Cunning

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Dumbledore seemed to sense Harry's readiness, he gestured toward the corner of his office. "Shall we?"

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't say a word, following Dumbledore to the corner of the office. Dumbledore extended his arm, and Harry took it, recognizing that they were about to Apparate. There was a brief pause as they stood in a small gap between the protective wards.

Together, Harry and Dumbledore vanished with a quiet crack, appearing almost instantly at the Ministry of Magic. They landed in a shadowed alley near the Ministry's back entrance, far from the waiting press. Even from this distance, Harry could hear the buzz of the reporters, their voices eager and sharp.

Dumbledore glanced toward the alley's exit, his eyes twinkling faintly, but he said nothing. Instead, he led Harry through the hidden side door reserved for members of the Wizengamot. No crowd, no flashing cameras—just a quiet path into the heart of the Ministry's political stage. Harry entered first, stepping into the grand corridor with its polished floors and high ceilings. 

As they walked, Dumbledore kept pace just behind Harry, his presence calm but watchful. "The press, as usual, are eager for a story," Dumbledore said lightly. "Luckily, this entrance offers us some peace."

"Peace, sure," Harry replied under his breath. "Until they find another angle."

Dumbledore chuckled softly but didn't respond, his attention shifting to the approaching doors of the courtroom. The heavy oak doors were tall and imposing, etched with ancient symbols of the Wizengamot. Harry pushed them open and stepped inside, the familiar dark chamber spread out before him.

Rows of benches climbed upward in a semi-circle, filled with witches and wizards draped in their dark purple Wizengamot robes. They murmured amongst themselves, though the air was thick with anticipation. At the center of the room stood a large, empty chair—enchanted with silver chains that clinked softly as if ready to bind any unfortunate soul that sat there.

Dumbledore motioned toward an empty seat at the front, where they would be able to observe without interruption. "Take a seat, Harry. The session will begin shortly."

As Harry settled into his seat, he felt the familiar buzz of nervous energy ripple through the crowd. Members of the Noble Houses filed in, taking their seats as the session drew closer to starting. A few of them glanced in Harry's direction, but none lingered long enough to make it obvious.

The soft hum of whispers filled the room until the loud, echoing thud of a gavel cut through the noise. At the front of the chamber, Cornelius Fudge rose from his seat, looking every bit the part of a harried, desperate politician.

"Order, order!" Fudge called, his voice carrying across the chamber as the murmuring died down. His eyes darted around nervously, and for a moment, Harry wondered if Fudge was more anxious about this session than families were on the side.

"We are gathered today," Fudge began, his tone official but strained, "to discuss the recent developments regarding the escape of known criminals from Azkaban, and to address the subsequent investigations into the Ministry's... handling of certain past cases."

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching as Fudge shuffled through a stack of parchment, clearly flustered. The man was a mess, barely holding himself together in front of the Wizengamot.

"As you all know," Fudge continued, his voice growing sharper, "the escape of Bellatrix Lestrange and others has caused... significant concern, both within the Ministry and the general public. We are here to ensure that steps are being taken to bring these individuals to justice and to prevent further... lapses in security and justice."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. He'd heard this speech before—Fudge scrambling to cover his own failures with a few well-placed words about justice and security. It was nothing more than political theater, a desperate attempt to hold onto his position while the ground crumbled beneath him.

Harry took a glance around the room, scanning the faces of the various patriarchs and matriarchs who had shown up for this session. Normally, the judicial matters of the Wizengamot didn't involve outsiders, but when a new law affecting the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses was being debated, the heads of those families had the right to be present and vote. And today, nearly all of them had shown up.

It wasn't surprising. The current topic was about reintroducing Veritaserum trials for those accused of aiding or being associated with Voldemort during the first war. That had a lot of these families worried, especially those who had publicly supported Voldemort back then but had managed to avoid prison by using the excuse of the Imperius Curse. The Ministry was under pressure, and they needed to show they were taking action. Fudge, desperate to maintain control, was pushing this new law to appease the public. But that meant reopening old wounds, digging into past alliances, and the possibility of taking down some very powerful families.

Harry's eyes landed on the darker corners of the room where the gray and neutral houses sat. These were the ones who hadn't openly picked a side during the war—families who kept to themselves, watching from the sidelines, never fully committing to either Voldemort's cause or Dumbledore's. They were the kind who could shift the balance of power if they decided to throw their lot in with one group or another.

And then there were the houses aligned with the light, like Sirius Black, who had returned to the fold as the head of the House of Black after years of being falsely imprisoned. Harry smirked slightly, thinking how Sirius being here must be infuriating for those who had once viewed him as a blood traitor. Now, he was free, exonerated, and standing firmly on the side against Voldemort. His presence alone was enough to remind the room that not all noble houses were allies of darkness.

Fudge was droning on at the front of the room, his voice shaking a bit as he rambled about the importance of justice and how these measures were necessary to maintain order. He looked nervous, and Harry could see why. This wasn't just about criminals or Death Eaters anymore. It was about the powerful families behind them—the same families that funded politicians, controlled businesses, and influenced the magical community in ways that ran far deeper than Fudge's grasp. One wrong move, and he could lose the backing of some of the wealthiest, most influential wizards in Britain.

The faces in the room were a blend of tension, boredom, and thinly veiled fear. Those on Voldemort's side during the war were visibly uncomfortable. It was no secret that many had escaped punishment by either buying their way out of trouble or convincing the Ministry that they had been under the Imperius Curse. Now, with the threat of Veritaserum being introduced, that old excuse wouldn't hold up. They were trapped.

Harry's eyes flicked to Lucius Malfoy, seated near the front of the chamber. Malfoy's expression was as unreadable as ever, his pale features impassive. There wasn't a trace of concern on his face, not even a flicker of worry. Lucius looked like a man who had nothing to fear from this room. If anything, Lucius seemed almost bored, like today's proceedings were beneath him. Harry's brow furrowed, and then his lips curled into a small smile. 'Fudge won't do anything. Or he won't be able to'. Lucius Malfoy was too well-connected, too entrenched in the system to be worried about anything Fudge might do.

It was no secret that Lucius Malfoy was one of the most cunning wizards in the room, but Harry knew more than most. He was a Serpent of the Crown, a member of the Shadow Elders, one of few Harry managed to identify in his year of leading the House of Slytherin. It spoke volumes about Malfoy's cunning. Harry knew that Lucius had a plan or information, something in motion that made him sit so calmly while everyone else squirmed under the threat of Veritaserum trials. But exactly what that plan was… Harry wasn't sure. Not yet.

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