Ministry of Magic

The Devil May Cry Shop – Morning

The Devil May Cry shop was unusually lively for the early morning, but not in a way that Dante or Hadrian particularly enjoyed. Owls swarmed the place, fluttering and hooting, dropping letters all over the counters, the floor, and even Dante's desk. A mix of mundane letters and Howlers created an oppressive symphony of hissing, rustling, and, every so often, explosive shouting.

Dante, lounging in his usual spot with his feet propped up on his cluttered desk, raised an eyebrow as a Howler screeched open and a shrill, banshee-like voice filled the air.

"YOUR PARENTS WOULD BE DISAPPOINTED IN YOU!" the voice of Molly Weasley howled. "You're bringing SHAME to their names, boy! Return to the wizarding world at once, and let Professor Dumbledore take care of you!"

The voice reverberated around the room, rattling a few glass bottles on the shelves, and left Hadrian dizzy. He grimaced, rubbing his temples as the Howler finally fell silent, leaving only a scorched piece of paper in its wake.

"Blimey, mate," Dante muttered, looking at Hadrian with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. "If hell had a choir of angry housewives, that woman would be lead soprano."

Hadrian clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his temper in check. "That bloody woman… the nerve she has, to lecture me about my parents as if she knew them."

Oryou, perched nearby with a lazy yet watchful gaze, let out a low, serpentine hiss. "So, if we ever meet this… Molly Weasley," she drawled, her voice soft but laced with menace, "am I permitted to eat her?"

Sirius, who had been leaning against the doorframe, burst into laughter, clutching his sides. "Oh, I'd pay good Galleons to see that!" he chortled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Molly's a staunch supporter of Dumbledore, through and through. She's got this… idea that she knows what's best for everyone. And I wouldn't put it past her to try 'persuasion' if you're too stubborn."

"Persuasion?" Hadrian raised an eyebrow.

Sirius gave a knowing smirk. "Love potions. The woman's got an odd fascination with them. Always ranting about who ought to be with whom."

Hadrian scoffed. "Well, good luck to her with that. Wizarding potions barely work on me as it is. They'd need to be powerful to have any effect. Standard potions would fizzle out by the time they even reached my bloodstream."

Dante grinned, picking up on Hadrian's confidence. "Same here, kid. Perks of having a little more… grit in the blood." He tapped his chest with a smirk, clearly entertained by the notion of Dumbledore's supporters trying to 'manage' Hadrian with tricks.

The conversation was interrupted by a sudden hush among the owls as a single, official-looking owl swooped in. Its pristine white feathers and gleaming crest gave it an air of authority. With a sharp hoot, it released a scroll tied with an elaborate seal, dropping it directly into Dante's hands.

Dante eyed the seal with mild interest, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well, now. If this isn't some fancy bureaucratic nonsense…" He held it up to inspect the ornate Ministry of Magic crest before casually tossing it to Hadrian. "Here, kid. They've sent you something official."

Hadrian caught the letter and untied the seal, unfurling the scroll to reveal the Ministry's neatly written words. He read aloud, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Summons from the Ministry of Magic

To: Harry James Potter, also known as Hadrian Redgrave,

The Ministry of Magic, under the authority of the Wizengamot, formally requests your presence to answer questions regarding recent incidents involving magical and supernatural disturbances in Muggle areas, notably the incident at the Hotel Alexandria.

You are hereby summoned to attend a hearing before the Wizengamot on the 15th of August at 10:00 A.M.

Failure to comply with this summons may result in additional charges and legal consequences as per wizarding law.

Sincerely,

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Ministry of Magic

Hadrian rolled his eyes, folding the letter with a flick of his wrist. "So, they want me to present myself before the Wizengamot to 'answer questions' about what happened at the hotel."

Dante scoffed, crossing his arms. "Translation: they want to put on a show. Make it look like they've got everything under control. Bunch of overgrown kids playing at being important."

"Exactly," said Sirius, snorting as he read the letter over Hadrian's shoulder. "They just want to remind everyone that they're the big fish in the pond. Probably hoping you'll be intimidated enough to fall in line."

Hadrian smirked. "If they're expecting intimidation, they'll be disappointed."

From the wall, Arcturus Black's portrait gave an imperious sniff, his tone dripping with disdain. "The Ministry's buffoons have always been fond of these little displays of power. It's how they convince themselves they're still relevant."

Dorea, Hadrian's grandmother, chimed in, her voice cool but affectionate. "They're just bureaucrats who rely on rules and regulations to feel in control. But you, Hadrian…" She gave him a proud look. "You're far beyond their reach. Just dress respectably and show them exactly who they're dealing with."

Charlus, her husband, nodded in agreement. "Remember, lad, they're expecting you to crack under pressure. Don't give them the satisfaction. Show them the strength of the Peverell and Sparda blood."

Hadrian inclined his head toward the portraits. "Thank you. I won't forget your advice." He allowed himself a small grin, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "And as for dressing respectably… I have the perfect outfit in mind."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a conspiratorial smile tugging at his lips. "Oh? Planning to make an entrance, are we?"

Hadrian shrugged, a spark of excitement flickering beneath his composed demeanour. "Let's just say they're about to get a lesson in 'proper appearances.'"

Dante let out a laugh, clearly looking forward to the spectacle. "Now, that's the spirit! Give those stuffy wizards something to remember."

As they shared a collective chuckle, the air was thick with anticipation, each of them silently envisioning the Ministry officials' reactions to Hadrian's unyielding confidence. The Wizengamot thought they were summoning a boy they could control, someone easily swayed by their so-called authority.

Little did they know, they were about to meet a Sparda.

Ministry of Magic

As Hadrian reached out to dial the code on the scratched, abandoned red telephone box in the heart of London, he could only marvel at how bizarre it was to access an underground government headquarters this way. The numbers, 6-2-4-4-2, were punched in with an almost idle disdain; the whole process felt oddly ceremonial. A moment later, the booth lurched, and with a low rumble, it began to descend.

Inside, the light flickered, and a faint blue glow surrounded him. As the box descended further, the rich, opulent world of the British Ministry of Magic revealed itself below—a testament to the hidden power lying beneath the mundane city streets.

The Atrium was a grand hall bathed in a warm, ethereal glow from the peacock-blue ceiling, which seemed to shift like an ocean of stars. Golden symbols drifted across the ceiling in a gentle dance, casting gleaming reflections onto the dark wooden floor. At the centre of the hall stood the imposing Fountain of Magical Brethren, depicting wizards, goblins, centaurs, and other magical beings in a moment of harmony—an irony that wasn't lost on Hadrian, considering his unusual alliances.

As he stepped out of the booth, his gaze swept across the crowd, noting how wizards and witches bustled around him. He ignored the stares that his arrival brought and headed towards the security checkpoint, his movements purposeful.

Hadrian's attire commanded attention. He was dressed in a dark, sleek outfit exuding an aura of elegance and mystery, with a long, flowing black cloak resting on his shoulders, its high collar framing his face and adding a menacing air. Beneath, he wore a buttoned black vest over a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular arms inked with intricate tattoos—one featuring the noble, fiery figure of Hedwig, a phoenix-thunderbird hybrid, and the other depicting Oryou, a serpentine dragon with black scales tipped in dark red. The tattoos pulsed faintly, alive with magic. His high-necked collar, dark gloves, fitted trousers, and polished black shoes completed the look, lending him a Victorian sophistication. Bradamante, his demonic katana, rested at his side, secured but within easy reach, hinting at his readiness for any confrontation.

As he walked, Hedwig's voice sounded in his mind, dripping with dry amusement. "Drawing a bit of a crowd, aren't we, master? Almost like peacocks strutting around the Ministry."

Oryou chuckled, her tone smug. "They're intimidated, Hedwig. They should be."

Hadrian smirked, feeling his familiars' presence as if they were perched on his shoulders. "Well, if they're gawking, I suppose I've done something right."

He approached the security checkpoint, where a Ministry guard with a prominent badge stepped forward, visibly nervous. The man recognized him, though the recognition was laced with apprehension. "M-Mr. Potter," he stammered, trying to muster some semblance of authority. "I… I need to see your wand, please."

Hadrian wordlessly handed over his wand, watching with faint amusement as the guard examined it. His hand was steady, but his eyes betrayed his unease. After a moment, the guard's brow furrowed in confusion as he noticed the wand's unique components. "These… don't match any known registry entries," he muttered, glancing up at Hadrian with a questioning look.

Hadrian's expression turned cold. "What my wand is made of is none of your business," he replied smoothly, his tone cutting, as he snatched the wand back from the guard's trembling hands. The guard opened his mouth to protest, but one pointed look from Hadrian silenced him. He simply swallowed, nodding as he took a step back.

As he moved past the checkpoint and into the Atrium, Hadrian couldn't help but notice how every head seemed to turn toward him. Conversations stopped mid-sentence, eyes widened, and a few whispers rippled through the crowd. No one dared to approach him, though, their instincts warning them to keep their distance from the darkly dressed, mysterious figure who seemed to command the very air around him.

The Atrium, with its vast space and bustling crowds, seemed to shrink in Hadrian's presence. He exuded an aura of controlled strength and quiet authority, his expression calm yet intense. Even the flickering golden symbols above seemed to shimmer with an added intensity as he passed.

His mental link with Hedwig and Oryou remained open, his familiars making comments that only he could hear. Hedwig snickered, "At least they're making room for you. No one wants to get in the way of a man on a mission."

Oryou added with a low purr, "It's amusing how they part like water. They can sense the power we hold."

Hadrian chuckled to himself, remembering Dante's reaction the first time he'd seen him dressed like this. The devil hunter had nearly fallen out of his chair, trying to hold back laughter while calling him "Lord of the Dark." That memory briefly lightened Hadrian's mood as he entered one of the lifts.

Inside, he was alone, save for the swirling thoughts of his familiars, who continued to poke fun at the reactions he'd caused.

However, his amusement was cut short when a familiar heat pulsed from the ring on his finger—a heat he recognized from a previous encounter. He instinctively scanned the crowd, and soon his answer appeared in the form of three figures—a woman and two younger girls.

The oldest of the group caught his attention first. She was tall, with flowing golden-blonde hair cascading down her back, her eyes a piercing gold that seemed to look right through him. Her black, military-style uniform was accented with dark, metallic plating, giving her an aura of formidable strength. She radiated a warrior's presence, one that Hadrian recognized immediately—this was someone who had faced countless battles.

Beside her stood a girl around his age, dressed with understated elegance. Her long, snowy-white hair with faint icy-blue streaks framed a face with intense, clear blue eyes that held a glacial sharpness. She wore a calm, calculating expression, one that spoke of intelligence and control beyond her years. Her younger companion had honey-blonde hair and bright green eyes filled with curiosity and energy, contrasting with her older sister's stoic demeanour. The younger girl's presence added a touch of warmth to the otherwise icy image the trio presented.

As Hadrian's gaze met the golden-eyed woman's, a shiver ran down his spine. There was an unspoken recognition in her eyes—a silent acknowledgement of shared strength, of power that spoke louder than words. He instinctively rested his hand on Bradamante's hilt, a habit that had become second nature when sensing an equal, or perhaps even a potential rival.

The woman's lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile. "Relax, boy. You've got excellent instincts," she remarked, her voice deep and calm. Her gaze flickered to his hand on Bradamante before she raised an eyebrow, seemingly impressed by his readiness.

Before she could say more, the older girl with icy-blue eyes sent her a pointed look, and the woman responded with a respectful tilt of her head, falling silent.

The girl turned to Hadrian and nodded in acknowledgement. "I am Heiress Daphne Greengrass of House Greengrass," she introduced herself smoothly, gesturing to her companions. "This is my sister, Astoria, and our protector, Degenbreacher."

Hadrian inclined his head slightly, his expression polite yet guarded. "Hadrian Redgrave," he replied, his voice low and steady.

Daphne extended her hand, her movements measured and graceful. He took it, leaning forward to place a courteous kiss on her knuckles, the way his grandmother had taught him. His lips brushed the cool skin of her hand as he kept his gaze steady, intending to make a lasting impression.

For a brief moment, Daphne's sharp blue eyes studied him, taking in the elegant cut of his clothing, the calm strength in his posture, and the tattoos that hinted at something far deeper than appearances suggested. After a moment, she released his hand, her gaze unwavering.

"Mr Redgrave," she began, her tone straightforward, "I believe there's no point in games between us. I'll be direct. There's a matter that connects us, a… mutual problem if you will. I would like to discuss it further. Perhaps… at Greengrass Manor?"

Without waiting for his reply, she pulled out a letter, her hand lingering as she offered it to him. "This letter will act as a Portkey, should you wish to visit."

Hadrian took the letter, tucking it away without breaking eye contact. "Very well," he replied, his tone equally direct. "I'll come. We can discuss this matter and see if it can be resolved."

The exchange, though brief, carried weight—both of them understood the implications without needing to elaborate. The tension was palpable, and he could feel Hedwig and Oryou silently observing from within their tattoos, taking in the intensity of the interaction.

As the lift doors slid open, Daphne, Astoria, and Degenbreacher stepped out, each giving him a final glance of acknowledgement. Daphne's gaze lingered a second longer, her calm demeanour showing just a hint of satisfaction before she led her sister and protector toward the visitor's entrance.

The doors closed, and as the lift continued its descent, Hadrian let out a quiet breath, smirking at the memory of the encounter. He could feel Hedwig's curiosity brimming through their link.

"Well, she certainly didn't beat around the bush, did she?" Hedwig quipped, sounding rather amused.

"No games with that one," Oryou agreed, a note of approval in her voice. "And that warrior with her… quite the formidable presence."

Hadrian chuckled under his breath. "They're all intriguing. But we'll see what they're after soon enough."

As the lift doors opened again, Hadrian stepped out, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. The Ministry employees he passed instinctively parted for him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to awe to outright intimidation. His appearance, his aura, and his unyielding calm made him stand out, like a storm cloud sweeping through a calm sea.

He walked with steady purpose, his fingers grazing Bradamante's hilt as he moved through the halls. Reaching the doors to the courtroom, he paused for a moment, his expression sharpening as he prepared himself. Whatever lay beyond those doors, he was ready to face it on his own terms.