Potter was not expecting to be summoned by Headmistress Rosier as he was just leaving the Transfiguration class. He went to the seventh floor, climbed the spiral stairs and counted each one to keep his hands still. The oak door waited. two knocks to the wood and wait. The sharp voice of Headmistress Roseier invited him in.
The room was not the round he had heard about from older students. It opened long and rectangular, stone of the walls in a dark shade that drank the light. Portraits of stern men and women stood in a single file along the right wall, frames even, eyes half closed and watchful. Shelves ran the left side and held tomes that looked as if they could bite. A narrow fireplace burned a steadialy. Beyond it a desk of dark wood sat clean of clutter. Behind the desk a stair climbed into shadow. Private rooms, he guessed.
Headmistress Rosier watched him come to heel. A hooded figure sat across from her, still as a pin driven into cork. No way to tell if it was a man or a woman, only the neat hands folded on the lap and the patience in the way the shoulders did not move.
"Closer, Mr Potter." The Headmistress flicked two fingers toward the strip of rug before the desk. "This lady is from the Department of Mysteries."
The hood dipped in a small nod to Vinda and then to him. "If you will be so kind as to give us some privacy, Headmistress." The voice carried an authority that was used to being obeyed.
Vinda did not move from her chair. "No. He is a student under my care. You may speak with him here. Or you may wait for the reading of the Potter will and try your questions with his guardians present."
Harry's breath slipped. The answer landed like a ward line set in stone to protect him. He understood, with a small jolt, why Heir Black had spoken of this woman with respect.
He stepped to the rug. The hooded figure rose. The height did not threaten. The presence however, did.
"I would like to examine the scar on your forehead, Mr Potter." A gloved hand tilted toward his brow. "Some simple diagnostic spells."
Panic scraped up his throat before he could stop it. If something went wrong, if there was still any residue from the ritual, Heir Black would count it against him. Trust was a narrow bridge. He had set his foot on it and did not intend to slip.
His fingers almost lifted to the faded line. He kept them down.
Vinda's gaze did not leave the hood. "The spells will not harm him." She stated more as a command.
"They will not," the Unspeakable answered. "You have my word. Plus I doubt my chances against you Headmistress, she chuckled. "
Harry nodded once. "All right."
The wand appeared in her hand between one beat and the next. Light touched the scar like a cold steel. A string of charms moved the air. "Corpus Revelare. Maleficum Trace. Anima Vestigium. Sanguis Linea." Colours showed and sank again. Threads nosed toward his brow and burned to smoke before they found purchase. A faint echo rang behind his eyes, then went quiet.
"Strange," the Unspeakable murmured, more to her memory than to either of them. She circled him once, slow and careful, as if his skin carried a map only she could see.
She lowered the wand. "Sit please, Mr Potter." She gestured to the chair set to the right.
Potter did so. The chair was softer than it looked. He watched Vinda's hands rest on her desk, fingers loose, skin pale against the dark wood. The portraits along the wall had roused adn were watching with interest. A few peered as if they could step out of their frames.
The hooded figure took the other chair and sat neatly into it. The wand lay along the fingers like a quill at ease.
"When did the scar heal," she asked, gaze on his brow rather than his eyes.
"Last week," he managed. "Madam."
A small tilt of the hood accepted the answer. Her hand moved once through the air as if setting a marker only she could see. "There are signatures of rites," she said, tone even. "Cleansing, Binding, Healing and Purification. Whoever worked them knew what they were doing."
Heat crept into his ears. He knew he swore an oath but was not sure how solid it was. He started to move his gaze to anything other than where the eyes should be in the darkness of the hood. He wanted to be trusted more than he wanted to be clever.
Vinda's attention stayed on the Unspeakable.
The hood inclined. "I would like to know." The wand tapped the arm of the chair once, a soft sound. "When were the rituals of purification and healing performed, Mr Potter. And more importantly, by whom."
The fire shifted and settled. The portraits held still and listened. The long room waited on his answer.
--
It has been a while the order to suspend ICW activity had gone out. Since then, every badge and clerk that wore their seal lived under a quiet net. DMLE tracked their posts. Ward keys logged their doors. Auror teams shadowed the bigger fish in plain robes and kept lists that grew cleanly.
Hence, when a letter with the Confederation crest touched the Ministry post table, the ward chimed and informed multiple personel at once. It did not take long for the letter to reach Amelia Bones. She lifted it with tongs especially enchanted to deal with suspicious items sent by untrusworthy parties, turned it to the light, and pared it with a detection charm until the glow lay flat. No hex. No latch. She stood and went to the Minister's office. At the entrance of the corridor she inclined her head to Ignatia Travers, who rose without asking why.
They entered Arcturus Black's office together. The shutters cut the winter glare to a civil dim. The Minister's quill paused over a map of ports and floos as they entered. He rose an eyebrow upon seeing Director Bones.
"Confederation seal," Amelia said, and set the letter on the blotter.
Arcturus did not touch it at once. He watched the wax for a heartbeat and let his thoughts move ahead of the room. He had expected noise. He had hoped for it to be honest. The cleanest victories rode in on a foe's overreach. A public that could be herded through its villains actions would understand a threat in black ink far better than a lecture on sovereign law. Morals made good banners when they were written for you by your enemies.
He broke the seal with his thumb and read. The first lines wore the calm of a banker. Sanctions on trade and finance. Suspension of travel permissions. A demand to return ICW staff currently under restriction. The tone rose a step by the third page. Return Albus Dumbledore to an external court. Produce the files gathered by the alleged accusations. Allow an international panel.
Arcturus let the parchment lie and felt the corner of his mouth lift slightly. Reckless, desperate or something else he was not able to notice.
"Director," he said, eyes still on the letter. "What is our present count of ICW personnel on British soil."
"Fourty seven named," Amelia answered. "Nineteen operational. Twenty eight clerical or liaison. All under watch. Three tried to portkey yesterday and were blocked."
Ignatia's quill hovered, waiting for command.
"Record," Arcturus said at last. The tone would travel as an order when it reached paper. "Effective immediately, Wizarding Britain designates the International Confederation of Wizards a terrorist organisation under domestic law. All ICW staff and field agents in our jurisdiction are to be detained and remanded to Azkaban pending inquiry." He did not look up. "Note that Ministry holding cells are… unfortunately full."
Ignatia wrote. The quill moved like a blade.
Arcturus went on. "Seize all ICW assets within our soil. Suspend their floo rights and portkey privileges. Break their local safehouses. Post warrants at the atrium and at every entrance to Gringotts. The bank will comply or declare its position."
Amelia stood a shade straighter. "Use of force."
"Proportionate," Arcturus said. "Clerks and couriers are to be taken without injury if they offer no resistance. Aurors and Hit Wizards wearing ICW colours who resist are to be neutralized, cleanly. Authorise lethal force if they show any resistance. I will sign the paper."
Amelia held the floor. "Minister, this will escalate the situation beyond return. They will make a case of it in every chamber that still listens to them."
"Do you not see their threats Director? We do not govern in their chambers," Arcturus said. "We govern here. They put it in writing that they will take a prisoner from our custody and put our departments on trial. Should I leave this on my desk, allowing them to dictate how we run our own country? When have you become so timid? We will move now, If you need more personel, there are some Vampires from the covens. They stand ready and already under oath to serve." He tapped the letter with his wand and a copy of it appeared next to it.
Ignatia lifted the first sheet of the copy. "Distribution list?" She asked.
"Everyone," Arcturus said. "Prophet, Gazette, the Istanbul Bureau, Delhi, Johannesburg, Tokyo. Attach the Confederation's threats and how they do not recognize our independency in full. Add my orders as the answer to such disrespect beneath it. Let the proud magicals see what ICW is really made of."
"Understood."
Amelia's eyes returned to the sanction page. "Gringotts will stall. They always do."
"Not this time," Arcturus said. "I am confident they will not only support us, but react as well. Prepare teams to be deployed to every port."
A ward bell thudded somewhere far down the corridor. Ignatia paused, listening. She went to her desk and returned after a short while. "Atrium report," she said. "Two ICW badges at the gate. Our desk sent them to Waiting Three. Auror pair en route."
"Good," Arcturus said. "Have the desk fetch tea for them. Then take the cups away when the cuffs go on."
Amelia allowed the smallest upward tick at the corner of her mouth. "Really, Minister. I hope our houses will never stand against each other." She stated and meant it.
He signed the first parchment Ignatia slid under his hand and then the second and third. Seals bit. Wax cooled. Orders became facts.
"Anything else," Amelia asked, still careful.
"Yes," Arcturus said. "Travel from any country that has not suspended ICW operations towards Wizarding Britain to be treated as hostile movement until revoked. Rise wards of the grounds for mass ingress."
Ignatia stacked the copies, blew the sand, and handed the bundles to waiting owls. Wings beat once and were gone into the Ministry draft.
"Director," he said without turning, "see to it."
Amelia bowed her head. "It will be done."
"Ignatia, send me updates every two hours."
"Yes, Minister."
Arcturus stood. The private hearth in the back of the room waited. He took a palm of powder and weighed it a moment, feeling the shape of the next hour.
He threw the powder. "Headmistress' office, Hogwarts." The flames rose and he stepped forward into their cool heat. The room fell back and the office vanished.
---
A/N
Rise of Black Chooses a Slow Burn
by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Quills down, darlings. This reporter can confirm the mysterious wizard behind Rise of Black articles will trade the frantic daily dash for a very civil every two days rhythm. Before you swoon into your teacups, note that patience brings sharper intrigue, glossier scandal, and fewer ink blots. Sources whisper that the Minister approves, the elves cheer, and the cast demands its beauty sleep. "Expect chapters every other day," says the wizard. He also adds "Send hot chocolate and coffee, not howlers, please..." Your nerves will survive, and your curiosity will be grateful. This reportor will continue to investigate the events ongoing there.
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Well, one hundred chapters was a good run, tiring yes, but worth the interaction. And I'm thankfull for the care and attention I've received. Hopefully it'll will continue.
Cheers.
Usiel
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