Clown Show

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The Slytherin common room was as dimly lit and cold as ever, the green and silver tones casting a shadowy atmosphere around the place. Harry slipped inside, ignoring the few students still up, and headed straight for his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, pulling off his shoes and staring out of the small window into the murky lake beyond. Tomorrow promised to be another headache.

The aftershocks of last year's chaos were starting to ripple through the wizarding world, and Harry could already feel the tension building. The rich, influential families—especially the Most Ancient and Most Noble houses—were getting restless. And why wouldn't they? Fudge was fumbling things left and right, and no one trusted him to keep things under control.

Last year had been a circus. Harry exposing Sirius Black's innocence and proving that the man had been convicted without a trial had turned everything on its head. Instead of a notorious killer, Black had been nothing but a victim—thrown into Azkaban because the Ministry was too eager to close the case. And then there was Barty Crouch Sr. The old man had been head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time of Sirius' conviction, and the press had torn him apart after Harry revealed the truth.

The Daily Prophet had a field day with that one. Headlines screamed about the injustice, calling out the Ministry's failure to even use Veritaserum for a case as high-profile as Sirius Black's. Crouch had been so eager to lock up anyone connected to the Dark Lord, so determined to maintain his reputation, that he hadn't bothered to follow proper procedure. His obsession had cost Sirius a decade of his life—and it made people wonder just how many more innocent wizards were rotting away in Azkaban because of Crouch's recklessness.

Naturally, the fact that Sirius was part of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black only made things worse. His wrongful imprisonment was a black mark not only on the Ministry but on the entire system that allowed it to happen. And if a pureblood from a powerful family could be locked up without so much as a proper trial, what did that say about everyone else?

Then there was the issue with Veritaserum—or, rather, the lack of it. The Ministry had conveniently "forgotten" to use it during the trials of the Most Ancient and Most Noble houses, leading to people like Sirius Black rotting away in Azkaban for over a decade. Of course, when it came to people like Lucius Malfoy and other suspected Death Eaters, they all seemed to have the perfect excuse—the Imperius Curse. Who could really know how many of Voldemort's true followers had slipped through the cracks, claiming they had been forced into their actions?

That was the real problem. The Ministry, already in chaos after the breakout of Bellatrix Lestrange, Peter Pettigrew, and Augustus Rookwood, was trying desperately to keep control. Fudge was on the hot seat. The Daily Prophet had torn him apart after the prison escape, calling into question not only the competence of the Ministry but also how many more Death Eaters were secretly free, hidden in plain sight, evading justice with flimsy excuses.

It wasn't just public opinion he had to worry about. There were whispers in the shadows, murmurs among the Death Eaters themselves. The very people the Ministry had tried to protect were now turning against it, frustrated with the way things were playing out. They had spent fortunes—Galleons upon Galleons—suppressing the truth, paying off the press, bribing officials, anything to keep their names clean. But with Bellatrix's escape and others following suit, their carefully constructed façade was crumbling.

Fudge, desperate to save face and his position, had no choice but to sacrifice someone. The pressure to find scapegoats and pin the blame on anyone who could take the fall was mounting. If he didn't act fast, his career would be over. He had to make examples of those lower down the food chain while pretending to address the breakout, all the while protecting his own interests.

Harry knew it was only a matter of time before the political circus reached new heights. The tension in the air was palpable. The Ministry was cracking, and with every move Fudge made, it became clearer that his leadership was crumbling. He was losing control, and everyone knew it. The old alliances that had kept him in power were shifting.

The next morning, Harry stepped into the Great Hall, and the tension was almost suffocating, especially at the Slytherin table. Draco, Nott, and several others sat with grim faces, poking at their breakfast without much enthusiasm. Crabbe, Goyle, and the rest of their group weren't faring any better. Their parents were known Death Eaters, and with the possibility of Fudge pushing through a law that allowed Veritaserum trials and Wizengamot accepting it, old cases could be reopened. That wasn't exactly good news for them.

Harry quietly made his way to the Slytherin table and sat across from Draco and Nott. He didn't say anything. It wasn't his job to play comforter to a bunch of Death Eaters' kids. Sure, Draco and Nott were his friends—or at least as close as anyone could get to that label without being his true friend—but that didn't mean he was about to start feeling sorry for them. Their parents had made their choices, and some of those choices had led to the deaths of his parents.

He glanced at Nott, who seemed more thoughtful than anything else. It was no secret Nott didn't exactly like his father, so Harry figured most of his worry stemmed from how this might affect him. And if it came to that, Harry knew he'd do the right thing. Theodore was Theodore—not his father. As for Draco? Well, too bad. Lucius Malfoy wasn't a good man by any stretch of the imagination, and if the truth came out under Veritaserum, then Draco would just have to deal with it.

Harry ate his breakfast in silence, not bothering to engage in conversation. The Slytherins around him continued to brood, and he wasn't going to join in their self-pity party. He had bigger things to worry about. After finishing his meal, he stood up and made his way out of the hall.

Fudge was desperate, that much was clear. With the scandal of Sirius's wrongful imprisonment blowing up in his face, the Minister needed to put on a show, and Harry was the key to salvaging his reputation. It was sickening, really. The Ministry had made a mess of things, and now they wanted to parade Harry around like some prize for their "good deeds" in righting the wrongs of the past. He could already imagine the ridiculous speeches, the faux gratitude, and the empty promises.

Reaching the entrance to the Headmaster's office, Harry paused, considering what Dumbledore might say during their trip. The old man wasn't one to miss an opportunity for conversation, and knowing him, this wouldn't just be a routine escort to the Ministry.

Harry knocked on the door of Dumbledore's office, the familiar sound of Fawkes' soft trilling reaching his ears even through the thick wood. Dumbledore's voice called out warmly from within. "Come in, my boy."

Opening the door, Harry stepped into the office, the scent of old parchment and a hint of lemon drops filling the air. Fawkes, perched on his usual spot, tilted his head at Harry as he entered. Without missing a beat, Harry walked over to the phoenix, giving the bird a gentle stroke on its fiery feathers. Fawkes leaned into the touch for a moment, then let out a soft, melodic chirp. Harry gave the bird a final pat before turning to face Dumbledore, who sat behind his desk, that ever-present twinkle in his eye.

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