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ACT5CH8 - PRECEDENT OF RUIN
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 17:12:37 +0000 UTCIt took three hours before the trial could be restarted, and for once, it wasn’t Harry’s fault.
Well, not completely, anyway.
Shortly after Albus Dumbledore had declared the need for a half-hour recess, the doors to the courtroom had sprung open —
— only to realize the peripheral area was quite literally stuck in Time.
It turned out the Department of Mysteries, ever fond of clever overkill, had employed a localized temporal stasis to ensure the Wizengamot session stayed “contained” for the duration of the debate.
Sensible, if mildly paranoid.
But because Harry Potter had rifted out of that space-time, the accumulated temporal pressure had detonated outward in a backlash, creating a layered temporal freeze around the entire chamber.
Nothing could get in.
Nothing could get out.
For two hours, they had been quite literally their own little snow globe of stalled time.
Apparition? Not without dropping the Ministry’s anti-apparition wards. Portkeys? Same.
Disable the wardstones and it’d take seventy-two hours to safely reset them.
So they waited.
Minister Bones had not been amused. Needless to say, Saul Croaker would find himself the subject of an extremely cold glare later.
And now — now the chamber was reassembling, like a clock’s gears clicking reluctantly back into place.
Whispers. Scrapes. Wands twitching faintly at robe edges. A storm of eyes darting toward him, toward Dumbledore, toward Joshua Greengrass — trying to guess, trying to predict what backroom deal had just been forged during the three hours.
Harry Potter, standing dead center, didn’t flinch.
He had met Dumbledore face-to-face. He had laid the truth bare — under privacy wards cast by the Headmaster himself.
Dumbledore now knew the Gate’s truth. Joshua now knew the stakes. Daphne… knew both. And Andromeda, had stepped back, refusing the secret itself.
“I’m no fool, Harry,” she had said. “But I’m no politician either. If I cannot be your shield, I don’t intend to be your burden.”
That was followed by a round of heated arguments with Joshua. His future father-in-law had argued hard. They had gone head-to-head, low-voiced, taut with tension. Joshua the lawyer, the strategist, laying out the consequences, the political backlash, the old families’ probable reactions. Harry the Gatekeeper, calmly explaining what Joshua did not yet understand, what power meant when you weren’t asking permission.
By the time the temporal freeze broke, they were aligned.
Not perfectly. Not without sharp edges still between them. But aligned.
And now, as the council came back to life, Harry let himself watch the room, quietly, his eyes at the far dais, as Albus Dumbledore rose slowly, lifting his gavel.
“The session resumes.”
The sound echoed like a bell toll through the room.
And just like that, it began.
Mulciber rose up, a wolf smelling prey. “Honored members of this chamber,” he said, inclining his head with mock courtesy, “let us begin, not with accusations, but with facts.”
He turned slightly, sweeping his gaze across the seated Lords and Ladies.
“We stand today before an unparalleled magical event — the existence of a Gate — a rupture or construct tied directly to the unleashing of the Anima. A phenomenon powerful enough to distort magic worldwide, an anomaly whose implications stretch far beyond the borders of Britain. And yet…”
Mulciber let his words draw out, softening just slightly for emphasis. “This priceless resource — this key to understanding, stabilizing, perhaps even revolutionizing magic itself — is controlled by one young man. Not a council. Not a guild. Not even a ministry. One man.”
His pale eyes glittered as they locked on Harry.
“Or should I say, a boy playing at being a man! Trust me, I had a lot of respect for Harry Potter and then some, until his most recent actions proved that despite his actions, despite his power and potential, he is still very much a boy. The moment the Wizengamot attempted to talk and debate about the powers he controls — without authorization, and oversight, I might add — he acted like a spoiled brat, and hid it from the rest of the world.”
A petty psychological trick, painting Harry’s actions as that of a petulant child to steal away his command from the room. But at least, this one had a decent presentation.
“And now, because of such careless and damning actions, Wizarding Britain and the ICW are already grappling with a situation that was already precarious to begin with. All because of the actions of one schoolboy that let his fame go to his head.”
It was supposed to make Harry angry. Make him react. Make him act out like the Gryffindor he was supposed to be.
Instead, Harry yawned.
“Is something the matter, Lord Potter?” sneered William Jugson from the upper tiers. “I’d have expected someone that demands to be given absolute command of… the site, should at least be able to carry themselves through such an important event. Or are we to now believe that you’re busy involved in some fantastic mental duty that leaves you exhausted to even stay awake?”
Harry blinked.
“Eh, not quite. I just found it silly that he has so little to go on with, that he’s trying to bait me into getting angry and give him something to go on with. It’s so embarrassing and boring, honestly.”
Mulciber twitched.
“But you know what? I get it,” said Harry, looking abjectly bored. “I understand your little problem. Ekrizdis’s actions fits perfectly with your deluded dream of pureblood supremacy — a world where Magic is Might. That he worked in tandem with your Dark Lord Voldemort makes him an ally in your book. And now, both of them are defeated. I mean — you waited for a decade and a half for Tom Riddle to return, and the Ministry — and the Wizengamot, waited for centuries to let Ekrizdis finish his madness — apologies, his magnum opus. And then, so close to completion, I walk in out of nowhere, defeat both of them, and seal away the Anima rift, and now, seal the site away from you all. Honestly, if I were on your side, I’d feel bad too. I don’t have to like it, but yes, I understand.”
Jugson’s smile dropped. “Those are dangerous words you are throwing about, Harry Potter.”
“You play games. I don’t,” said Harry. “I speak in actions, not words. My actions have shown exactly what I have done for this country. What have you and your over-glorified lineage given Wizarding Britain, you sorry excuse for an imperiused Death Eater?”
Joshua rose up, smoothening his robes like he was brushing off the tension. At Dumbledore’s nod, he said. “I believe I should warn my opponent that my client gets… testy, when pushed. Especially after everything he’s survived. Civility is nice. Pretending to be the victims? Not so much. Unless you want to take turns getting verbally eviscerated, I suggest you drop the sanctimony. He’s not playing the well-mannered fool today. Not everyone has Albus Dumbledore’s patience after all.”
A few people even chuckled at that. Others exchanged sharp looks.
Dumbledore himself sat up straighter.
“I will keep that in mind, Regent Greengrass,” said Mulciber. “The problem is that Harry Potter unearthed a treasure trove of raw magical possibility. I have had the opportunity to peruse the document signed and sealed by the then Minister Damocles Rowle, and I quote — Ekrizdis’s workshop shall yield results far more lucrative than any aid we can expect from the ICW for getting rid of Azkaban. In fact, should and when the ICW realises what we have achieved, they will be literally on their knees requesting us to share the light — End Quote.”
The man gave Joshua a smug look. “So, it comes down to this — whose version is correct? A child that spits on our traditions, on our beliefs, and goes out of his way to prevent our oversight? Or the judgement of Minister Rowle, and our own ancestors, given the Wizengamot’s unanimous approval of his actions?”
“Are you claiming that my client is lying?”
Mulciber couldn’t have looked any more smug. “I am saying that Harry Potter, regardless of his unique skill set, is just one person. A Hogwarts student. His account is unverified — no other witnesses to Ekrizdis’s actions, no evidence beyond Potter’s word alone. And even if Ekrizdis did unleash the Anima, there is no way of claiming that it would have resulted in a magical apocalypse.”
“Only,” drawled Joshua. “There was a magical apocalypse.”
“Yes,” said Mulciber. “But we cannot know for sure what caused it. Ekrizdis’s glorious work? Or Harry Potter’s ill-thought-of attempts to stop it mid-spell. Rituals are, after all, dangerous things to play with. What is to say that the magical anomalies occurring all over the world are not because of Potter’s selfish actions? How are we to even consider that Potter is speaking the truth when he has preemptively hidden away the evidence from the world? You speak of gates and gods and ancient evils — but all we have is you, and a closed door we’re no longer allowed to open.”
A low murmur swept through the Wizengamot, the kind that spreads like wildfire — uncertain, shifting, dangerous.
He turned, addressing the assembly now. “I submit to this body that no single man, however skilled, however powerful, should hold such unchecked sway over a resource of this magnitude. We do not know what lies behind that seal, but we do know this — If it truly holds the raw energies Potter claims — then the future of the magical world depends on it. Not on the whims of a schoolboy.”
“I… see,” said Joshua slowly. “And how would we go on with doing that?”
Mulciber looked absolutely victorious. “Why, by mandating that Harry Potter cancel the Fidelius Charm.”
“And… why?” Joshua pressed. “On what grounds?”
“On grounds of deliberately endangering the magical world through arrogance and secrecy, of course,” came the confused reply.
“Oh no, that much is evident,” said Joshua, and Harry noted the shadow of a grin on the man’s face.
Joshua was laying a trap.
“What I mean is,” said the Regent Greengrass. “What gives the Wizengamot the right to force Harry Potter to undo a Fidelius on this… shall we say, property?”
“Because it’s British territory, of course,” snapped the man.
“And how do you know that?” demanded Joshua rather loudly. “Forgive me, Lord Mulciber. But everything you’ve said isn’t proof. It’s just conjecture. Just reading a random transcript from Minister Rowle’s speech over a decision that he submitted and interpreting that out of context is a serious transgression. Because unless your memory has failed you, Minister Cornelius Fudge decided that arresting Albus Dumbledore during an emergency was the best thing to do.”
Mulciber glowered.
“And like you said, we do not know what is behind this seal — if it exists. We do not know the exact identity of this property, where this supposed Gate is supposed to be present. Or rather, its location. For all we know, it might not even be in Wizarding Britain to begin with. And if your response to that is to request that my client unveil the Fidelius to the world as proof that the property is or isn’t actually his, then you are a bigger fool than I thought.”
“In that case,” snapped Mulciber, clearly annoyed. “The only proper solution is that all assets under the control of Harry James Potter, including the sealed Gate, the knowledge and access to the Anima rift, and any associated constructs or magic, be revealed to the Wizengamot, pending investigation and review. We demand full disclosure. And we demand it now.”
Joshua Greengrass smiled, and when he spoke next, it was like steel encased in silk.
“Let me attempt to rephrase what you just said, and please feel free to correct me just in case I say something wrong. You are suggesting a vote on a proposal that would — and let’s be very clear here — set a dangerous precedent that this body, without trial, conviction, or even formal charge, can demand the total disclosure of all magical holdings, properties, and secrets belonging to a noble house and its Lord.”
Harry smiled. Daphne was right. Her father was truly one of the best attorneys in the wizarding world.
Joshua spread his hands slightly, polite. “Now, I know we’ve all been a little… distracted by the drama. The talk of Gates and gods and apocalypses and, yes, schoolboys playing with dangerous toys. But we must remember — Harry Potter is no criminal. He has not been tried. He has not been convicted. There are no formal charges. My client stands here as the Lord of two noble Houses — Potter and Black — and under wizarding law, that grants him specific protections.”
He tilted his head slightly, voice smooth. “And to propose that this body can simply… strip away those protections because you find his actions inconvenient? That is not governance. That is mob rule.”
A flicker of protest stirred from the other side, but Joshua kept rolling. “And let’s not forget — the very premise Lord Mulciber leans on is shaky. We do not know where the Gate is. We do not know if it falls under Wizengamot jurisdiction. We do not even know if it exists, other than through the word of the man you are trying to coerce.”
His smile sharpened.
“Which means — forgive me, but I must say it — you are attempting to seize control over something you cannot see, cannot locate, and cannot prove, by forcing an untried citizen to surrender protections granted by ancient magic and noble law.”
Joshua’s eyes glittered now.
“Are you prepared, Lords and Ladies, to set that precedent? That the Wizengamot may demand — at any time, without trial — the surrender of secrets and assets held by any noble house or private citizen, so long as a handful of voices in this chamber shout loudly enough?”
The murmuring grew sharper. A few heads turned toward each other, faces going pale as the implication landed.
Joshua straightened, his smile a razor’s edge. “Because make no mistake — the moment you vote for such a thing, you will have no right to protest when the next motion demands that your vaults, your wards, your heirlooms, and your bloodline magics be laid bare for inspection.”
He casually flicked his eyes toward Mulciber.
“But perhaps that’s the world Lord Mulciber dreams of — one where no house, no Lord, no family is secure from the government’s reach. I, for one, do not believe the rest of you are so eager to strip yourselves bare.”
This time, the murmurs began in the opposite direction, as the winds of public perception began to shift again.
Then Nott whispered something to Mulciber, and the man perked up.
“Regent Greengrass,” said Mulciber smoothly. “I’d like to point out a tiny issue with that statement. While it is uncertain whether the Fidelius-enchanted property is or isn’t British territory, we do know for certain that it does fall under ICW regulation. And the ICW, have claimed to have Mr. Potter under their direct supervision — a request that the Wizengamot is likely to improve, given our foreign relations policy. Why, without Mr. Potter even being here, House Potter is as good as dormant, if not extinct.”
“Really?” asked Joshua. “Is that an admission that the current regime is willing to hand over its greatest national hero to the ICW?”
He looked at Amelia Bones directly this time. “Quite ironic, isn’t it? That the woman who owes her life, and that of her entire DMLE staff, to Harry Potter, shall vote for the exile of the same Harry Potter — and for what? Some petty benefits?”
The silence was damning.
“Be as that may, this body does not base its judgments on what might happen, or what decision might be taken in the future. Until such a judgement is cast, and until the future of the House of Potter is fully decided by the Wizengamot, we have to consider it as not just a part of the Wizengamot, but also an Ancient and Most Noble House.”
Joshua walked to the center of the floor. “And not just the House of Potter, my client is also the heir of House Black, another Ancient and Noble family — in every way that matters, as my client can well attest to.”
Harry exhaled. He knew what would happen next.
Seriously, was he going to have to summon the Family totems every single time he attended a Wizengamot session?
“Alright,” he said. And that was that.
No spell.
No incantation.
No movement either.
Only one moment he was standing there, the next, he felt the shadows curl at his heels, the air tightening as threads of old, deep magic slithered free from where they’d lain coiled — not in his wand, not in his blood, but in the inheritance he had claimed.
Tezcatlipoca.
The name wasn’t a word in his mind — it was a pulse, a rhythm, a heartbeat he had learned to walk alongside.
Harry watched as the jaguar stepped out of the dark.
Not summoned.
Not conjured.
Not even invoked.
It came because it knew who he was.
The runes on its starlit fur pulsed faintly, each one a promise written in the magic of the Blacks, in the oaths of blood and bone that stretched back centuries. Harry didn’t need to command it. He didn’t need to tell it what to do.
It knew.
As the jaguar moved forward, Harry felt the chamber change.
An ethereal shadow cast itself over the room. The air went thin. The murmurs of Lords and Ladies stumbled and tripped over themselves, falling into a hush too heavy to bear. Somewhere, someone gasped — not in fear, but in that startled, primal recognition of something ancient and real stepping into the room.
Andi had stood up, her head bowed low, paying homage. The others, despite not of Black blood — were not unaffected.
The jaguar turned its head towards Harry finally. Harry felt its pulse change slightly, a flicker of acknowledgment.
Joshua stepped forward into the silence. Harry didn’t need to look at him to know what he was doing — he could feel the way the man worked the room, sliding between outrage and awe, shaping the mood like a craftsman turning hot iron on a forge.
“Honored Lords and Ladies,” Joshua said, his voice smooth as lakewater, “Perhaps now you understand why the Black Family Magic recognizes only one master.”
Harry’s jaw didn’t so much as twitch.
He let the words wash over the chamber, let them settle deep —and as Joshua’s voice cut through the heavy, stunned hush, Harry felt the subtle shift in the room.
The first ripple of doubt.
The first crack in their unity.
The first flicker of fear.
He let Tezcatlipoca hold that space, just a moment longer —and then, with a faint breath inward, he closed his eyes.
The jaguar dissolved, folding back, slipping into the ring on his finger, the ancestral conduit that tethered the Black magic to its Lord.
The room exhaled, faint and shaky.
Harry opened his eyes, the yellow-gold glint in them fading, the slit-pupil sharpness smoothing back into something more human.
“I believe,” said Albus Dumbledore. “That is enough proof that House Black’s noble status is not going into dormancy any time soon. Does the Prosecution wish to counter-question?”
Mulciber looked a little fazed from the jaguar’s manifestation. Harry wondered if the man had a Black ancestor somewhere up his line. But before he could speak, a loud cough from Nott caught his attention. The man was giving him a dirty look, but there was this gleam that could hardly be positive, as he whispered something to Mulciber, whose eyes went wide.
Harry had a bad feeling about this.
“Chief Warlock, I wish to extend charges in this case on the basis of Proprietary Inheritance of Magical Arts and Family Rites, established under the Wizengamot Codex, Article 72, Clause 9.”
Harry squinted, confused.
He didn’t like being confused.
“Perhaps,” said Minister Bones. “An explanation is in order?”
“I will,” said Mulciber. “But first, I wish to establish something.”
He flicked his wand, and summoned a scroll. Another flick, and the scroll appeared on the desk of Dirk Cresswell, the Head of Department of Goblin Relations. The man quickly cast verification charms and nodded.
“This is indeed authentic.”
“That is an official genealogy report conducted at Gringotts. It lists his heritage up to twelve generations, and not even once, is the name Black ever mentioned. The only remote connection he has to the family is through his godfather, the now-dead Sirius Black, who adopted him into the family.”
“What about his mother’s line?” asked Amelia Bones.
“Why bother? She was a mud—” began Avery.
Dumbledore banged the gavel hard.
“Given the deceased Lily Potter’s muggleborn status, her genealogy wasn’t required. But apparently, the late Fleamont Potter had performed a test for her bloodline, and found some traces of the Von Hohenheim family, but the connection was too flimsy, even magically speaking, for Lily Potter, formerly Evans, to call herself a Von Hohenheim.”
The Chamber digested that.
“From the transcript of the case of Harry James Potter versus the British Ministry of Magic, where the former was accused of murder of thirteen purebloods, one of which was a Hogwarts student and fellow Triwizard Champion, it is clear that Sirius Orion Black, the Lord of House Black, had indeed accepted Harry James Potter into the Black family, by oath and magic. It does provide the young Lord Potter all the benefits as enjoyed by a Noble family heir, but under no conditions, does it share the Black Family Magic. In fact, the Rites Of Ascension clearly states that a bearer of a Noble House’s Family Magic, among other conditions, must carry the Family blood in his veins — a condition that Harry Potter certainly does not!”
“I don’t understand,” said Minister Bones. “Harry Potter had just summoned the Black Family totem in front of all of us. He wears the Black Lord ring. By all rights, the Family Magic answers to him.”
“Exactly why it is such a grave threat,” said Mulciber, his voice toned down to a whisper. Clearly the man had a taste for the dramatic. “The law holds that Family Magic, later reinterpreted as Proprietary Magic under the 1768 Wizengamot Ruling, cannot be claimed, appropriated, or employed by any individual who is not — a blood descendant within the family line, or is formally ratified heir through magical rites of marriage.”
Murmurs began in earnest.
“Violations of this principle — meaning, the unauthorized use of appropriation of Proprietary magic, is legally termed the Usurpation of Lineal Arts, which is a Class Three Felony under the Wizengamot Charter. Upon being found guilty, the accused is stripped of all magically bound titles and privileges; any properties or artifacts derived through such illicitly claimed magic is stripped; and the convict is sent to Azkaban for a twenty-year imprisonment.”
Oh.
Oh.
That conniving bastard.
He was trying to avoid the issue of setting a dangerous precedent by de-legitimizing Harry’s right to the Black name.
Still, two could play this game.
Silently, he beckoned Joshua to approach him.
Mulciber continued. “We have previously established that Harry Potter is not a Black by blood. And yet, he himself has provided evidence that he has illicitly come into possession of the Black Family Magic. As such, I formally accuse him of illegally stealing the Black Family Magic, and challenge the validity of the Black Lordship Transfer. Ladies, and gentle wizards, I formally submit that House Black be rendered dormant until further investigation and that Mr. Potter was arrested immediately, and submitted to interrogation to find out how he managed to steal the Black Family Magic.”
“If Potter really stole the Black Magic, then… What about the Peverell Family Magic?” wondered Nott aloud. The man was putting up an act. “Is it possible that he stole that too? He wields the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Perhaps he is on the way to stealing Gryffindor’s noble name too?”
“LORD NOTT!” Albus Dumbledore snapped. “Kindly follow decorum. This body has no use for mindless conjecture.”
“But it isn’t,” said the sly man, standing up. “With permission, I’d like to make a statement.”
Dumbledore frowned. “You may.”
“Honored members of the Wizengamot,” Nott said softly, “I beg your indulgence, I am no master of fiery oration like some of my colleagues. But a simple man of observation.”
He turned, hands clasped lightly behind his back, pacing just a step.
“It has come to my attention, and perhaps to yours, that Lord Potter holds not one, but multiple legacies.”
He raised a slender hand, ticking them off one by one. “The noble name of Potter, ancient though humble. The proud, once-thought-extinct House of Peverell, bearer of one of the most legendary Hallows known to wizardkind. But because there was no way to truly confirm it, the Wizengamot in all its wisdom, conferred its legacy to House Potter, elevating it to Nobility.”
He paused for a second.
“And, most strikingly, the ascended Lordship of House Black — a family known for the strength and ferocity of its ancestral magic, now flowing, by Rite, through young Potter’s veins.”
He let the murmurs stir, let the weight of those names hang heavy.
“And yet…” Nott’s voice grew softer, almost musing, as if he were merely voicing idle wonder. “Isn’t it curious? That a boy so young, so untrained, could bind three great legacies in himself? Isn’t it strange… that he alone holds the Peverell Family Magic? That somehow… the fabled sword of Godric Gryffindor became his weapon? The Black Magic, so fierce it called a god to his side?”
He let that cement in.
“Some might claim,” he continued, his voice lowering to a near confessional hush, “that such a thing is no mere inheritance. That it is a talent. A theft.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Amelia Bones’s eyes narrowed sharply.
Albus Dumbledore’s fingers curled faintly around his gavel, though he did not strike it yet.
Nott raised his eyebrows slightly, as if surprised by the reaction. “I do not say this is true,” he said delicately. “I merely wonder aloud — if a boy can take the Black Magic, can claim the Peverell, can bear the Gryffindor blade — what stops him from claiming the rest? The Rosiers? The Lestranges? Even the sacred Slytherin name itself?”
He spread his hands, a perfect picture of mock humility. “I am no accuser, honored Lords and Ladies. I merely raise the question. For if Lord Potter possesses a power to absorb and bind the magics of ancient houses… we must ask, for the safety of all, is the Miraculum Operarius — the manifestation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the foundation rock of the Wizengamot and its predecessors, slowly losing itself to the corruptive influence of Harry Potter?”
And with that, he inclined his head smoothly and sat, as the entire Wizengamot erupted in turmoil.
Comments
Thor
She sure is
Joshua Boscher
Isn't Harry's grandmother a black?
