Arthur coughed lightly, lowering his voice.

Some things... didn't need to be said aloud.

And as for those Ministry officials—what were theythinking? It was fine to keep such thoughts in their heads, but did they really have tonodin agreement like that?

The elevator continued stopping and starting, its golden grilles sliding open and shut as Ministry officials came and went. Above them, paper notes flitted through the air like restless birds, zipping from office to office.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Includes the Improper Use of Magic Office, the Auror Headquarters, and the Wizengamot Administration Services."

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "We've arrived."

Arthur stepped out with them—his own office was on this floor as well.

"Goodbye, Harry," Arthur said cheerfully, making a deliberate effort toignoreDumbledore's presence. "My office is that way. You two are heading to the Wizengamot, so I'll leave you to it."

They parted ways at the corridor.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, bright and warm—completely at odds with the gloomy weather outside.

Before long, Harry and Dumbledore reached the end of the hall, stopping before a grand violet door. In its center was an ornate, golden, clover-shaped plaque, engraved in elegant lettering:

Wizengamot Administration Services.

Dumbledore pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

There was no sign of anyone, though the furnishings were well-kept and modern. A few cabinets lined the walls, displaying an assortment of photographs. Dumbledore's face appeared in the majority of them, while the rest featured elderly witches and wizards unfamiliar to Harry.

A few sofas were arranged neatly in the space, looking hardly used despite having been there long enough to press slight indentations into the wooden floor.

"Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore said, waving his wand. A cabinet creaked open, and several clean glasses floated out, followed by a bottle of red wine. "The Wizengamot offices are rarely occupied. You must understand, we'reallrather old. Most of us would rather sit in the sun and doze off."

"What time is it now?" he asked.

Harry glanced at his watch. "Eight forty-eight."

"Your case isn't scheduled until ten o'clock," Dumbledore remarked. "Over an hour from now. And knowing them, they probably won't show up until ten minutes before it starts."

He settled onto a sofa, took a sip of wine, and relaxed.

Harry nodded, about to respond, when he suddenly turned his head toward the door.

A rush of hurried, panicked footsteps approached.

"They're comingnow?" Dumbledore said, surprised.

His answer came in the form of a loudbangas the door was flung open.

A breathless wizard stumbled inside. "Professor Dumbledore! Mr. Potter! ThankMerlinI found you—I heard someone say you had already arrived at the Ministry."

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

The wizard nodded hastily. "I sent out several owls to deliver your notices this morning, but for some reason, theyallfailed to reach you."

Dumbledore and Harry simply watched him, silently letting himdig his own grave.

The wizard swallowed nervously and continued, "Mr. Potter's hearing has beenrescheduled. The time has been moved tonine o'clock, and the location has been changed toCourtroom Ten."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Courtroom Ten?"

The wizard nodded and whispered, "It's... on thetenth underground level. A chamber used for interrogations."

"A chamber," Dumbledore added, "typically reserved for prisoners whoseguilt has already been determined."

The wizard lowered his head, avoiding their gazes.

"Why was the time changed?" Harry asked.

The man answered honestly, "This morning, we received notice that over two-thirds of the Wizengamot members wereindisposeddue to illness and would not be attending today's hearing."

"According to Ministry regulations, if attendance falls below one-third, authority over the trial is transferred to the Ministry itself, to ensurefairproceedings."

"This trial will now be personally overseen by Minister Cornelius Fudge."

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses with a slow push. "And yet, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I was not informed of this?"

Even though he had long since handed over the Wizengamot's actual control to the Ministry, a mass absence of this scale shouldat leasthave warrantedsomenotice to him.

The wizard remained unfazed, even appearing puzzled. "Perhaps the owls failed to reach you as well?"

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "And why was thelocationchanged?"

"Minister Fudge has a meeting with the International Confederation of Wizards at ten o'clock, followed by an afternoon appointment with the Magic Minister of the Thousand Lakes Federation. As you may know, the disappearance of Headmaster Karkaroff has become aglobalconcern."

He added, "And, according to Ministry regulations, when there is achangein trial personnel, thetime and locationmay also be adjusted accordingly."

"Yet you still should have notified usbeforehand," Dumbledore said, his tone mild but firm.

"Ididnotify you," the wizard insisted weakly. "I sent multiple owls. But... you never received them."

He straightened up. "Now, Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Potter—time is short. We shouldhurry—"

"No." Harry interrupted. "I'mnotgoing."

The wizard froze.

Harry drained his glass of wine, then crossed one leg over the other. "Tell dear Cornelius that I'll bewaitingright here. He can comeexplainthings to me at ten o'clock—notinterrogate me."

"If he doesn't show upby ten..." Harry glanced at his watch. "Then I suppose we simply weren'tmeantto meet today."

The wizard hesitated. "But—Minister Fudge has animportantmeeting at ten—"

"That'shisproblem," Harry cut in. "And let's beclear—I amnota criminal."

He spread his hands out.

"But if youwantme tobecomeone, I'd behappyto accommodate you."

"After all—Iamaverygenerous Gryffindor."

The wizard gulped audibly.

"Now—go let Cornelius know," Harry said pleasantly. "Oh—" He checked his watch again. "You've only gotfive minutes."

"Mr. Potter, this is—" The wizard made one last attempt.

"Youdoknow my name isHarry Potter," Harry said coldly, cutting him off again, "notAlbus Dumbledore."

He raised his hand.

Aard!

The Sign exploded outward—boom!A forceful wave of air sent the wizard stumbling backward, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Harry casually flicked his wand.

With asnap, the door slammed shut in his face.

"Impressive silent casting," Dumbledore remarked, amused.

Harry sighed. "Not quite atyourlevel of wandless, silent magic, though."

"I didn'ttrulymaster wandless magic until after I wasfifty," Dumbledore admitted. "And in terms of silent casting? Ibarelymanaged to use it practicallyby the time I graduated—you're far ahead of me there."

The two of them continued chatting.

Magic wasfarmore interesting than anything the Ministry could throw at them.

By the time they had finished half the bottle of wine, Harry checked his watch again. "It's ten o'clock, Professor Dumbledore. We should be leaving. Can we Apparate from here?"

"No, we'll need to return to the atrium," Dumbledore replied, rising to his feet.

They walked toward the door—

Click.

The doorknob twisted.

Fudge stepped inside, followed by acrowdof Ministry officials. Closest to him was the toad-faced woman from the Triwizard Tournament—Dolores Umbridge.

Several others wore deep purple robes, each emblazoned with a silver "W" on their chest—the remaining members of the Wizengamot.

The two sides faced each other.

"Mr. Potter," Fudge greeted stiffly. "Good morning."

Harry smiled slightly. "I thought you had animportantinternational meeting at ten?"

"Looks like you weren'tthatbusy after all."

Fudge gritted his teeth. "Youshouldbe following Ministry procedures, notdisruptingmy schedule with childishdefiance. Do you have any idea how much trouble—"

Harry cut him off, pressing his wand lightly against Fudge's chest. "Iamwilling to followsomeof the Ministry's rules. But whensomeonestartschangingthem on a whim, I see no reason to comply. Wouldn't you agree?"

Fudge stiffened. "Mr. Potter, whatexactlyare you insinuating?"

"I don't like these littleofficegames," Harry stated bluntly, his slit pupils locked onto Fudge. "Let's keep thissimple, shall we? I have alreadycompromiseda great deal—out ofrespectfor Professor Dumbledore. So, why don't you stop trying toplayme?"

Fudge took a deep breath. "I don't know what you'retalkingabout!"

Harry clapped his hands together, his expression neutral. "Then let'sget on with it, my dearMinister Cornelius—you've already wasted enough time."

Fudge pursed his lips tightly and stepped further into the room.

The group followed him into the meeting chamber.

Like the outer sitting area, it was pristine and well-maintained. However, the furniture inside borevisiblesigns of frequent use—tables with softened edges, chairs with worn cushions.

Once everyone was seated, Fudge seemed to regain some of his confidence, bolstered by the circle of officials around him.

He waited for Umbridge to arrange her notebook and self-writing quill before clearing his throat. "August 31st, trial proceedings."

With a flick of her wand, Umbridge's quill began to scribble automatically.

"Presiding officers:Minister of MagicCornelius Oswald Fudge, and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,Amelia Susan Bones."

"Recorder:Senior UndersecretaryDolores Jane Umbridge."

"Defendant:Harry James Potter."

"Defense witness:Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

Umbridge smiled brightly.

Fudge hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing.

"Mr. Potter, regarding your actions on the night ofJune 24thinLittle Hangleton, where you were involved in the deaths of—"

"Self-defense," Harry interrupted.

Fudge frowned. "Are you going to use thatDeath Eaternonsense as an excuse?"

"Does whether or not they wereDeath Eatershaveanythingto do with thefactthat the Ministry had aspyinside Hogwarts?" Harry said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Or the fact that theTriwizard Cuphad been tampered with, turning it into a Portkey? Or that I wasambushedby twelve fully grown wizards and had no choice but to fight back?"

Fudge's face twisted.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "As much as I think the Ministry isincompetent, I always assumed Scrimgeour was at least adecentAuror. Has he really been under your command fortwo monthswithout uncovering thetruth?"

"Of course weknowthe truth!" Fudge slammed a hand onto the table. "Weinvestigatedthoroughly!"

"Some of themmayhave had past ties to the Death Eaters—"

"All of them," Harry corrected, cutting him off.

"Cornelius," he continued smoothly, "Idohope you're notforgettingoneminordetail—theDark Markonalltheir arms."

Thanks toThe Quibbler's recent publication, the Ministry could no longerpretendthey were unaware of this. At the very least, they could no longeractas if the issue didn't exist.

Rita Skeeter!

Fudge clenched his jaw.

The same woman he had oncelovedas an ally in the press... he nowdespisedwith every fiber of his being.

It took him a long moment to calm himself. Finally, he let out a slow breath. "Mr. Potter, I don't believe we arefamiliarenough to address each other by first name."

Harry nodded. "Understood, Cornelius." His expression wasdeadpan.

Fudge flinched, his face twisting as if he had just witnessed Dumbledorechewing on a cockroach cluster.

"...Evenifthey were all former Death Eaters," Fudge pressed on, "they had alreadyreformed—"

"So,reformedDeath Eaters justcasuallyenchant the Triwizard Cup with a Portkey,kidnapme, andambushme with twelve wands?" Harry interjected.

Fudge gripped his quill so tightly it nearly snapped. "Mr. Potter,please, allow me to finish—"

"Certainly, Cornelius," Harry said, once again cutting him off. "But when youdeliberatelytry to rewrite reality, I simplycan'tignore it."

Fudge inhaled sharply through his nose. "Mr. Potter, our investigation revealed that those twelve individuals hadseveretraces ofDark Magicon their bodies."

"Although theyappearedto have been slain by asword," Fudge continued, narrowing his eyes, "theircorpsesweredrained—completelydevoidof blood. Even without external injuries, theywould have diedfrom the sheer effects of the Dark Magic."

He leaned forward. "Mr. Potter—how do you explain this?"

Harry chuckled, unable to hide his amusement. "That's impressive. The Ministry actuallymanagedto figurethatout?"

Fudge's chest swelled with satisfaction. "Don'tunderestimatethe Ministry, Mr. Potter. Nothingescapesour investigations—"

"But if you were justa littlesmarter," Harry cut in smoothly, "you might have noticed that thesourceof that Dark Magic was theDark Markson their arms."

Fudge slammed his hand against the table. "Stop using thisridiculousDeath Eater andYou-Know-Whononsense as an excuse!"

"You-Know-Who has beendeadforfifteen years! How could hisMarkstill holdanypower?!"

His voice rose, filled with frustration. "I think youexperimentedon them usingDark Magicandstagedtheir deaths to look likeself-defense—"

He narrowed his eyes. "You carefullyselectedtwelve wizards withquestionable pasts—"

"This wasmurder, Potter."

He spoke with conviction, as if he weredeterminedto pin the charge on him.

"Use whateverbrain cellsyou might have left andthink, Fudge," Harry sneered. "I was insideHogwartsfor the entire Triwizard Tournament—under the Ministry's watchful eye. So tell me—how exactly did Itamperwith the Cup? How did Icontacttwelvespecificpeople—who all justhappenedto be Death Eaters—andarrangefor them to be waiting for me?"

Harry leaned forward. "Are you suggesting that I ammore powerfulthanVoldemorthimself? That the Death Eatersanswer to meinstead of him?"

The room fell into asuffocating silence.

The verymentionof that name—Voldemort—sent a chill through the air.

"Minister Fudge."

The voice that broke the silence belonged to Amelia Bones.

A stern, sharp-featured witch who bore a striking resemblance to Professor McGonagall in both presence and tone.

"If you hadreadthe report submitted by the Auror Officethree days ago," she stated coldly, "youwouldknow that thesourceof the Dark Magicon their corpseshas already beenconfirmed—itcamefrom theirDark Marks."

Her voice was firm. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcementcan personally attestto this fact."

Fudge's eyes widened in shock.

Thatreport wasimportant?!

Harry turned to look at Amelia Bones, mildly surprised.

"But thatdoesn'tprove that Potter wasinnocent," Fudge protested, grasping at straws.

Harry's gazedarkened. "But italsodoesn't prove I wasguilty."

Dumbledore spoke for the first time since the trial had begun.

"Cornelius," he said kindly, "have you found theoneresponsible for enchanting the Triwizard Cup?"

Fudge hesitated. "No. There are no records of any unauthorized Portkeys at the Ministry."

Harry's voice turned cold. "Do you think that a group planning tokillme would havefiled paperworkbeforehand?"

Fudge flipped through the files in front of him, as if searching for something—anything—that could still be used against Harry.

Harry, however, had lost his patience. "Is there anythingelseyou'd like to accuse me of? The Hogwarts Express leaves tomorrow, and I'd rather not waste my time here."

Dumbledore cast a glance around the room, then tapped his wand against the table, conjuring a teacup filled with thick syrup. "I do not believe there is any law that allows us to convict someone who isentirely innocent."

"We allknowthe truth of this situation."

"Twelve former Death Eaters."

"And onestudent—who, might I remind you, has received Hogwarts' Special Award for Services to the School."

Dumbledore's expression became oddly amused as he turned to look at Harry.Why does this feel so familiar?

Fudge inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling as he steadied himself. "Very well. Those in favor ofcontinuingthe charges against Mr. Potter, please raise your hand."

He raised his own hand.

Umbridge followed suit without hesitation.

Dumbledore and Harry scanned the room, watching as only three additional people hesitantly lifted their hands.

Fudge's expression darkened.

"And those in favor ofdroppingthe charges against Mr. Potter?"

Bones raised her hand without the slightest hesitation.

The remaining Wizengamot members followed—those who had bothered to attend today'sfarceof a trial. They weren't foolish enough to cross Dumbledore, even if his title as Chief Warlock was mostly symbolic now.

"Five in favor, eleven against, nine abstaining." Amelia Bones announced coolly. "Cornelius, as I told you before—this was awaste of time. What matters now is not persecuting Mr. Potter, butfinding the real culpritbehind the Triwizard Cup's enchantment."

Fudge clenched his jaw, then abruptly stood, leaving the files scattered on the table as he turned toward the door.

Harry flicked his wand.

The sound of screeching wood filled the room as a chairslidacross the floor, cutting off Fudge's path.

"Mr. Potter?" Fudge turned, barely containing his irritation.

"Cornelius," Harry said softly. "Is there something else youhaven'ttold me?"

Fudge's expression tightened.

He glanced toward Dumbledore, then toward Bones, and finally at the other Ministry officials watching him.

"...Apologies for wasting your time, Mr. Potter," Fudge said stiffly.

Then he quickened his pace, attempting to leave.

Damn it!

The Ministry was supposed tobackhim on this! Next time, he wouldpersonallypropose replacing Amelia Bones—this woman wasfar too difficultto deal with.

SCREEEECH—

The chairslidback in front of him.

Fudge stopped, his face turning red with anger.

"Mr. Potter," he snapped, his jaw tightening. "What exactly are youtryingto do?"

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