A Promise Kept - Chapter 65 - The Gamble

The Gamble

“How is it that you managed to get up so early?” Harry asked as he entered the kitchen.

What he’d managed to salvage of the festivities had come to an end before three am, and it was only a little after six now. The others wouldn’t be awake for hours, but Kreacher was already hard at work making breakfasts for the five new guests he found himself looking after.

Wendell raised his mug of coffee before pouring Harry one.

“Force of habit,” he chuckled. “I’m now working with Pa on the farm full time, and he insists we’re up and at it before sunrise.”

“Isn’t farming easier with magic?”

“It is, but Pa insists we still do some of it by hand. He says it builds character, and strength.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” Harry mused aloud, grimacing at how strong the brew was, eliciting a grin from his friend. “I can’t believe it’s getting towards a year that I left school. It’s gone by so quickly.”

“You’ve been busy.”

Harry deflated as he nodded.

“That’s one way to put it,” he sighed. “How have the others been?”

Wendell shrugged.

“We’ve all kept as busy as we can, worried that we’ll hear about your death on the radio or read it in the newspaper. Your letters have helped, but, well, you know, it’s not the same, is it.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“No, it isn’t.”

“You know you can come back any time. Let’s not pretend you couldn’t hide from him if you really wanted to,” Wendell pointed out, holding a hand up to prevent Harry speaking, “but I know you and understand. That’s not who you are. You couldn’t walk away from this if you wanted to.”

“No, I can’t,” Harry admitted unashamedly, “not even if I wanted to.”

He’d been grateful for their visit, and they’d stayed for a few days further after his birthday. Harry was pleased they were each already moving into doing something they were enjoying, and that they’d done as well as he’d expected in their NEWTs.

He did wish he could’ve been a part of it, that they could’ve sat them together, and maybe even met to open their results, but it was just another one of those things he’d missed out on because of the war he was embroiled in.

Even so, it was a much-needed reprieve to spend some time with them.

He’d always known that Wendell was likely to remain close to home, the learn all he could from his father, and perhaps one day take over from the man, or maybe have a farm of his own.

Marisa too had returned home and decided to study South American magic as a mastery with the Brazilian Ministry of Magic.

Another unsurprising revelation was that Olivia had taken an internship with her father at the MACUSA building in the Department of Magical Sports and Games.

Isabelle was splitting her time between America and France, studying for a Charms mastery under Professor Alarie, who had sent Harry a heartfelt birthday gift and card.

He was yet to open all the gifts he’d received, and a rather large pile of them still remained in the living room of his flat, but he was slowly working through them.

Maggie’s career choice was the one that did surprise Harry out of all of his friends. She’d spent years bemoaning that she was the younger sibling of perhaps the most famous Quodpot player in the country, and yet, she’d decided to begin pursuing a career as a talent scout in the sport she’d seemingly shown little interest in.

“I never hated Quodpot. It’s my favourite sport, but when all anyone wants to talk about is your sister, it becomes annoying.”

He chuckled amusedly as he shook his head.

He was pleased for each of them, proud that they were all doing something they enjoyed and were passionate about but felt as though he had missed out on so much this past year.

Not that he couldn’t make it up for it when the war was done.

Despite the distance, and not seeing each other for such a long time, the bond between him and his friends remained as strong as ever. It was as though no time had passed at all, and those few days he’d had with them at Grimmauld Place had been exactly what he’d needed.

He was sad to see them go, to be once more fully consumed by the war that would wait for none, but somehow reinvigorated by his time with his friends.

Now, however, they had returned home, where they should be, and Harry was still here, still plagued by Riddle, still motivated to kill the man as much as he wished to kill Harry.

“Come in, Tonks,” he called as he heard the woman’s clumsy footsteps outside the front door.

“Your doormat tripped me.”

“It did not,” Harry snorted.

“I’m telling you, it did it on purpose!”

Harry could only shake his head.

“It’s just a doormat, Tonks,” he assured her.

The Auror narrowed her eyes at him before grinning.

“So, are you taking me to dinner?”

“Why would I be taking you to dinner?”

She shrugged in response.

“You haven’t seen me all week. You were busy with your other friends.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her.

“You wouldn’t be jealous would you, Nymphadora?”

“No, well, I would like to know what happened between you and Olivia.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You never were very good at lying to me. For the love of Merlin, I could see it the moment the two of you started speaking. So, what happened?”

Harry released a deep breath knowing she would not let it go.

“We’ve always been flirty with each other, I think ever since our third year of Ilvermorny, but nothing ever came of it.”

“But…” Tonks pressed.

“The night before I left to come back,” Harry sighed. “She came to my room, and well, you know.”

She grinned at him knowingly.

“And you hadn’t seen her since until she arrived for your birthday.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, it didn’t seem awkward. Did you…?”

“You’re a nosy cow, but no, nothing like that. It was just a one one-time thing. I thought it might ruin our friendship, but it hasn’t. Besides, she’s dating someone else now.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No, not at all,” Harry answered honestly. “She’s my friend, that’s it.”

“Ah, so you can take me for dinner.”

“Shouldn’t you find a date for that kind of thing?”

“Why would I need a date when I have the eligible Lord Potter to escort me?”

Harry frowned at the grinning woman.

“You know, I think you might just be using me for my money.”

“Only partly. Believe it or not, I quite enjoy your company. It doesn’t hurt to be fed at the same time.”

“What do I get out of this?”

“My delightful company, and I will even pay for dessert.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“Maybe,” Tonks snorted. “Besides you have some making up to do.”

“I do?”

“You have ignored me all week. I was neglected in favour of your other friends. That’s not very kind.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry cursed. “Fine, I will take you for dinner, but not until I’ve had my meeting at Gringotts, and no late nights, Nymphadora. I have my first Wizengamot meeting tomorrow.”

“I have no intention of keeping you late, not tonight, at least. I have an early start,” Tonks added with a wink. “Wait, I thought you already went to Gringotts.”

“I did, but I need to visit my vault, and there are other things to discuss with the goblins.”

“Rather you than me. They’re miserable little gits,” Tonks grumbled as she removed her shoes and laid on the sofa. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Harry rolled his eyes at her.

“You might want to make use of the shower,” he suggested, ducking out of the front door as a cushion was hurled at him in response.

His mood had been somewhat maudlin since his friends had returned home, and as ever, Tonks had found a way of lightening it for him.

The least he could do was take her for dinner, but for now, his focus was on his impending meeting with the goblins and finally paying a long-awaited visit to his family vault.

Harry wondered what he might find within, but he wouldn’t get his hopes up. As far as he knew, it could contain only gold, and maybe some old furniture.

There was no promise it would be filled with any personal effects of any member of the Potter family.

No, he would not consider such until he saw what was within for himself, but that wouldn’t be until he’d spoken with whomever it was who had agreed to meet with him from the goblin representatives.

(Break)

He rarely found a moment that his thoughts were not occupied by one thing or another when it came to his responsibilities, and Sirius was beginning to think he’d taken on too many.

Perhaps when the war was done, he would need to consider giving something up, especially with a baby now on the way too, and there was only one thing he could relinquish control of, even if admitting it to himself was not an easy thing to do.

Of course, there would be no need for the Orde of the Phoenix to function anymore when Voldemort was dead, but the end of the war would only be the beginning of healing the country, so it wasn’t as though the Wizengamot was going to magically fix everything.

No, that would take months, years even.

Hogwarts.

That was the one responsibility he could and would relinquish.

He’d only take the Headmaster’s post at Minerva’s insistence, but the time would come soon for him to hand the reins to another. Whether that was his former Head of House or another didn’t matter.

He would have a child to raise, and he wouldn’t be an absent father.

“Merlin, I can almost hear your mind spinning,” Emmeline huffed irritably.

“Sorry,” Sirius murmured, tightening his grip around her. “I still haven’t told Harry and Lily about the baby.”

“You’ve not had much of a chance this week,” Emmeline pointed out. “Harry’s friends were here, and you’ve been busy yourself, as always,” she added with a grin.

Sirius snorted as he shook his head.

“You know, I never envisioned my life being what it is now. I thought I’d become an Auror with James, fight Voldemort, and then retire after a long, illustrious career of keeping Britain safe.”

“Isn’t that what you are doing now, and have been for the pas twenty years?”

“Not in a way I expected,” Sirius chuckled. “I certainly never thought I’d become a professor let alone the Headmaster of Hogwarts, not the Lord of my family, nor running the Order of the Phoenix.”

“And here you are, doing all of those things admirably. I wouldn’t have believed it myself back when we were students, but you’ve become a good man, Sirius Black. The best I know.”

Her words warmed him, and he knew she meant it.

“I’ll tell them about the baby tomorrow,” he assured her. “We can tell them together. I can grab Harry after the meeting.”

“How do you think that will go?”

Sirius could only shake his head in response.

“Knowing my godson, he is going to upset a lot of people, and he will give them the bloody finger on the way out after doing so.”

“Maybe that is what is needed.”

“Maybe,” Sirius agreed, equally looking forward to the occasion as much as he was dreading it.

At the very least, he expected it to make the front page of The Daily Prophet. For better or worse, he couldn’t quite decide, but one thing he was certain of was that Harry James Potter would undoubtedly make an impact.

(Break)

“I told you that you would beat me one day,” her mother said breathlessly.

Sabine helped her to her feet and handed her a bottle of water.

“Maybe I’m just more motivated than ever.”

Her mother offered her an empathetic smile.

“Maybe,” she sighed. “You know, your marriage will only be as miserable as you allow it to be.”

“You’ve met him,” Sabine snorted. “No matter how sunny my disposition is, my marriage is going to be miserable. I’ll be expected to birth his moronic children, be on his arm for any events he is fortunate enough to be invited to, and spend my days shut away in a home I don’t wish to be in.”

“If you are fortunate, your children will take after you.”

“As if I would be so lucky,” Sabine huffed. “I’m going to shower. At least one of us in this marriage should maintain a level of hygiene.”

She left the room before her mother could offer a rebuttal.

The day she had been dreading for as long as she could remember had finally arrived. The Winthrop boy would be arriving today so that the two of them could get to know one another before they were to be married.

Boy.

He was several years older than Sabine, but she could only remember the lazy-eyed, low-witted, snivelling fifteen-year-old she’d met shortly before her first year of Hogwarts.

She vividly remembered his poor table manners, and the way he would wipe his nose on the back of his hand.

Sabine grimaced at the thought of having to marry him, let alone share anything else with Winthrop, and the shower did little to help her feel cleansed, even though she did manage to shift her thoughts from her husband-to-be to the man she wished to be married to.

It had been Harry’s birthday almost a week prior, and despite wanting nothing more than to reach out to him, even to only wish him well for reaching majority, she had refrained from doing so.

She knew that had she, she would’ve allowed herself to indulge deeper into the fantasies that already plagued her, would envision herself sharing in the occasion with him, and whatever else her mind would conjure for what came after.

Despite knowing it would only make things worse for her, she regretted not doing so now, and wondered if Harry had been waiting for a gift, or even just a card from her.

Sabine felt guilty for not doing so, but in the moment, it had felt wrong to inject herself into his day, especially if he was no longer thinking of her as she was him.

That thought alone caused the seemingly eternal pang in her chest to become even duller.

To Sabine, the only thing worse than thinking of Harry at just about every given moment of the day was the mere thought that he never thought of her at all, that he’d already forgotten all they’d shared and the moment he’d walked away from her, he truly had done so in every sense of the act.

She wiped away an errant tear and swallowed deeply.

No, he wasn’t so callous not with her, and he would not forget her so easily.

It was a knock at her bedroom door that pulled Sabine from her thoughts, and when she opened it, her expression softened at the sight of her oldest brother.

Oddly, he had been much more present in her life now than he had ever been, visited regularly to check on her, or take her away from the house for a few precious hours of what felt no less a prison than when she’d been locked in the Malfoy dungeon.

“You know, I could just throttle the little twerp.”

“I don’t think you’d be doing anyone any favours by doing that.”

Marcus shrugged as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“No, but I can at least think about doing it.”

“No one can stop that.”

“Good, but I will be watching him closely. If he does anything to upset you, I’ll pound him.”

Sabine rolled her eyes but smiled despite knowing what was coming.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

“They will be arriving shortly. Father sent me to fetch you.”

She felt her heart sink into her stomach.

This was it, her very last moments of freedom she would likely ever enjoy. The Winthrop boy will be staying with them until they were married, and then, she would be forced to move into a home with him, to birth his unimpressive offspring.

She shuddered at the thought, but she would let no other see her cry, not anymore.

“We could always sneak away,” Marcus offered. “I have more than enough gold that you could start a life of your own…”

“We both know how that ends,” Sabine interjected. “I will be left without my magic, and well, alone, maybe even dead from losing my magic.”

Marcus nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“I wisht here was something else I could do for you,” he murmured.

“So do I.”

Neither said anything for a few moments, and Sabine eventually shook her head.

“Best get it over with. There’s no point delaying it any longer.”

If the Winthrops had their way, the two of them would be married already, and Sabine would likely be carrying the first of her husband’s children. The best she could’ve hoped for was the situation she found herself in now, though that wasn’t any comfort with the knowledge of the direction her life was heading.

Marcus no longer seemed to know what to say, but he offered his arm, which Sabine accepted, and was grateful for it as she realised her steps towards the parlour room the Winthrops would be arriving in were not steady.

Arriving, she found her parents already awaiting the arrival of the other family, and Sabine ignored the encouraging smile of her mother, and did not even deign her father with a look.

She understood it was tradition, but what she could not accept was that her own mother had not wanted to marry her father, and yet, was still subjecting Sabine to the same misery.

Not that she truly had any say in the matter, just as Sabine wouldn’t when it came to such decisions in her own marriage.

“I think it is a good thing that Harry is a better man than I would be if I was him,” Marcus snorted humourlessly.

Sabine frowned as she looked towards her brother.

It was not in his nature to be angry, or show his disappointment, but he was doing nothing to hide it now.

“Is that so?” her father asked curiously.

Marcus nodded stiffly.

“If he did not respect Sabine so much, I expect the Winthrop moron would be dead already, and you too if you were not her father.”

Just as she wasn’t accustomed to seeing Marcus act so boldly, she wasn’t used to seeing her father so nervous. Augustine Van Droombeeld was the most self-assured man she’d met, and yet, at the mention of Harry, his skin paled, and his gaze became furtive.

“Then it is just as well, isn’t it,” he snarked. “If you ever speak to me in such a way again, boy, you will find yourself replaced as my heir.”

Marcus’s nostrils flared, but he’d already pressed his luck a little too much, and even before he could offer a response, the fireplace flared into life.

Mr Winthrop was the first to arrive, followed by his wife, and then Sabine’s intended, and the very sight of him turned her stomach.

He had changed little in the last five or so years since she’d seen him last, and somehow, was worse now than he’d been back then.

His greeting was clumsy, and he spoke as though his tongue was much too big for his mouth, but it was his wandering eyes that made her skin crawl as they immediately sought out her chest.

She’d expected this would be bad, but she had hoped she would not feel complete revulsion of the man she was to marry.

That, however, as all she felt; revulsion, and a sense of defeat she knew she would never be rid of.

(Break)

“Vault forty-one,” Garnuff announced as the cart arrived after a rather turbulent ride into one of the deepest parts of the bank. “You need only place your hand on the lock.”

Upon taking his leave of the cart, Harry did so, and Garnuff offered him an encouraging smile, urging him to enter as the door opened to admit him.

Within were stacks upon stacks of gold, more than he would ever spend, and off to one side of the enormous room was piles of trunks, neatly arranged, each with a label on the front.

At the very back of the vault was more trunks, and Harry looked towards Garnuff questioningly.

“For the more personal items, you will want to look through those,” the goblin urged, nodding towards the rear. Those are just furniture, and other things you will have little use for, but have been kept by each Lord over the centuries.

“Thank you, Garnuff.”

The goblin waved him off.

“Take your time, Lord Potter. I have more than enough to occupy me whilst you are in here. I will be just outside when you are ready to leave.”

Harry nodded appreciatively.

He was tired from his first meeting in the bank, but he was hopeful that it would prove to be fruitful, so long as he could hold up his considerable end of the bargain he’d struck.

If he couldn’t, there would be no harm done between him and the goblins, and though he was still hesitant at best, Harry couldn’t deny it might well become a necessity.

Still, that was a problem for another day. For now, he was focused on only learning more about the family he hailed from; something he’d been anticipating since he’d been a boy, and Sirius had told him stories about his father and grandparents.

“Wands,” he murmured as he came to the very first trunk.

Removing it from the pile, he opened it with a tap of his wand and took a step back as it expanded to be several times the size, and a large display surfaced from within.

The earliest dated back almost eight hundred years, but the label was so faded that Harry could not read whom it had belonged to, nor what it contained.

However, when he picked it up, he immediately felt the wand resisting him, and he placed it back quickly, moving along to the wand that had belonged to Hardwin Potter.

“Eleven inches, holly, with a dragon heartstring core, and created by Garibold Ollivander,” he murmured.

The wand was not as hostile as the first, but it certainly was no match for him.

The same proved to be true for most others, though he felt something of a connection to the one belonging to Iolanthe Potter, formerly Peverell.

“Peverell,” Harry whispered. “Ten inches, yew, with a Thestral hair core, crafted by Alek Ollivander.”

He’d never heard of Thestral hair being used as a core, and no other member of his family in History had such a core.

“Peverell,” he reminded himself.

Iolanthe may have married a Potter, but she was a Peverell by birth.

For several more moments he continued to peruse them, and when he reached the bottom of the display, he found his father’s wand, which he assumed had been transported here upon his death.

“James Potter, eleven inches, mahogany, and with a unicorn hair core.”

The wand didn’t resist him like most of the others had, but it was not even close to being a match, and Harry began pondering just whether or not there was a familial connection to the type of wand that would work for someone.

He remembered vividly his mother’s wand had all but hurled him across the length of the living room when he’d picked it up as a boy, and he’d not touched it since.

“Ten-and-a-quarter-inches, willow, with a unicorn hair core,” he recited amusedly, and Harry idly wondered what wand would’ve chosen him had he visited Ollivander instead of Wolfe.

Perhaps he would pay a visit to the man as Garnuff suggested. It would be interesting to see what he thought of Harry’s wand and could maybe even add something else to it.

He liked to think he’d built just as good a relationship with Norbert over the years as he had with Aurelius, who had gifted him a feather before he’d procured his wand.

Harry nodded to himself, making a note to visit with the man soon. For now, however, he wanted to continue his perusal of the Potter vault, to see what other treasures he might find, or better yet, what else he could learn about his ancestors.

(Break)

“He is at Gringotts again, my lord.”

“Undoubtedly grasping for whatever scraps remain of his family,” the Dark Lord chuckled amusedly. “He is, and will be the last of them, after all.”

“Don’t you think this is a perfect opportunity to prevent him from arriving at the Wizengamot tomorrow?” Bellatrix pressed.

Lucius nodded his agreement, once more proving himself the coward he’d grown to become throughout the duration of these past years.

“To what end, Bella?” the Dark Lord sighed. “If any attempt against him was to fail, it would only serve to embolden him further. Besides, the Wizengamot is firmly under my control, and not even Potter can change that. He may think himself a man now that he has reached his majority, but he will still be looked upon as a mere boy.”

Bellatrix and Lucius nodded their agreement, and though the Dark Lord himself was not entirely convinced by his own argument, he chose to put his faith in Yaxley and the others who served him.

For now, at least.

Should the need arise to intervene sooner than he anticipated, he would do what was necessary to ensure the continuation of his plans.

They might not know it yet, but Britain was on the brink of collapse, and the only thing that yet remained propping them up was a few damned fools who commanded a modicum of loyalty from the people.

They would be gone soon enough.

Already, plans were in motion to see it done.

(Break)

“I think I might actually explode if I eat another bite,” Tonks groaned, holding her bloated stomach in two.

“You look pregnant,” Harry snorted. “I’m not surprised. You ate three plate of food.”

“I was hungry!”

“And it was free.”

“That too,” the metamorph replied with a grin. “You wouldn’t deny a hungry Auror a good meal, would you?”

“No, but I am wondering how your father could afford to feed you all these years.”

She glared playfully at him before frowning, and Harry quirked an eyebrow at her as she shrunk her stomach.

“Have you managed to fade the scar yet?”

“Not fully, but it’s not as though I walk around showing off where it is.”

“Thank Merlin for small mercies,” Harry quipped.

“You know, you could be nicer to me.”

“I’m always nice to you, Nymphadora. You take advantage of my affection for you. You eat my food, and you steal my clothes.”

“I do not!”

“You’re the only one who visits me here, and I notice them disappearing. I’ve replaced three jumpers in the last month.”

“I get cold.”

“It’s the summer, and you’re a witch!”

She shrugged and offered him a grin.

“It’s not the same.”

Harry could only shake his head in response. He knew that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t change a thing. Not that he minded really. Tonks was always welcome to whatever it was she wanted.

“Well, you can leave my socks alone. I’m tired of going to get some and they’re all gone.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for,” Harry sighed. “Are you staying or going? I have the Wizengamot meeting in the morning.”

She hummed thoughtfully before standing.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she decided, “but I finish early on Friday, and I’ll be ready for another good meal courtesy of the Lord Potter. See ya, Harry.”

He chuckled amusedly as she took her leave of the flat.

It hadn’t been a bad way to end his day, and spending time with Tonks served to distract him from what was to come tomorrow. Whether or not he could bring his plans to fruition remained to be seen, but at the very least, Harry knew he had to try.

It was not a path he expected to even consider treading, but the war against Voldemort had become desperate in many ways, and if there was anything he could do to both put a stop to the man and undermine him, there was nothing Harry wasn’t willing to do.

(Break)

There was something of an undercurrent of excitement within the chambers, and it did not escape Sirius that the entire stand set aside for the members of the media was full to capacity.

What did make him nervous, however, was the amount of guards Yaxley had within the room, with none of them coming from the Auror department.

The Minister was nervous, as were many others within the room, but there was an undeniable feeling of anticipation, and as Sirius shared a glance with Amelia Bones, she offered him a reassuring nod, allowing him to relax somewhat.

She had the situation in hand, had evidently made whatever arrangements she felt was necessary, but it was a situation that even he was uncertain about.

He’d raised Harry, had done his best by him from when he was a babe, and still did now when he was needed. However, his godson was perhaps the most unpredictable person he knew, and there was no telling what he might say or do when he arrived.

The fervent whispering continued, and the lords and ladies gathered looked towards the doors more than once, their expressions shifting from excitement to disappointed when someone else other than Harry entered.

Those that were not so pleased by his coming of age were quite the opposite, their own shifting from irritability, to confusion, and then undeniable relief.

Still, their relief was to only be temporary.

Harry did arrive, dressed in fine robes, his stony gaze sweeping across those he would sit among, and he shook his head disapprovingly, greeting no one as he made his way towards the seat reserved for the Potter family.

The last to sit in it had been Charlus.

James had never attended a Wizengamot meeting, and the occasion was not lost on Harry, who took a moment before sitting.

He pointedly ignored everyone sitting around him, and none attempted to engage him in conversation. The journalists, however, were not so shy. Their cameras flashed, and the sound scratching quills sounded over the din, until Yaxley cleared his throat and stood to address the room.

“I understand that it has been a trying number of days for many of us, and I am certain I speak for us all when I say that we will miss the presence of Lords Davis, Ogden, and Fawley among us.”

Although his words sounded sincere, they were not, and yet, no one called out the Minister for his views on what had happened, just as they hadn’t with anything happening pertaining to the Dark Lord for several months now.

Sirius understood that people were terrified, that the deaths of three prominent Lords in a single night was enough to all but silence every last one of them in the room, save for one, who raised his wand.

“I am not takin questions at this time, Lord Potter,” Yaxley said dismissively.

“Then it is a good thing that I am not asking one,” Harry returned with a shrug as he stood, eliciting some hisses and jeers from some of the others.

Yaxley shook his head.

“It seems that you have no manners, Lord Potter. You were not invited to speak.”

“Oh, I do apologise,” Harry returned sarcastically, “but I have no intention of waiting for one. It is my right as a Lord of the Wizengamot to address you all, and I am exercising it. If there is anyone who objects, speak now and give sound reason for doing so.”

“You are an impudent, impetuous…”

“Only members of the Wizengamot are allowed to object, Madam Umbridge,” Harry interjected. “So, kindly shut up.”

Once more, the scratching of quills and flashes of cameras became rapid, and Sirius fought the urge to smirk.

Harry was being reckless, but thus far, it was paying off.

There were many who seemed to wish to object, to speak out against him, but none did, evidently choosing to remain silent to not draw attention to themselves.

It was foolish.

There were those within the room who were undoubtedly supporters of the Dark Lord, and the others knew it.

The problem was, there was a culture of fear that had been instilled, made many fearful enough for themselves and their families that they dared not speak out, not after what had happened to the others.

Harry did not share that fear, and whether or not whatever he had to say would be enough to instil just a little courage within those who were silenced did not truly matter.

He was choosing to make his stand, and Sirius could not be prouder of his godson.

Even so, he was as eager as he nervous about what Harry intended to say, and much like the others, he was clueless about what was to follow.

“I could stand here and point out the most obvious of things. I could say that I understand the fear many of you are feeling, but there are those here who are not fearful. They are laughing at you and revelling in the fear and grief you are feeling. The fact is, sitting on the fence and remaining quiet is no longer an option. Doing so only leads to more death, more fear, and it will continue until you are broken, until you bend the knee to Voldemort.”

Several people hissed at the mention of his name, and Harry snorted amusedly.

“You even fear a name he gave himself. I have always found it odd that Dumbledore did not inform you of who he really is, and more importantly, what he is…”

“Potter, that is enough!” Yaxley snapped.

Harry merely shook his head at the Minister.

“His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, the son of Merope Gaunt, who died giving birth to him, and a muggle he was named after.”

Silence met the statement, until Yaxley began blustering once more.

“You will disregard the lies of Lord Potter!”

“Lies?” Harry chuckled. “Why would I lie? If there is anyone in this room who has no reason to lie about the snivelling little shit, it’s me. Not that his real name or blood status matters. He is no less dangerous because of it, but who is it who has been fighting him? I fought him at St Mungo’s, at Malfoy Manor when I risked my life to free dozens of prisoners being held there, and I even fought him here in the Ministry of Magic. The fact is, none of this ends until a stand is made, and I am doing that just now. The establishment we have in place is full of his stooges, and yes, I am willing to bet my life and reputation on that. Since Cornelius Fudge was murdered, the Ministry has been nothing but complicit in everything the Dark Lord is doing.”

“Are you saying that we are complicit?” Lord Greengrass asked.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “Your inaction allows it, but I understand. I know better than any what he is capable of, all of us have seen it for ourselves, but the truth is, if nothing changes in the Ministry, then it is all but impossible to ensure Riddle and his supporters are held fully accountable for all they have done these past few years, and long before that.”

The other Lords and Ladies murmured amongst themselves, and much to Sirius’s surprise, it was Neville Longbottom who stood next.

“What do you suggest, Lord Potter?” he asked.

Harry offered him a nod.

“Elect me your Minister.”

Sirius scoffed in shock at the plea, and immediately, his thoughts drifted to the fallout that would follow.

Many began to jeer, others remained silent, but there were those who seemed to support the idea.

Sirius was not certain if his godson had completely taken leave of his senses, or he was having quite the stroke of genius.

“I know I cannot nominate myself, and I have no intention of attempting to break the law. I can’t even promise that I would be any good at the political stuff, but what I can promise is that if you give me the post, I will give you Riddle’s head, and I will give you justice, by whatever means necessary.”

His words were sincere, and he stood just a little taller as he spoke, his unreadable gaze coming to rest on Titus Yaxley, who was undoubtedly discomforted by the turn of events.

How Harry had reached such a conclusion, Sirius did not know, but he spoke with certainty, with solemnity, and though he had more reservations than he could count, the war effort needed something drastic, and as much as he struggled to admit it, this could well be it.

It was not how Sirius had expected this meeting to unfold, but as ever, Harry did nothing by half measures.

“I nominate Lord Potter,” he declared as he stood.

Harry offered him a nod of gratitude.

“I second it,” Neville Longbottom followed.

Evidently, Yaxley, nor any other of Voldemort’s supporters had expected Harry to make a grasp for power, and they could only look at one another, lost, confused, and uncertain on what to do.

“I also nominate Lord Potter to be the Minister of Magic.”

Sirius was certainly taken aback by the support of Amelia Bones of all people, but given that Harry had saved her niece, she knew him to be capable of delivering on his promise.

Still, he wasn’t sure if such a thing as he was witnessing now had ever come to pass, and certainly not with someone who’d only just reached their majority.

What did become abundantly clear was that Yaxley quickly found himself out of his depth, and as he began whispering furiously with Umbridge, and the rest of his ilk, he seemed to come to the realisation that he could do nothing to prevent a vote being held.

Harry had acquired the three required nominations to be considered, but that was only the beginning.

Before such a vote could be insisted upon, Yaxley needed to be deemed to have lost the confidence of more than half of the Wizengamot, which meant that those who had remained neutral thus far, would need to pledge their support for Harry.

Sirius was not convinced they would do so, and if they did not, things would inevitably get worse in Britain.

Yaxley would secure Voldemort’s hold over the Ministry, and in turn, the Dark Lord’s efforts would be doubled with the newfound confidence that he had quelled the resistance against him.

If, however, Harry’s bid was successful, well, that too meant that the war would inevitably ramp up, and the pressure on his godson to deliver on his promises would be immense.

Nonetheless, Sirius’s own faith in the young man did not waver, despite his reservations.

Now, he just needed the others to share in his belief and do what was needed for Britain.

The very future of the country depended on it, and what many would deem to be Harry’s mad gamble.