-- You brilliant lot have only gone and done it! The book's cracked the top ten as of yesterday, what a smashing result! Here is an extra chapter just for you. Wishing you all a cracking Sunday --
Fred and George Weasley, third year Gryffindors. Known to most of Hogwarts as pranksters of the highest order, but to many of their peers, they were nothing short of bullies. Their signature prank, dungbombs slipped into satchels, trick sweets that left students vomiting slugs, and charmed ink that refused to come off skin had long since crossed from mischief into cruelty. Until now, they had never faced true consequence. Professors usually scolded, docked a few house points, or gave them detentions, and that was that. The twins carried on, convinced they were simply having fun. But this evening would mark the first time they would understand just how costly their bullying could become.
Professor McGonagall opened the door to her office. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she motioned for the twins to enter. Once they shuffled inside, she followed, shutting the door with force that the sound echoed against the stone walls. She crossed briskly to her desk and sat down, her eyes narrowing into that piercing, hawk like stare that had cowed generations of Gryffindors.
"Do you have any idea what you have done?" she demanded, her voice clipped and taut with controlled fury. "Do you understand the result of your actions? Professor Black wants you expelled!"
For the first time in memory, Fred and George lost their color. The word expelled hung in the air like a death knell. McGonagall's gaze did not soften in the slightest.
"What do you think will happen if he presses the matter?" she continued, her tone sharper still. "To be perfectly honest, it is not a question of if, but when. Lord Black himself now sits on the Board of Governors. You targeted his heir. Do you truly grasp what that means?"
The twins shifted uncomfortably, for once without a glib remark between them. McGonagall leaned forward, her eyes flashing behind her spectacles. "The Lord Black whose heir you thought it amusing to 'prank'. The Lord Black who has influence enough to bend the Board and ignore even the Headmaster's decisions to protect you.
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, with a swift turn, she strode to the fireplace. Taking a handful of Floo powder, she cast it into the flames. Emerald light flared to life as she bent down and called, her crisp voice ringing through the hearth: "The Burrow!"
Moments later, the hearth roared, and Molly Weasley stormed through, Arthur right behind her. Molly's cheeks were flushed scarlet, her eyes already snapping as she caught sight of her sons. Arthur, pale and fuming, looked between Minerva and the twins, exhaling heavily as if bracing himself for the worst.
"What is it this time?" Arthur asked, his tone tired, worn by years of his sons' antics.
McGonagall's glare never wavered from Fred and George. "Relax," she said, her voice dripping with irony. "This may very well be the last prank of their career. The victim wants them expelled and has the power to see it done."
Molly's jaw dropped, her anger overtaken by shock. Arthur shut his eyes and drew in a long breath, fighting to keep calm. Molly opened her mouth, ready to unleash one of her infamous tirades, her voice turning to sreech but McGonagall cut her off with a sharp raise of her hand.
"Not yet, Molly. First, you will hear precisely what has happened." She turned her stern face back to the twins, her words sharp as whiplash. "It began five days ago with Ronald. His insolence in Professor Black's classroom cost Gryffindor one hundred and sixty five points before the week had even properly begun. And today.. today these two attempted to tamper with Professor Black's dinner. They tricked the house elves to lace his food and drink with potions. Do you understand the gravity of that? Do you comprehend that it could have endangered his life? He could simply accuse you of trying to poison him. An heir of one of the sacred twenty eight. You will rot in Azkaban. Or that your actions were not some childish prank, but sabotage of a professor's meal?"
Her voice rose with each word until it cut like ice. "Do you finally realize that Headmaster cannot protect you forever, that you are not beyond consequence?"
The twins, for once, had no ready jest. Molly's face paled as the severity of the situation sank in, her hands trembling as she clenched them at her sides. Arthur looked grim, his gaze heavy with disappointment as he stared at his sons, the weight of their foolishness hanging thick in the air.
For Fred and George, the laughter had finally run out.
--
While the twins were being thoroughly roasted by their parents and Head of House, Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his office, weighed down by a dilemma. He erally had no time to deal with the twins of Arthur and Molly. Tomorrow, the Wizengamot would convene. He had already maneuvered carefully to ensure that the first two acts, the trade privileges and the tax exclusions would pass without difficulty. The third act, however, was a thorn in his side. It threatened to undermine years of careful positioning. He did not want to spend more political capital, and certainly not on Severus Snape, whose reckless antagonism had already forced Dumbledore to burn favors he would rather have saved for his greater ambitions.
The act concerning muggle borns gnawed at him most of all. For decades he had instructed his staff to soften or outright hide certain truths from muggle born children and their families when introducing them to the wizarding world. They were told about the wonders of magic, but not about the entrenched factions within magical society, factions that resented change, despised muggles with their influence and had no desire to share their ancient power. Albus had worked patiently to erode traditions. He had reshaped culture itself alone. Starting with something as simple as renaming sacred festivals. Yule became Christmas, Samhain became Halloween, Beltane was May Day. Little by little, even half bloods and some pureblood families adopted these changes, celebrating alongside muggles rather than apart from them. The old guard still muttered and fumed, but Albus believed himself strong enough to mold the world in a brighter image.
His vision was a future where no dangerously powerful wizard could rise unchecked. For in his long life, Dumbledore had seen it again and again. Those with great power inevitably fell into darkness. Power corrupted them, twisted their vision, and brought suffering. Gellert Grindelwald had been the brightest star of their age, only to burn the world with his brilliance. Tom Riddle was something even darker, a boy he had once hoped to guide. He sent the boy back to the muggle world again and again so he can start to love them. Instead the boy had grown into a monster that tore the very fabric of magic by splintering his soul. Yes, Dumbledore had faults, but unlike them, he was not corrupted. He alone, despite his many mistakes, had remained faithful to the greater good.
His thoughts lingered on Harry Potter, the boy so many thought would be a savior. Dumbledore knew the terrible truth. The strange curse scar, the tether to Tom, was no ordinary mark. It had taken him years of study to name it for what it was. A horcrux. Tom had made the boy into a vessel for part of his soul. Albus had searched desperately for a way to separate it without killing the child. None existed. If he could not find one, then there was none. Harry must eventually die so that Voldemort could be mortal again. The sacrifice would be necessary, inevitable, righteous. And when it came, Albus would again stand as the savior of the wizarding world, his name etched in golden letters in its history.
He told himself it was for the greater good. Always the greater good. He did not let himself dwell too long on the true danger. What would happen if muggles learned of wizardkind not through his careful guidance, but through violence, fear, or revelation uncontrolled? History was full of grim lessons. Witch hunts, inquisitions, pogroms. Muggles turned on their own kind for less, how much worse would they be if they knew real magic existed and that witches and wizards had kept it secret? Weapons of war, prisons, laboratories.. such futures loomed in the shadows of his thoughts, though he pushed them away. Better, he thought, that he remain the steady hand on the tiller, that his vision prevail, and that the world be remade in accordance with his guidance, whether others liked it or not.
Tomorrow's meeting would test the strength of that vision.
--
The Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot began to file into the chamber, their rich robes swishing and the murmur of conversations echoing beneath the enchanted ceiling. When all were seated, the Chief Warlock rose, striking his wand against the dais to call the gathering to order. "The eitght hundred and forty fifth session of the Wizengamot is now in order. May wisdom guide us. We proceed to the first item on the agenda. Lord Travers, you have the floor."
Lord Travers rose, his long cloak falling behind him as he stood with practiced authority. "Honored colleagues, we live in a time where commerce is the lifeblood of our society. The Sacred Twenty Eight have carried the traditions of wizardkind for generations. It is only right that such families, pillars of our culture be granted greater privileges in trade, licensing, and enterprise. By strengthening these houses, we strengthen the backbone of Magical Britain itself. Our heritage is not a relic of the past, but the foundation of our future." He inclined his head, his tone calm but commanding. "This act does not diminish others. Rather, it secures prosperity by rewarding those who have proven, for centuries, to be faithful stewards of our world."
The Chief Warlock called for votes, and the chamber filled with a wave of green light. The Progressives did not oppose, their numbers too weak against the combined bloc of Traditionalists and Neutrals and the act passed with ease.
Next, Lord Greengrass was invited to speak. Rising with quiet dignity. "Honored Wizengamot, taxation must be fair, but it must also be wise. Housese whose ventures directly benefit Magical Britain, those who fund the infostructure and research, provide healing, or secure resources should not be burdened as heavily as those who contribute little. This act proposes exemptions for such houses, chosen by a jury composed of two members of Traditionalist, Neutrals, Progressives wings of this sacred body and two senior Ministry officials. Balance is our goal, not favoritism. By ensuring these families thrive, we ensure Britain thrives." His voice carried weight, measured and precise. "It is not favoritism, it is foresight." What was clear and obivious was that Neurtals, Traditioalist and Ministry officials will choose houses who will work for themselves. Progressives were not any different in this regard, they simply lacked the backing to structure it. Politicians after all were the cancer of the world. Regardless of their origin be Mundane or magical.
The voting was swift and again, the Progressives refrained from opposing. Green light dominated the chamber.
At last, the chamber hushed as Lord Selwyn was invited. His presence was sharp, and before he even spoke, murmurs rose from the Progressive benches. He ignored them, his voice cutting clearly through the din. "We face a truth too long ignored. Muggle born witches and wizards enter our world with no grounding in our traditions, no understanding of our ways. No respect for wizardkind. Yet, they rise unchecked into positions of authority. We need to secure our roots, defend our values from the erosion. This act does not exclude them. It merely asks that they be sponsored by a pure blood house before holding a Ministry post higher than clerk. Sponsorship ensures accountability, ensures guidance, ensures that those who wield power understand the responsibilities that come with it."
The Progressives erupted at once, shouts of "Supremacist!", "Blood Purist!" and "Shame!" echoing across the chamber. Wands flashed red as the Chief Warlock thundered his own wand against the dais, the booming cracks silencing the uproar for a heartbeat. "Order!" he commanded. "You will allow Lord Selwyn to finish."
Selwyn pressed on, voice unwavering. "This is not oppression. It is protection. For centuries, traditions safeguarded us. Shall we discard them now, and allow ignorance to lead us into ruin?" His words were met with jeers and cheers alike. The chamber shook with division.
When the vote was called, half the Progressives raised red light in defiance but most Neutrals sided with the Traditionalists, tipping the balance. Ministry votes split. The Chief Warlock and Madam Bones cast red, while Fudge raised his wand in green twice. The act passed.
Gasps and mutters filled the air. For the first time in years, an act explicitly advancing blood purity had succeeded. The fractures in the chamber were stark, the line between factions sharper than ever. Arcturus Black, seated among the Traditionalists, allowed the faintest of smiles. The old wolf could see the cracks spreading through the Ministry's structure and already he was plotting how to slip loyal men and women through them.
The Chief Warlock's wand cracked against the dais once more, booming over the chamber. "Order! The session continues." But in every corner of the Wizengamot, Lords and Ladies whispered. The world had shifted that day, and all knew it.