Aurors moved before the ink dried. Orders came with the Minister's and Director's seals, and the atrium turned into a relay of parchment, steel, and quiet purpose. Runners took sealed scrolls. Hit wizards checked buckles and holsters. Senior clerks lit the message lamps and sent owls by the dozen. Ministry elves popped in and out with locations of the targets they were asked to find without alerting any of them. Names from every department went to ground. Suspect addresses were marked, not knocked. Doors took a soft tap of a wand and a shimmer of blue that only a trained eye could see. No one spooked the quarry.
Glenross never saw the net. He and the few he had left were flagged the moment the Aurors noticed where the owl was headed. The bird was called back, and the site was put under constant surveillance. The Department of Mysteries sent specialists to locate and identify every ward put in suspicious places. A dicta quill recorded movements without pause.
Two sites drew heavier attention. Vauxhall Cross, with its glass and angles, and Wellington Barracks, with its parade shine and whispers under the stone. Survey teams set to work. The first pass did not notice anything. The second, a more detailed search, found rune plates surrounding the barracks. The results spoke for themselves. Layers of concealment sat on all the sites. One lattice to mute magical signatures. Another to nudge the eye away, the common Notice Me Not we expect in a magical alley, not on a crown building. A low grade repellent to send wandering Muggles to other streets. The work was careful, not perfect, but enough to let them stay hidden, at least until now.
No one breached. Orders were clear. "Map it. Do not touch the anchors. Do not wake their ward keepers." The Unspeakables traced feed lines through the city like a nav chart. Every line got a mark. Every mark took a watcher. The question on the board read plainly. Does the Director of MI6 know?
--
Harry sat on the visitors' bench with Neville. The Wizengamot worked. He was not surprised that there were traitors among them. Nor was he surprised they were all Muggleborns. Magicals and Muggles were like oil and water; they will not and cannot mix and live in peace. Segregation was the answer for both worlds' peace and safety. If his thirteen year old mind was able to understand such a basic reality, he wondered how some adults were not getting it. Different cultures, beliefs and people cannot live and share the same space peacefully. It simply won't work. History was full of lessons just like their new history professor explained. Muggles had hunted, killed and discriminated against Magicals on every opportunity they could find. Only times of peace were when Magicals decided to use some destructive spells or were hidden completely. It was a clear lesson within itself. He shook his head. This was not why he was here today.
Robes whispered. Quills scratched. He kept his hands on his knees to stop the shaking.
Neville leaned in. "Breathe." A calm word, not a lecture. Harry breathed. He wanted Sirius to have that shite eating grin and a bark of laughter. He wanted Aunt Alice to press a hand to his cheek and tell him it would be all right. Wants do not write the day.
They had seen each other an hour earlier. Frank Longbottom had come, uniform straight, face open. Alice had stood beside him with a small smile that did not hold. This was the first time he met them. Both had greeted Harry like kin. He had felt his chest hitch. He had bowed instead of folding into the touch.
Etiquette first, he had told Sirius the same in a plain tone that the proper address was Heir Potter or Mr Potter, not Harry or Pup. He had said the same to Lady Longbottom. Two simple lines. Two sets of wet eyes. Neville had glared at him, then hugged his mother and glared again. Harry had sat there, cold and confused at the strength of their grief over a rule he had only just learned to keep. Why would they get so emotional when he asked to follow Wizarding Customs?
He kept thinking of Heir Black. The private lessons. The firm hand on his shoulder when his focus slipped. The ritual he did... Harry corrected himself, 'Conducted' for him. The healing of his whole body, eyesight included. The removal of the scars the Dursleys had left on his back as a reminder of what the Muggles will do if you give them power over Magicals. He had grown since then. No scar on his forehead to brand him for a killing attempt at the age of one. He was taller now, stronger, wiser and colder. He ran in the mornings now because Heir Black told him a healthy body is a signature of self respect. He lifted because Heir Black told him that stronger muscles would help him in the long run. He studied because the new schedule left no room for idleness.
Corvus Black was closer to him both as an Instructor and Kin. He did not know Sirius Black or Alice Longbottom. He was past the time when he needed a mother or a father figure. Only in his dreams, while crying in a small dark cupboard under the stairs, did he wish for someone to rescue him from pain, hunger and cruelty. Yet those times were gone.
"Next," Chief Warlock Selwyn said from the dais.
Director Bones set down a red folder on the reading desk. She spoke for the record. "The will of James and Lily Potter. To be opened and read."
Harry watched her break the Potter seal. Red wax split under a steady thumb. The parchment slid free. She scanned the first lines, then raised her head and read in a clear voice. Occlumency smoothed her face to a mask. If grief lived there, it lived behind that mask. He would not have noticed a year ago. He noticed now.
Sirius stood at the rail, shoulders tight. He did not fidget. He stared. Alice stood on the other side, hands folded, chin high. Neville eased back onto the bench and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Everything changes," Neville said quietly. Not a promise, but a fact.
Harry stared at the parchment in Madame Bones's hands and tried to keep his breath even. The words in them belonged to two people he could not even remember. Yet they would decide where he slept and with whom he broke bread. They would say who had failed him and who would be made to answer for it.
--
Amelia steadied the parchment. No flourish. She read cleanly, letting the words do the hurt.
"To my brave son,"
Benches creaked. Harry kept still. Neville edged closer until their shoulders touched.
"If you are reading this, we did not make it. I hope Sirius and Alice gave you the kind of childhood we joked about. Your mum and I have a bet. I say Sirius will have you flying before you can walk. Your mum says Alice will pinch you from him and raise you beside Neville. I think I am right. She thinks she always is.
There is a prophecy. Dumbledore brought it. He did not give us all of it, but it points at you and Neville. Bad news, I know. Your dad is not running. Frank is not either. We fight. We stand with our friends. If the worst happens, that is why I am writing this.
"Be strong. Be true. Be brave. Your mum will say the sensible things. I am saying the loud thing. I love you, little lion.
James Charlus Potter.
Your father."
Sirius leaned on the rail and laughed once without sound. He dragged a hand over his eyes. Alice's mouth tilted, proud and pained. Frank stayed standing with the neutrals, chin up, eyes on Neville and Harry.
Amelia lifted the second sheet.
"My dearest,"
The chamber drew in. The ink on Lily's hand moved in Amelia's voice, steady and exact.
"I kissed your cheek before I came to write this. I hope you will never have to read it, and those senseless jokes your father and Sirius make will come true; we all will read and laugh at these lines.
Your father and I agreed not to see what the other wrote.
There is a war, my dear. It has lasted years. We never thought it would come to this point. Dumbledore brought us a prophecy that names you and Neville. The Dark Lord hunts you both. That is why we hid. Alice and Frank trusted the defences of their manor. Dumbledore pressed us to do more. We live under Fidelius since.
Your father and Sirius chose Peter as Secret Keeper. I argued for Remus and lost the vote, two to one.
If the worst comes, do not spend your life on revenge. I want you to live, my love. Live like we could not. If what I fear comes true, you are to go to Alice and Frank. Know this: Alice loves you as she loves Neville. I love you both the same. She is your godmother. I am Neville's. James is his godfather. Do not ask me why Sirius is yours when the logical choice was Frank. Hopefully, you'll be able to ask this of your father yourself when Sirius makes some of his Serious-Sirius jokes. Consider them your family. If they cannot take you, Edgar Bones has agreed to be your guardian. He and his wife have two children. You will be safe with them. You also have Sirius and Remus.
You are not to live with Petunia Dursley. She may be my sister, but she is a monster. She and her husband hate magic. Under no circumstances are you to be given to them. Dumbledore assured me that it would not happen.
The inheritance of the Potter line is yours, my love. The main vault is sealed until you come of age. The heir's vault will hold two thousand galleons, renewed each Halloween. Holdings, deeds, and other vaults are listed in a separate folder. A copy has been given to Dumbledore.
He has read this will. He is our witness that James and I wrote in a sound mind and of our own will.
Know this, my little sunshine: I am proud of you. Whoever you become. Whatever you choose. I am proud of you, Harry. I am sorry we could not stay. I will always love you.
Mom"
Harry repeated the words in a whisper, "consider them your family."
"Everything changes," Neville said quietly and hugged Harry with all his might.
--
The seal of decision settled over the chamber like a ward taking hold. Custody of Harry James Potter to Alice and Frank Longbottom, in accordance with the will. Quills recorded the ruling.
Harry looked first to Alice. Tears stood bright on her lashes. She did not wipe them. She inclined her head to him the way a lady greets family. Across the well, Frank straightened and gave a single, steady nod. Only acceptance. Neville's arm slid around Harry's shoulders and pulled him close for a brief, firm hug. A brother, Harry thought, and the thought did not feel borrowed.
Up on the visitors' rail, Sirius managed a crooked smile. It held sorrow and a promise. He touched two fingers to his brow in a small salute and let his hand fall.
"Next," Chief Warlock Selwyn called.
Amelia Bones stepped to the centre and lifted the next folder. "Trials of members of the organisation styled the Order of the Phoenix." Her voice carried clean to the last seat.
Molly Weasley and Arthur Weasley came through the arch with two Aurors. The chairs rose at the floor's command. Chains coiled and settled. Amelia did not sit.
"Your pleas, and do you consent to Veritaserum?"
Arthur bowed his head. "Guilty of membership. I consent."
Molly's jaw set. "Not guilty. I do not consent."
Two phials uncorked. Two phials were poured. The questions were plain.
"Service rendered to the Order."
Arthur's answer was workmanlike. Patrols, escort duties at the order of Albus Dumbledore. Nothing more. No private errands nor any secret brief.
Verdict: guilty of service in an unlawful company. Mitigations recorded. Released to his post under bond and censure. The chamber's mood was clear. There were seven children and no appetite to break a household when the father had bled against Death Eaters.
Molly's turn cut colder. Veritaserum gleamed on her tongue. Amelia's questions did not wander.
"Brewed what?"
"Love draughts, compulsion blends," Molly answered, voice flat under the potion. "For matches he sees fit."
"For whom?"
"Where he pointed. Muggle born to pure blood. Names were given by Dumbledore."
A stir went through the benches. Dicta quills paused. The list of illicit brews grew. She, as a housewife, was not suitable for field work; hence, Dumbledore used her to brew illicit potions so that he did not answer Severus' questions. Only a kitchen turned into a quiet factory. Her sentence came swiftly. Three months in the low security ward at Azkaban. She found her voice when the antidote was administered and tried to spit fire at the chamber. "Dark wizards, the lot of you. He is the saviour of..."
"Order," Selwyn said, and the warded manacles tightened. He increased the term to six months. Her outburst died immediately. The Aurors led her through the arch. The door shut behind her with a final sound.
"Next."
Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall entered together. Weeks in custody had stripped them of polish. Snape's robes hung loose, hair lank, a bruise yellowing under one eye. Must be a former student from one of the three houses.
McGonagall's tartan was gone, replaced by Ministry grey; the set of her mouth stayed iron.
"Your pleas and consent to Veritaserum."
McGonagall lifted her chin. "Guilty of membership. I consent."
Snape's eyes stayed on the floor a beat too long. "Guilty. I do not consent."
The questioning split from there. With the phial taken, Minerva's account was spare. Recruitment dinners, safe houses and fights with Death Eaters. She did not ask for mercy. Her punishment was to the life she knew. She was to be kept from any post with charge over children. The bench granted it. Barred from school authority for life. She decided to go back to the lands of her clan. She bowed once to the chamber, face unreadable, and let the chains fall away.
Snape chose a contract over the potion; his excuse was his Occlumency shields. His interrogation was harsh. First Marking. Raids run as a very young man at the summons of a monster. The faded brand on his forearm was proof enough that the monster was failing. He did not ask forgiveness. He did not pretend to heroism. He asked for work.
Verdict: five years in Ministry custody, brewing under guard for the Healer Corps and DMLE. No wand in public. No contact with students. He closed his eyes for a long second when the sentence was read, then nodded once as if that had been the hope.
Trials rolled on. Shopkeepers. A scribe from Diagon. Two Hit Wizards. Names from every tier. The day thinned toward evening.
"Alastor Moody."
The veteran came in between two Aurors but did not lean on them. Years had taken one eye and given him another that whirled in its socket. He stood square in the chair. The chains lay on his wrists like bracers.
"Plea and Consent to Veritaserum."
"Aye," he said. "I consent. No plea."
The potion blurred on his tongue. Questions followed.
"Why did you join?"
"Ministry was crooked," he said. "Dark wizards were running lanes. There was a need for wands in the night."
"Did you know of Dumbledore's other acts?"
"No." A hard swallow. "Had I known, I would have stopped him." He turned his head toward Amelia. "I hunt dark wizards, lass. I do not help them."
Sentence: three years of binding service to the Auror Office. One hundred recruits to be trained each year to DMLE's elite standard. He grimaced. "Prison would be quieter," he muttered, and the gallery almost smiled.
When the final gavel fell, the chamber shifted to its quieter business. A thin line formed below the dais. Witches and wizards with sleeves tugged low and eyes that would not meet the light. Seven of the rose from the Conservative benches, then another three from the Neutrals. Old marks burned beneath old skin. They came to seek a new and safe shore because the old had sunk.
Selwyn received them one by one at the lower rail, parchment clerks at his elbow. He lifted his eyes once across the floor to Corvus Black. Corvus gave a small nod.
Selwyn turned the line. "My Lords and Ladies, please follow me to a meeting room." Once he was in and the rest followed, he addressed them. "You seek severance, and you seek it lawfully. It can be done. It will not be cheap. You will swear oaths. You will pay reparations if you want that brand on your forearms to be gone." He showed his own. "You will submit to the terms set before you when the time comes. If you accept this, stand to the left. If not, you are free to leave."
No one withdrew. Names were taken. The price would hurt them as it had hurt him and the others.
Harry watched the back of Alice's hand as she gripped the rail, the last of her tears drying there. Neville nudged him once more and gave him a look that said they were leaving together.
Corvus left the chamber as well with a focused look in his eyes. His destination was the Department of Mysteries. He needed Lab Assistants.