the wooden desk. "There is another matter. Your aggressive actions last night left a...legal vacuum. The Lords you killed, all Death Eaters, possessed lineages tied to Ancient and Noble Houses. By rite of conquest and the old magic woven into blood and property. You may claim lordship of these Houses if you so choose,"

Harry stiffened. This was unexpected. The Malfoys, Averys, and others he had dispatched were all entrenched in old pureblood traditions. "Wait. You mean I can just take their lordships?"

Torvik shrugged, as though this were a mundane matter of account ledgers. "Wizards have many laws and customs. One of them holds that if a rightful Lord of a House dies without heirs, or if all direct heirs are nullified by bloodline oath-breaking, the magic tied to that House reverts to its conqueror. Typically, this is done through formal duels or arranged successions. You have done...something more abrupt. Yet the old magic is not particular about such details,"

The former Gladiator ran a hand through his hair, considering the implications. He already held Potter, Black, Peverell, and Gryffindor titles. Adding more lordships would grant him greater influence in the Wizengamot, but also more responsibility...and more scrutiny. If he claimed the Avery seat, the Rosier seat, or even a more obscure line he'd never heard of, he would inherit not only their fortunes but their outstanding oblications. Including dark artifacts locked in old vaults. Did he want that sort of baggage?

Still, it could be useful. Harry's entire strategy depended on reshaping wizarding Britain. Having more votes in the Wizengamot would help push through reforms. But would the public accept the sudden rise of a new power who had conveniently 'removed' the old guard? The timing was delicate. Yet, the idea of these Houses' wealth and artifacts falling into unscrupulous hands again was wose. "Which Houses are we speaking of?" Harry asked.

Torvik pulled a scroll from his desk and unrolled it. The parchment, infused with goblin magic, glowed softly. "Avery, Mulciber, Nott, Travers, and Rowle. All of these lords were killed last night and had no living heirs recognized by Gringotts or the Ministry. There are minor cadet branches, but they have been disqualified by old oaths or lack of recognized lineage. Given your bloodline tests and your direct role in their..." he paused, searching for a polite phrase. "...removal, you are eligible to claim them,"

Harry glanced at the list, recognizing names that caused a twist of disgust in his stomach. Each House had funded atrocities, sided with Voldemort, and oppressed anyone they considered lesser. Perhaps now he could turn their legacy to something better. Ragnok studied Harry carefully. "Do not take this lightly. Each House will bring entanglements. Old contracts, cursed vaults, alliances with foreign wizarding enclaves. If you claim them, you gain more power but also more risk,"

Nodding slowly, Harry sighed. "I understand. Before I claim them, I want to review their ledgers. I need to know what I'm getting into,"

Torvik flashed Harry a toothy grin. "As your account manager, I anticipated this," The goblin removed several small files from under the desk. He slid forward the first ledger. Its leather cover bore the faint mark of a stylized 'A' entwined witrh a serpent. "We will begin with the Avery estate. Ancient and Noble House of Avery. Recently extinguished thanks to last nights...events," He flipped open the ledger. Ragnok leaned closer, knuckles resting on the table's edge. Torvik continued. "House Avery owns three properties. The manor in Somerset you destroyed, a hunting lodge in Cumbria, and a small townhouse in Edinburgh. Liquid assets: seventy thousand galleons in their primary vauts. Investments: shares in a broom-manufacturing firm and a shipping company that smuggles magical herbs out of West Africa," Torvik paused, tapping a line on the parchment. "Cursed objects: a set of goblin-forged blades, stolen in the 14th century. Also, a trunk rumored to contain original research on blood-based curses,"

Harry frowned. The Avery holdings were extensive but stained by blood and theft. "The goblin-forged blades," he said quietly. "I could return those to the High Council as a gesture of goodwill, yes?"

Ragnok inclined his head. "Yes, that would please them. Few wizards return such treasures voluntarily,"

Harry nodded. The High Council meeting drew near, and offering the blades could strengthen his hand. "Any outstanding debts or contracts?"

Torvik nodded grimly. "Several marriage contracts due to mature in the next decade, all heavily laden with old pureblood customs. With the line extinguished, you can either annul them or enforce the dissolution fee. Also, a pending agreement with Mulciber line to invest in illegal potion ingredients,"

"Annul the marriage contracts," Harry said immediately. He wanted no part in that mess. "The potion agreement. End it. I want no part of smuggling or dark trade,"

Torvik's quill scratched over parchment, noting Harry's instructions. Ragnok pushed a second ledger forward. It bore the crest of a regal falcon clutching a wand. Nott's symbol. "House Nott," Ragnok said. "Old money. Very old. A manor in Kent, a villa in the south of France. The vaults contain over three hundred thousand galleons. They possess several heirlooms, some rumored to be tied to Salazar Slytherin's lesser-known acolytes,"

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Heirlooms tied to Slytherin's followers?"

Torvik grunted. "Dark relics. Likely cursed tomes, enchanted masks, wands crafted from dubious materials. We'll need curse-breakers to confirm,"

Harry sighed. "Hire them. Catalog everything. Destroy or neutralize any irredeemably dark artifacts. Any that can be purified or hold historical value without harming anyone, we keep. The rest we dispose of, or turn over to the Department of Mysteries if safe to do so," Ragnok gave a rare approving nod. Too many wizards hoarded cursed objects like trophies. This was more prudent.

"House Bott also holds a seat on the Wizengamot," Torvik continued. "And thus you can claim it. They were aligned with hardline policies. Controlling that seat gives you another vote to shape future reforms,"

Harry allowed himself a small smile. More influence in the Wizengamot meant pushing for creature rights, Muggleborn equality, and better governance. A better world for James and Lily's children. For Hermione. Ron. Neville. Luna. "I will claim the seat. We'll need to alter the political alliances. End any existing backroom deals with dark families," Torvik nodded, his quill scraped again, noting details.

Next, Ragnok passed over a ledger bound in dark green leather. The Mulciber crest, three black crows, stared back at Harry. "House Mulciber," Ragnok said. "Smaller fortune. Fifty thousand galleons, a single estate near York, and numberous contracts for procuring rare spell components, many obtained illegally,"

The Boy-Who-Lived grimaced. "End every illegal contract. We keep the estate, perhaps it can be sold later if it's not historically significant. Any dangerous items?"

"Yes. A hidden vault with scrolls describing forbidden Animagus transformations and mind-control charms. Definitely contraband. We can't let these slip back into circulation," Torvik said, riffling through pages.

Harry leaned forward, his voice firm. "Secure them. I'll decide later whether to turn them over to the DMLE or destroy them,"

Ragnok pushed the next ledger forward. Dark maroon with a silver serpent's head. Travers. "House Travers is wealthier. Two hundred thousand galleons, extensive investments in potions factories across Europe, and half a dozen properties. However, they are also known for connections to mercenary curse-breakers. Some vaults may be trapped,"

Harry snorted softly. "Trust Death Eater's to make their vaults death-traps. Hire the best curse-breakers you trust. Secure the vaults. Any siginficant heirlooms or alliances?"

Torvik nodded. "They hold several old treaties with foreign wizard enclaves. Hungary, Bulgaria, and some non-aligned Eastern European sects. Useful if you need international cooperation. But tread carefully. Those enclaves are suspicious of outsiders,"

"Keep those files," Harry instructed, tapping a finger on the table. "I may need international support someday. As before, remove dark influences and ensure nothing illegal remains,"

Finally, Ragnok presented the last ledger in dark blue. Rowle. "House Rowle is modest. Thirty thousand galleons, a townhouse in Cardiff, a small stake in a British wandwood plantation. Mostly mundane, but their vault includes a few dark artifacts. Nothing as grand as the others,"

Harry considered. "Then it's simpler. Liquidate what's not needed. Keep what can help with the Wizengamot. They had a seat as well?"

Torvik shook his head. "Not a hereditary seat, no. They are minor players, content with bribing and backdoor deals. You inherit none of their political leverage directly. Only their resources," Harry exhaled slowly. Each House came with a burden. Curses, alliances, unsavory contracts. But they also offered power. Wealth, influence, artifacts that could be repurposed or destroyed.

Ragnok folded his hands. "You now control several more vaults, estates, and potential votes. You can influence wizarding Britain's future if you use them wisely. Your meeting with the High Council is on the 6th. Returning stolen goblin blades from Avery's vault will start you on solid ground with my people,"

Harry nodded, gratitude flickering in his eyes. "I'll do just that. Also, I'll start drafting letters to the DMLE about handing over irredeemably dark items and to the Department of Mysteries for those that hold historical value but are too dangerous to be left around,"

Torvik grinned. "A prudent choice. The Ministry would be impressed...cooperation builds goodwill,"

Ragnok rose from his seat, the hem of his fine tunic whispering against the stone floor. "Your actions now shape not only your legacy, but the future of many. You have a rare opportunity, Lord Potter, to become a builder rather than a destroyer,"

Harry stood as well. "I'm counting on it. I didn't fight all this way just to hoard wealth and secrets. My goal is a stronger, fairer magical society,"

Ragnok's eyes gleamed. "Then we shall see what you can forge from these twisted inheritances. Remember, the High Council meeting is soon. Prepare well," Harry inclined his head, heart steady as he bowed to the two. He bid his farewell before he left the office, scrolls and ledgers weighed in his mind. He had claimed the fruits of a violent night's work, now he must harness them for good. In three days, he would stand before the goblin's High Council, a show of respect in his hands. Then, he would begin the patient work of reshaping the world Voldemort and his followers had tried to corrupt.

12:57pm - August 4th, 1976 - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry - Earth - Universe Designation: 1.638.2

The staff room at Hogwarts was more crowded than usual. A long table dominated the center, surrounded by chairs that creaked gently as each occupant shifted with curiosity or concern. Every professor currently teaching at Hogwarts had been summoned, and now they waited. Some with polite patience, others with barely concealed intrigue for their newest colleague to arrive. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood at the far end of the table, leaning on his carved lectern, his eyes twinkling but grave. To his right sat Minerva McGonagall, arms folded in her emerald robes, her expression an exercise of composed neutrality. Chairs around the table were filled with Hogwarts' finest minds.

Filius Flitwick, Charms Master, was perched on a stack of cushions, hands folded expectantly. Horace Slughorn, Potions Master, radiant in a velvet waistcoat, fingers steepled as he observed the door. Pomona Sprout, Herbology Mistress, her nails still faintly soiled from the greenhouses, leaned forward with frank curiosity. Silvanus Kettleburn, Care of Magical Creatures instructor, smelled faintly of singed fur and manticore musk, visibly trying not to fidget. Cuthbert Binns, the History of Magic professor and only ghost present, drifted slightly above his chair. Bathsheda Babbling, Ancient Runes Mistress, had a quill behind her ear, holding the parchments laid out before her. Harry's lesson plans for his Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum.

Septima Vector, Arithmancy Mistress, had her brow furrowed thoughtfully as though calculating probabilities of what might occur next. The Astronomy professor, Adhara Cantwell, folder her long fingers, observing quietly from beneath half-moon spectacles. The Muggle Studies teacher, Bertram Whitsun, a genial wizard with thinning blonde hair, tapped a quill against his chin. He was intrigued by the rumors of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher from a reputed lineage. They were all waiting. Harry Potter wasn't late, technically, given the meeting was scheduled at 1pm.

At last, the door swung open and Harry Potter stepped inside. He was wearing an outfit that seemed a perfect balance between formality and practicality. The emerald green robes he wore were simple yet distinguished, their black and gold trim lending a sense of authority. A Gryffindor crest sat over his heart, finely embroidered in gold. Beneath the robes, a tailored charcoal vest hugged his frame, its clean lines giving him an air of composed sophistication. Beneath that was a crisp black shirt, buttoned high at the collar. His trousers were sturdy but well-fitted, dyed a deep black. His boots were made of polished dragon-hide, also dyed black to match the ensemble. The outfit only added to Harry's overall appearance. His jet-black hair had been swept to the side, with his eyes being framed by round-rimmed glasses. He didn't need them, but it added to the formality of his appearance. He looked calm, if a touch weary from his travels in the past two days. He offered a polite nod to the assembled faculty.

"Thank you all for gathering," Dumbledore began quietly. The murmurs died down as every eye turned to Harry. It was easy enough to see the similarities between him and James Potter. After all, all of these teachers had either taught James or seen him in the last five years. Dumbledore continued. "As you know, Professor Potter will be joining us to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year,"

Slughorn wasted no time. "My dear boy," he said, voice thick and jovial though laced with curiosity. "The staff can't help but be intrigued. We've heard whispers. You're connected to Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, and young James, are you not?" His mustache twitched with interest. Some of the staff seemed to agree with this, while others, including McGonagall, seemed to think he had gone too far.

Flitwick, ever the extrovert, piped up. His voice was high and pleasant. "Quite so! A Potter teaching at Hogwarts. How delightful! But we know so little. The Potters are a respected family, yet we haven't seen you at any of the usual gatherings or Wizengamot functions," His eyes shone with scholarly interest.

Pomona Sprout smiled kindly. "I'm sure we don't mean to pry too much, dear. It's just you appeared rather suddenly. Are you newly returned from abroad?" Her tone was motherly, softening the bluntness of the inquiry.

Kettleburn cleared his throat. "We welcome any expert who can help our students learn to protect themselves. But yes, it's unusual for someone so closely tied to a well-known family to appear on staff without fanfare," A pause, then a more hesitant query. "Were you perhaps studying creatures on another continent?"

Babbling and Vector exchanged curious glances. They were not social butterflies like Slughorn, but they valued knowledge. Babbling tilted her head. "Professor Potter, rumor places you as a relative of the Potters. Fleamont and Euphemia have always been private individuals. If you belong to their household, how is it we haven't heard of you until yesterday?" Binns drifted forward slightly, dust motes dancing in his spectral form, though he made no comment. History had taught him that patience was key.

Adhara Cantwell, Astronomy professor, spoke with a quiet voice. "We live in...changing times. We would understand if secrecy was necessary for safety. Still, we hope to know the background of our newest colleague,"

Whitsun, the Muggle Studdies professor, smiled disarmingly. "We mean no offense. Only that...everyone craves reassurance. Knowing who we entrust our students to would set minds at ease,"

Harry clasped his hands behind his back and offered a careful and patient smile. He had expected curiosity. After all, he had come seemingly out of nowhere with a famous family name and a teaching post. "I appreciate your interest," he said, voice calm and even. "I am, indeed, connected to Fleamont and Euphemia. In fact, I am the younger brother of your student, James Potter. We're joined by a third triplet, Rose, our younger sister. Rose and I were sent to France as infants due to a prophecy concerning a dark lord. This was done to ensure the Dark Lord didn't come after us or my family. Due to the current climate and unrest, Fleamont and Euphemia thought it best to reunite our family,"

The professors leaned in, waiting for more. Harry spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I must ask your understanding. For personal and familial reasons, I cannot delve deeply into my history at this time. I've returned to Britain because I believe, no more than ever, this generation needs strong guidance in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The times are uncertain, what with Voldemort's death and the Minister's assassination. I wish to help prepare them for the future that lies ahead," Slughorn's eyes narrowed with interest. Secrets always intrigued him. Flitwick nodded sympathetically. Sprout gave a slight sigh, disappointed but respectful. Babbling scribbled a note in her ledger.

Dumbldore, sensing the tension, interjected smoothly. "Professor Potter's credentials are exemplary," he said. "I have personally reviewed his skill and knowledge. He will bring a unique perspective that I believe will serve our school well. His family ties to House Potter speak to a noble lineage, but I trust you will judge him by his merits as an educator. Not by his surname or his age,"

McGonagall, who had been silent thus far, cleared her throat. "We will have ample opportunity to see Professor Potter's teaching style. The term starts soon enough. Let us welcome him and grant him the courtesy of time," A subdued hush followed as the staff weighed her words. These professors, though curious, were loyal to Dumbledore's judgment. If he trusted Harry, they would give him a chance.

Harry inclined his head. "I'm grateful for your understanding. I look forward to working with each of you. Our students deserve the best we can give them," With that, Harry took a seat between McGonagall and Professor Vector. Dumbledore shifted the meeting to practical matters. Start-of-term feasts, timetable adjustments, and the introduction of new safety measures. The chatter turned to lesson plans, Quidditch schedules, and the state of the greenhouses after a recent thunderstorm.

After business concluded, the staff dispersed. Professors lingered in small clusters, a few casting Harry sidelong glances before slipping away. Slughorn ambled off humming, undoubtedly pondering what connections Harry might hold. Sprout and Flitwick exchanged polite farewells with him. Vector and Babbling left together, discussing runic warding methods. Binns drifted through a wall, lost in thought. Cantwell and Whitsun nodded curtly at Harry before following Kettleburn out. Soon, only Harry, Dumbledore, and McGonagall remained. The Headmaster's office beckoned, a private place for the conversation Harry knew would happen. Dumbledore gestured for the two to follow him up the spiral staircase, McGonagall close behind, her eyes both concerned and curious.

At last, the trio ascended the spiral staircase behind the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. Inside, the room was warm and lit by soft lamplight. The faint scent of lemon drops and old parchment hung in the air. Fawkes rustled his feathers on his perch, letting out a low musical note as though greeting old friends. The Headmaster settled behind his desk, gesturing for Harry and McGonagall to take seats opposite him. McGonagall's posture was as upright as ever, though a subtle tension in her shoulders revealed her unease. Dumbledore's blue eyes, usually merry, now held a gentle gravity. He steepled his fingers, inclining his head towards Harry.

"Professor Potter," Dumbledore said softly, keeping his tone formal. "The staff's questions were understandable, though I trust they will respect your privacy. Minerva and I, however, are aware of your true origins and your ability to perform great feats. As such, we were surprised when, on the night of your arrival, the wizarding world flipped upside down. Tom Riddle was killed, dozens of Death Eater's massacred, and the Minister of Magic assassinated. We wondered if, perhaps, you were involved? Or knew who was involved?"

Harry frowned. Dumbledore was dancing around this very well. He wasn't outright accusing Harry nor obsolving him of direct inclusion in the events. Harry nodded, meeting Albus' gaze steadily. There would be no half-truths here. Especially if he wanted Dumbledore and McGonagall's help in the future he was envisioning for Britain. "Very well. I will only admit to the two of you what happened on the night of the second. Under no circumstances should what is said here be repeated outside of these walls,"

Once he received confirmation from both Dumbledore and McGonagall, he began. "That night, I saw my opportunity to secure the future my world and many others never had. A future Rose and my unborn friends deserve. So I confronted Voldemort, having first destroyed his Horcruxes,"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, surprised and respect mingling on his face. "You knew of the Horcruxes?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "I studied Voldemort extensively while with the Domus Mortis. After all, Voldemort plagued almost every version of Harry Potter in the multiverse. Once I destroyed his Horcruxes, he was vulnerable. I struck swiftly and decisively. Malfoy Manor. The Avery Estate. Their outpost in the Midlands. Dozens of others too. When I confronted him at the Riddle House, I eliminated the Death Eaters in the building before taking him out for good. I made sure he had no chance to flee,"

McGonagall's lips parted, shock tempered by the memory of years under Voldemort's shadow. "You...killed him? Just like that?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "The act of killing him was easy. Getting there was not easy. It required careful planning, immense power, and a willingness to bear the burden of what I was doing. Voldemort and his followers could not be reasoned with or imprisoned. So I ended them,"

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "And what of the Minister?"

Harry inclined his head. "Minister Minchum was shielding Death Eater sympathizers, allowing corruption to fester. Leaving him in place, even after Voldemort fell, would have let rot remain at the heart of our government. I orchestrated evidence so it seemed a Death Eater killed him. Macnair's wand, with certain curses cast. But the truth is, I forced the Ministry into a reset. Edgar Bones' appointment as Interim Minister is no coincidence. He's honest and courageous. I trust he can guide Britain forward,"

The quiet that followed was profound. Fawkes tilted his head, studying Harry as though weighing his soul. McGonagall pressed her lips together, her voice low. "You took an enormous risk," she said, her eyes searching Harry's face. "Acting alone...reshaping our world in a single night. The consequences..."

"I know," Harry said unflinching. "I don't expect applause or an Order of Merlin, First Class. I know some will call me a vigilante. A criminal. A monster. But given the circumstances - Horcruxes and a puppet Minister - I believed there was no time for subtlety. With Voldemort gone the Ministry can rebuild, and we can focus on educating the next generation to prevent such darkness from rising again,"

Dumbledore leaned back, his expression deeply thoughtful. "You have...in a single stroke, removed the greatest threat to wizarding Britain since Grindelwald. Yet you have also placed yourself in a precarious position. What of your role now, Harry? Will you continue manipulating events from the shadows? Or will you let the world grow naturally?"

Harry's answer was gentle but firm. "I won't be orchestrating more deaths or forcing more hands. My immediate goal is to teach here to pass on knowledge. Yes, I now hold seats in the Wizengamot through inheritances gained from the Houses I conquered. I'll use that influence to promote fairness and equality, but not through violence. I've done what had to be done to end the immediate crisis. Now we must heal,"

McGonagall leaned forward slightly. "Heal, yes. That is paramount. But we must also remain watchful. Removing Voldemort does not remove all darkness from the world," She paused, her voice softening. "I know Fleamont and Euphemia. I also know James. They are good people. I pray you carry their values forward, and that you don't let the weight of your actions disappoint them,"

Harry smiled faintly, an expression tinged with sadness. "I won't forget their example. Nor will I forget why I came here. To ensure no child grows up under the shadow of a monster like Voldemort,"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Trust is not given lightly, Harry. But you have mine, for now. You have changed the landscape of our world. I hope that as you teach our students, teaching them true Defense instead of paranoia, they will inherit a brighter future. Still, I must warn you. The Wizengamot and the public may soon ask questions. You must be prepared to face scrutiny,"

"I understand," He looked between them. "I don't intend to hide forever. When the time is right, I'll be more transparent. But for now, I ask you to keep my involvement secret. Let the world believe what it must. Focus on the future, on stability, on rebuilding trust,"

McGonagall exhaled softly, and though worry lingered in her eyes, she found a small smile. "Very well, Professor Potter. If Dumbledore trusts you, so shall I. But I will not hesitate to challenge you if I believe you stray from the path of decency,"

Harry nodded respectfully. "I would expect nothing less from you,"

Dumbledore stood, moving around the desk to stand beside Harry. He placed a gentle hand on the new professor's shoulder, as though bestowing a silent blessing. "We've seen too much war. Too much fear. Let us guide these children and ourselves into kinder times," Fawkes trilled quietly, the lamp-lit office embracing them in a moment of rare accord.

Omake #1:

The Wizengamot had just unanimously agreed to appoint Edgar Bones as Interim Minister. The heavy silence of political tension had eased, replaced by cautious relief. As the robed figures filed out of the chamber, Fleamont Potter lingered behind with Edgar Bones, who was still adjusting to the idea of being Minister. "Edgar," Fleamont said quietly, a reassuring hand on the new Minister's shoulder, "You'll do just fine. Remember. Tea breaks. Lots of them,"

Edgar blinked, then managed a shaky laugh. "Tea breaks?"

"Yes," Fleamont insisted, straight-faced. "The secret to leadership is the right infusion of leaves and hot water. No crisis is insurmountable if you have a good cuppa," He paused, then added conspiratorially, "Put a smidgen of honey and a peppermint leaf. Works wonders for the nerves after late-night Minister assassinations and Dark Lords dropping dead,"

From across the chamber, Arcturus Black III raised an eyebrow at the two men whispering. He considered approaching, an old Black family motto was 'Never trust a Potter bearing tea tips.' But recalling the unanimous vote, he decided against it. Instead, he patted his pockets for a forgotten hip flask of firewhisky. No one would blame him for a small nip after the day they'd had. He considered confronting Fleamont about his son's new claim to lordship in House Black, but decided to bide his time. He would have answers soon enough.

Meanwhile, in a corner of the chamber, Abraham Bletchley was wrestling with his monocle. Having seen Edgar Bones appointed so swiftly, he was convinced the monocle had fogged at a critical moment. He missed a historical footnote, surely. He rubbed it vigorously with the edge of his robe and muttered something about ordering a new, enchanted lens from Eyelop's Optics.

Madam Marchbanks, having overheard him, leaned over. "Bletchley, dear, perhaps a clarity charm next time?"

Bletchley sniffed. "I'll consider it, Madam Marchbanks. I'll consider it,"

At that moment, the silver recording quill still hovered near the podium, having dutifully captured every word spoken. Freed from serious obligations, it paused uncertainly. Without orders to stop, it decided to note the chamber's hushed aftermath. Its nib skittered over parchment, writing: Note: Post-vote atmosphere: subdued relief. Fleamont Potter recommends tea. Arcturus Black checks hip flask. Abraham Bletchley insults monocle. Conclusion: Wizarding Britain is strange.. Satisfied, the quill set itself gently down on the table and went perfectly still.

Omake #2:

In Ragnok's office, after Harry had left, Torvik and Ragnok lingered over the ledgers. Torvik tapped the Avery ledger with a claw. "He wants to return the goblin-forged blades," he mused. "I must say, that's a first,"

Ragnok harrumphed. "Wizards usually hoard them, claim them as 'spoils'. This one's different,"

Torvik nodded solemnly, then grinned. "Do you think if I drop a subtle hint, he might return a few other stolen artifacts he doesn't know about yet?"

Ragnok shot him a flat look. "Torvik…"

The account manager raised his hands. "Kidding, kidding! Well, maybe only half kidding. Worth a shot,"

Ragnok rolled his eyes, making a mental note to keep Torvik from pressuring their new ally too much. Still, a goblin could dream. And dream they would of goblin-forged treasures restored to their rightful place, and a wizard who actually tried to do what was right instead of hoarding power.

Omake #3:

After the meeting, as Harry, Dumbledore, and McGonagall departed, the remaining professors dispersed in small, curious groups. Slughorn, humming to himself, pondered what delicacy to serve at his first Slug Club gathering. He made a note to find out Harry's favorite dessert. A well-placed treacle tart could unearth the secrets of any man, or so Slughorn firmly believed.

Sprout returned to her greenhouses and whispered to a Venomous Tentacula, "A Potter teaching Defense…" as though the plant had an opinion on educational staffing choices.

Flitwick hopped down from his cushions with a sigh. "Well, that was interesting," he said to no one in particular, then flicked his wand to straighten a misaligned chair. Everything had to be perfect for the new term.

Binns, drifting through a wall, murmured to himself, "Another Potter...might be worth mentioning in my first lecture. If I remember…"

Vector and Babbling walked off, their voices echoing down the corridor. "I still think runic wards integrated with Arithmancy grids could revolutionize classroom safety," "Yes, but how do we account for the students who can't handle a basic shrinking charm?" "Hmm, you have a point,"

Far above them, in the Astronomy tower, Professor Cantwell peered through a telescope at the early evening sky. She wondered if the stars had foreseen this chaos. Probably. Stars always knew something, but they never wrote memos.

Updated: 3/6/2025