The chamber settled once the last echo of applause died. Dumbledore adjusted the papers on his lectern and cleared his throat. "After such joyful news from two of our oldest Houses," he said, letting his gaze sweep the benches, "we return to the schedule." He paused long enough to be certain no fresh surprises would rise to challenge day's already busy schedule.
"The first matter concerns the events of yesterday and today," he continued. "Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores Jane Umbridge, stands accused of abusing her authority and of identity fraud. She issued an illegal summons for a foreign professor currently lecturing at Hogwarts. The Ministry has received formal protests from Durmstrang Institute, the Potioneers' Association, and the Charmwrights Guild. This body also records the absence of Minister Fudge. The trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge will begin after a half hour recess."
His voice carried across the hall like a cold wind. Quills scratched to record his words. The benches murmured, restless. The Chief Warlock struck the block once, and the session broke for its recess.
--
While the Wizengamot prepared itself for the spectacle of Umbridge's trial, Corvus sat behind his desk, the afternoon light spilling across his papers. The classroom door was open; the low buzz of students in the corridor drifted through. He leaned back in his chair, the Daily Prophet spread in his hands, laughter rising now and again.
Rita Skeeter's headline sprawled across the top of the front page:
PINK MENACE UNMASKED, MINISTRY IN MELTDOWN
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, is now in DMLE custody after what officials are calling "the swiftest collapse of a Ministry career in decades." Since her arrest, the Department has been flooded with letters and sworn statements from witches and wizards she once coerced, threatened, or silenced. It seems the pink frog croaked at last, and every victim she left behind is now croaking back.
"She used her title like a cudgel," one witness wrote, "and the law like a leash." The DMLE's evidence room, sources say, is straining under the sheer weight of complaints. Even the Auror Office, long thought deaf to such abuses has joined the chorus. The people of Wizarding Britain are speaking, and they are not whispering.
Skeeter's column did not end there. Durmstrang's Board of Governors has issued a formal protest, demanding an apology, explanation and threatening to recall Professor Black if Hogwarts cannot ensure his safety from rogue Aurors and fraud secretaries. The Potioneers' Association and the Charmwrights Guild have both followed suit, declaring their outrage that the youngest certified dual discipline master in the Isles has been publicly targeted by perfect demonstration of bureaucratic incompetence.
"If this is how Britain treats its talent," Skeeter wrote, "perhaps its talent should stop treating Britain." Her words sting and rightly so. The question now whispered through Diagon Alley is simple: Does Hogwarts, or the Ministry under leaderships of Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge, deserve a Professor like Corvus Black at all?"
The article ended, as always, with her signature flourish. A venomous wink from the quill.
Corvus folded the paper and set it aside, still smiling faintly. The echo of her question lingered in the air as he waited for his class to begin. The hum of the corridor softened, then quieted altogether. Fifteen minutes early, someone knocked.
"Come," Corvus said.
Harry Potter stepped inside. He walked to the front, stopped before the desk, and met Corvus's gaze without flinching.
"Professor," he said, his tone steady and cold.
--
"Professor," Potter said again, in a low but firm tone. "Can you teach me how to be strong? I don't want to feel helpless again. I… I hate that feeling. Now that I have magic, I want to be strong. I want to be able to defend myself."
Corvus watched him for a long moment. The boy's eyes carried too much memory for his age. The Troll had left a scar it seems, yet beasts came in many forms, and this one's first had worn a human face.
"Mr. Potter," he said at last, "Hogwarts shut its Combat, Dueling, and Dark Arts courses decades ago. It barely teaches which end of a wand emits a spell. In such an institution, you cannot learn to defend yourself, much less become strong. To my knowledge, your family was one of the wealthiest in Wizarding Britain. Why not hire private tutors?"
"I.. Hagrid gave me my vault key," Potter said. "The heir vault. There was gold in it."
Corvus straightened in his chair. "What do you mean, Hagrid gave you your vault key?" His voice was calm, but the words cut with precision. "Vault keys are private property. Whoever holds them owns everything within. Goblins do not question holders. They honour the key, not the name."
The boy blinked, unsure. Corvus's expression stayed tight, his tone professional, but inside he was smiling. Time to wake the lamb, slowly enough not to stir the wolf.
"Mr. Hagrid or anyone holding your vault key without your consent is a crime," he said. "I strongly advise you to contact your guardians or the DMLE to clarify matters."
"My guardians... aren't fond of magic, sir," Potter said, fidgeting with his sleeve. "They're Muggles."
"Oh," said Corvus, softly now. "Mr. Potter, your father was a pureblood and your mother a Muggleborn. That makes you a halfblood. You, as a wizard, cannot legally be kept under Muggle guardianship." He paused for effect, then drew a breath. "You are a distant relative of mine, Mr. Potter. Your Grandmother was a Black."
Potter's eyes widened.
"I will see who decided to leave you in the care of Muggles," Corvus said, his tone sharpening. "There is someone listed as your magical guardian, and from what you've said, that person has failed his duty. I will pen a letter to the DMLE immediately, and you will witness it. Let us see who deemed the Boy Who Lived fit for a muggle home instead of a magical one." His gaze held the boy's, steady and knowing. A faint brush of Legilimency confirmed what he already knew. Years of abuse, quiet misery, cruelties that shaped the polite voice and the guarded eyes. Even after all these the boy still was a hopeless naive. Not an ounce of sharpness or selfishness in those eyes. Fates were cruel mistresses indeed and potter was their bitch through and through. He decided to poke the spider web around this naive boy.
Harry met his stare, feeling something shift inside him, fear and relief tangled tight. For the first time, an adult's anger was on his side.
Corvus took up an elegant black feathered quill, dark as midnight. He wrote in quick strokes. A request for inquiry into why the vault key of House Potter's heir had passed through other hands without the knowledge of the owner, why a magical child had been abandoned to Muggles and finally, that as a relative, he urged an expedited investigation. When the ink dried under a silent charm, he rolled the parchment.
A raven swooped through the open window, landing neatly on his desk. "Meet Umbra," Corvus said. "My raven and the best wingman anyone could ask for." The bird cawed once, then tilted its head as if nodding. Corvus tied the letter to its leg. "Deliver this to Madam Bones, Head of the DMLE." Umbra launched skyward after nodding, feathers glinting in the light.
Corvus turned back to Harry. "Now, Mr. Potter, I understand why you call me Professor instead of Heir Black." He summoned Tibby with a snap. "Bring me the book titled Wizarding Etiquette please." The elf returned quickly, holding a worn, leather bound volume.
Corvus handed it to Potter. "This book is for you, and you alone. Not your house mates, nor for your friends. Study it. Learn it. Understand it. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Harry said before he could think. Professor Black was a stern teacher who expected discipline and obedience. These traits of his was learned quickly after the Weasly fiasko.
"Good." Corvus rose from his chair. "Do not speak of this conversation to anyone yet. Not your friends, not your teachers. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Corvus dismissed him with a gesture. He watched the Potter Heir walk in silence, clutching the book as if it was a promise.
--
The doors of the Wizengamot chamber opened with a heavy creak, and two Aurors entered, each holding an arm of Dolores Jane Umbridge. The pink of her cardigan seemed garish against the gray stone. Her small, toad like eyes darted left and right as they escorted her to the center chair. When they forced her to sit, the chains that hung from the carved arms slithered to life, snapping around her wrists and ankles with metallic finality. The sound echoed through the vaulted chamber, sharp and cold. The members of the Wizengamot fell silent.
The Minister's seat remained empty even after the recess. Dumbledore's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He inclined his head toward Amelia Bones. "Director Bones," he said, voice even, "please send an Auror to check on Minister Fudge."
An Auror left the chambers upon her gesture. Amelia Bones rose from her place. Her cloak shifted, revealing the crimson lining of the DMLE. The monocle glinted as she turned. She was a stern woman, built of principles and conviction and this room, this Ministry was not where she found peace. Too often she had watched bribed hands signing pardons, guilty witches walking free, and smirking wizards thanking her for their release. But today was different.
The creature chained before her was not clever enough to steer clear of ancient houses. Dolores Jane Umbridge, petty, ambitious, cruel. Her power had never come from strength but from sycophancy. She had bullied the weak and served the powerful, climbing the Ministry ladder on other people's bones. The pink lace at her throat trembled as she breathed.
"Dolores Jane Umbridge," Amelia said, stepping to the center of the chamber. Her voice carried clearly through the hall. "You stand accused of coercion, corruption, threats against citizens of the realm, and identity fraud. Our records show you have claimed blood status you do not possess, and abused your office to advance yourself and your allies. Do you deny these charges?"
"I.. Director Bones.. surely there must be some mistake," Umbridge stammered, her voice sugary, the edges fraying. "I have always served the Ministry faithfully.."
"You will answer directly," Amelia cut in. "Do you deny the charges?"
"I deny them all," Umbridge squeaked.
Amelia gave a small nod to a clerk, who stepped forward holding a small vial of clear liquid. The light caught it and threw a silver glint across the chamber.
"Veritaserum will be administered," Amelia said.
The toad's eyes went wide. Until that moment, she had believed herself untouchable. She looked around for support, lips twitching for familiar faces. Her gaze found Lucius Malfoy. He rose, pale and precise.
"The administration of Veritaserum without prior approval of the wizengamot," he said smoothly, "is highly irregular."
Murmurs rippled through the benches. Arcturus Black, who had been silent until now, turned his head slowly toward the Traditionalist wing. His eyes were cold, sharp as glass.
"This woman will talk," he said. "And this wing will support the use of Veritaserum." His tone was calm, the kind of calm that warned of storms. "I suggest you think twice next time you dispute something beneficial to us."
Lucius's mouth opened and closed once. His gray eyes flickered toward the chained figure, then to the cold stone under his feet. He inclined his head, a small, jerky nod.
"Excellent," Arcturus said. He leaned back, the faintest smile ghosting across his mouth as Amelia uncorked the vial.
The potion gleamed as it met Umbridge's tongue. She tried to struggle, for a long threee seconds. There were spells for such idiocy. The silence in the chamber deepened until the only sound was the soft rattle of the enchanted chains.
Arcturus leaned forward, satisfaction flickering behind the stillness of his face. He let his voice drop to a mutter meant for himself alone. "Spineless shit stain," he said, and settled into his chair again.