Chaos seized the group as soon as the Slytherin girls explained the legal and ancestral implications of a Retribution Duel. Panic spread like wildfire; [Messages] flew relentlessly, flooding the communication channels. They weren't just looking for me; in their desperation, they tried to contact anyone who could serve as a bridge: Gemma, Hannah, and even Tonks, with whom they had barely exchanged a word in the past.
To their surprise, the response was immediate. All three replied almost in unison.
Hannah was the first to respond. With great serenity, she assured them that everything would be fine. She gave no details on how her messages managed to break the one-day time barrier that usually delayed communications; she simply asked them to trust. For Hannah, there was no force in this world capable of surpassing me, and her blind faith acted as a balm for the group's nerves.
Gemma and Tonks maintained a similar line, though in their own styles. Gemma adopted a warm, almost maternal tone, lulling the girls' fears with kind words and taking the opportunity to catch up, making up for the time they had spent apart. Tonks, by contrast, kept up her "cool girl" facade. Between jokes and reassurances that the situation was under control, she dropped a bombshell directed specifically at the youngest Weasley: she warned Ginny to get ready, for the following day, she too would have to step onto the stage.
Although the mystery of my whereabouts remained intact, the girls managed to regain their composure. Only Ginny remained deep in thought, processing the specific instructions and tactical advice Tonks had whispered to her through the chats.
...
The appointed day had arrived, and the air in the wizarding world vibrated with tension.
Lucius Malfoy had not been sitting idly by. Before the meeting, he had stormed into Hogwarts to demand explanations from Dumbledore, attempting to use the scandal of the duel and the mystery of the petrifications as leverage to remove him from his post. Not content with that, he had met with Draco, interrogating him with intensity to uncover any detail about his "adversary." Lucius sought total victory, both in the field of honor and in politics.
The morning at the Ministry of Magic began under a mask of normalcy, but the murmur in the Atrium was different. Officials lingered at their posts longer than usual, and gazes constantly drifted toward the Floo Network fireplaces. Everyone was waiting for a spectacle that would define the gossip and anecdotes for years to come.
Lucius and Narcissa appeared early. They emerged from the green flames with a frigid elegance, wearing robes of dark silk and that air of untouchable nobility that characterized them. Without sparing a glance for the crowd, they advanced with a firm step toward the Minister's office.
Shortly after, Arthur and Molly arrived via the same route. The contrast was painful. There was no trace of the Malfoys' haughtiness; only raw, human concern etched onto their faces. Under the scrutiny of hundreds of pairs of eyes, the Weasleys felt self-conscious, almost like intruders in their own place of work. They didn't know if Red would actually show up; on one hand, his absence would be an irreparable public humiliation, but on the other, they preferred shame to seeing their son in a blood duel against the might of the Malfoys.
Arthur, driven by desperation, tried to head for Fudge's office to plead for his intercession, hoping the Minister would stop this madness. However, fate had other plans: in the middle of the Atrium, both families came face to face.
"Lucius," Arthur murmured, stopping dead as tension tightened his shoulders.
"Arthur... I see you have finally decided to show your face," Lucius drawled with frigid mockery. "I admit you surprise me; I didn't think you had the courage to appear after the insolence your son committed. Although, come to think of it, with the precarious education you provide them, it is no wonder they act like savages."
"Be quiet, Lucius! Don't you dare speak about my children that way!" Arthur shouted, though a trace of nervousness betrayed his lack of confidence. "Red is just... confused. Something must have happened to him in Brazil. This business of a duel between families is a mistake, it's not something that..."
"It is not something for you to decide," Lucius interrupted, taking a step forward as his silver cane struck the floor with a sharp echo. "The honor of my family has been publicly insulted, Weasley. I will not allow you to withdraw without paying the fair price."
Arthur's heart constricted with a pang of panic, a feeling reflected with equal intensity in Molly's eyes. What they feared most was precisely this: that Lucius would validate the challenge under the Old Laws. In those blood rites, the outcome was not just a loss of reputation, but financial ruin or, in the worst case, death. Although the Weasleys were used to austerity, the idea of their children being treated as social pariahs was an overwhelming weight—yet still preferable to the bloody fate such duels usually sealed. Most alarming was the presence of Minister Fudge, who stood beside Lucius in a complicit silence; his neutrality was a lie—he had already chosen a side.
"Lucius, for Merlin's sake, understand that he is just a boy!" Arthur pleaded, trying to find a crack of empathy in the aristocrat's armor. "If Draco committed a similar imprudence, would you really take it seriously? Would you punish an entire family for a youthful outburst?"
"My son would never commit a stupidity of such caliber," Narcissa intervened from her husband's side, her voice as cold as marble. "He has been educated according to the standards of his lineage."
"Quite so, Arthur. One reaps what one sows," Lucius declared with ill-disguised contempt. "However, fear not, I do not intend to lower myself to the level of a child. I will not soil my hands personally, but your family will pay the price. I believe the time has come for the name Weasley to be struck from the Sacred Twenty-Eight."
The Weasleys gasped. Although the relief of knowing Lucius wasn't seeking an immediate execution gave them a moment's respite, the threat of social exclusion and political ruin was a devastating blow. But above all, they were gnawed by uncertainty regarding the whereabouts and mental state of Red, the son who had lit this fuse.
"Young people often make mistakes in the effervescence of their youth. They are often unaware of the gravity of their actions until the damage is already done."
An ancient, serene voice resonated across the Atrium, cutting through the tension like a bell. Everyone—the Minister, the Malfoys, the Weasleys, and the growing crowd of onlookers—turned their heads. Albus Dumbledore advanced slowly, his star-studded blue robes billowing behind him, wearing that expression of unshakeable benevolence that characterized him.
The Atrium was no longer empty. Members of prominent families and high-ranking officials had congregated in the shadows of the pillars to witness the event. A formal duel between Pureblood lineages was a relic of the past, a macabre spectacle that many wanted to witness out of political interest or simple morbid curiosity.
"Albus!" Molly exclaimed, breaking into sobs as she approached the old man. "Please, help us find Red. He... he doesn't know what he's done, he doesn't understand the danger he's put himself in..."
"Calm yourself, Molly. Everything will find its course," Dumbledore replied, placing a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder, though his eyes, hidden behind his half-moon spectacles, scanned the Atrium for something that had not yet manifested.
"Dumbledore? Here?" Lucius hissed the words with barely contained disdain. "Do you not have a school to watch over, or have the corridors of Hogwarts become too dull for you?"
In his robe pocket, Lucius stroked the parchment ordering Albus's dismissal. He planned to present it at the exact moment the scandal reached its peak, burying the old man's reputation along with that of the Weasleys.
"I am watching over one of my wayward students, Lucius... That too is my duty as Headmaster," Dumbledore replied, maintaining a calm that seemed to irritate Malfoy more than any insult.
"If you taught your students better, we wouldn't be in this situation," Lucius huffed, turning his gaze toward the Minister.
Cornelius Fudge, who had remained in the background, noticed how Dumbledore's presence was beginning to eclipse his own. Decided to reclaim his authority and use the incident to discredit the Headmaster, Fudge stepped forward. However, before he could utter the first word of his prepared speech, an employee burst into the circle, breathless.
"Minister!" the man cried out, his voice cracking under the gaze of those present. "The boy... the one from last time... he's here. He's brought... he's brought bodyguards."
The Atrium's attention shifted like a tide toward the main entrance. The Weasleys, ignoring the Minister's presence, ran desperately toward it.
And there I was.
I advanced slowly through the Atrium, wrapped in an impeccable tactical formation. I was surrounded by two security perimeters composed of witches and wizards wearing expressionless masks and holding their wands high. The inner square, made up of four elite guards, moved within inches of me; the second, outer circle kept the crowd and onlookers outside the designated perimeter with military precision.
"Nicholas!" Molly screamed, running straight toward me with eyes full of tears.
As she tried to break the formation, the guards of the outer perimeter raised a vibrating energy barrier that stopped her dead in her tracks, blocking her path.
"Mom!" I said, feeling a pang of regret at seeing her desperate face. "Everything is fine. Please... just stay out of it for now."
"Red!" my father roared. He wasn't impulsive enough to try and push through the magical barrier; he simply held my mother, his face a mix of fury and anguish. "What the hell are you doing?! Get over here right now!"
"I'm sorry, Dad," I replied with a note of apology in my voice, but without my steps faltering. "But this is something I have to finish on my own."
I stopped short when the distance between Lucius, Fudge, and Dumbledore narrowed to a few meters. My eight guards tensed in unison, forming a wall between the authorities of the wizarding world and me.
"Boy! What do you think you're doing?!" Fudge shouted, his face turning a purplish red. "Aurors! Come at once and detain these troublemakers! Do you think you can enter the Ministry with wands raised and go unpunished?"
"We are not troublemakers!" My voice, projected with a subtle magical reinforcement, swept through the Atrium until it reached every corner. "This is my personal guard, present to protect me until the Judgment of Honor is held. They are high-level protection and security specialists, all of them from the special services of 'The Dragons of Albion.'"
I paused deliberately, and my expression shifted from absolute severity to a cordial, PR-friendly smile.
"A spectacular establishment with much to offer: from fine dining, jewelry, and advanced alchemy, to research and, of course, elite security among many other things... I highly recommend them to you."
"What...?" Confusion was general. The crowd blinked, thrown off by the sheer audacity of the advertisement in the middle of such a situation. But Fudge, feeling ignored, regained the thread of his fury.
"Aurors! I said detain them all!" the Minister reiterated, desperate to reassert his authority.
"Fudge!" Dumbledore warned with sharp seriousness.
"Minister, please!" Arthur pleaded, fearing a spark would start a disaster in the Atrium.
"I cannot believe the Minister of Magic is failing to protect our oldest laws," I said, letting a tone of deep contempt color my words. "Does the Ministry plan to subdue the Pureblood families and trample upon their traditions? Do you intend to put your bureaucracy before our most sacred rules?" I draped myself in an aura of solemnity and grandeur, tilting my chin to look at Fudge with moral superiority. "Do you not respect our traditions, Cornelius? Do you plan to trample our honor in front of everyone?"