One can only imagine the frenzy that seized the reporters amassed in the British Ministry of Magic's visitor reception hall when, at an hastily convened ergency press conference, they heard the words fall from Bryan Watson's own lips:
That Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, previously charged by the Ministry with murder was completely innocent.
That the true culprit behind the killing was not a student at all, but rather an Auror from the Ministry's own Auror Office.
And that Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic of Great Britain, along with his right hand Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister having been deceived and manipulated into nearly wrongfully imprisoning the renowned Harry Potter in Azkaban for life had resigned from their positions effective imdiately in acceptance of full moral responsibility for their catastrophic failure of judgnt.
The room erupted like a volcano finally releasing its pent-up pressure.
Reporters surged forward as one mass, bodies pressing against the hastily erected barriers that separated the podium from the crowd.
Quick-Quotes Quills flew through the air like startled birds, scratching frantically across parchnt. Cara flashes exploded with such frequency and intensity that the hall seed to fill with white light.
Voices rose as one in shouted questions, demands for clarification, expressions of disbelief.
"Order! ORDER!"
An amplification charm barely cut through the chaos.
"Forr Head of the Departnt of Magical Law Enforcent, Madam Alia Susan Bones, will assu the role of Acting Minister of Magic for Great Britain, effective imdiately!"
From the hastily erected podium at the front of the Ministry's visitor reception hall—Bryan Watson's voice rang out clear.
The amplification charm he'd cast on himself cut through the thunderous roar of the reporters, forcing them to hear him whether they wanted to or not.
"Forr Head of the Auror Office, Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour, will assu the role of Acting Head of the Departnt of Magical Law Enforcent! Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, forrly of the Auror Office, will assu the role of Head of the Auror Office!"
Each announcent hit like a hamr blow, reshaping the architecture of power.
Several reporters actually swooned at the magnitude of it all, overco by the sheer scope of the political earthquake they were witnessing firsthand.
Others stood frozen in shock, quills hanging limply in their hands, struggling to process what they were hearing. Still others scribbled frantically, racing to capture every word before the mont escaped them.
"We ask the wizarding public of Britain to trust that the Ministry of Magic will face the escalating situation we find ourselves in with a renewed spirit of determination and competence!
We will spare no effort, and we will not relent for even a mont, in our struggle against the forces of darkness that threaten our world! We will fight with every resource at our disposal for the safety and peace of every witch and wizard in Britain!"
Standing unflinching before the relentless barrage of flashbulbs, Bryan spoke with such righteousness and conviction that even the most cynical reporters found themselves montarily swept up in the mont.
His silver hair caught the light of the flashes, creating an almost halo-like effect.
"I now invite Acting Minister Bones to address you directly and take your questions!"
Bryan stepped back from the podium with grace, gesturing for Alia to take his place at the center of attention.
Since the start of the sumr—Bryan had not had a single day's proper rest.
And in the two days imdiately following Fudge's fall and Alia's assumption of office, he was even busier than usual—pulled in a dozen directions simultaneously, responding to crises both real and manufactured, shoring up support, crushing dissent, managing the delicate machinery of this governnt in transition.
He hadn't even had a mont to drink a proper glass of water, let alone eat a full al or sleep for more than a few stolen hours.
The press conference had been only the beginning, the opening salvo in what would beco a prolonged siege.
After that initial announcent, reporters from across Europe who hadn't made it to London in ti for the ergency session ca pouring into the city like refugees fleeing disaster. They descended on the Ministry of Magic from every direction, trying every conceivable thod to slip inside the building, which had been placed under strict martial law due to the extraordinary circumstances.
The Atrium had beco an ard camp. Aurors stood at every entrance, checking credentials with paranoid thoroughness. The Floo Network was locked down. Apparition wards had been strengthened to unprecedented levels. Even owl post was being screened for hidden ssages or dangerous enchantnts.
And still they ca, these journalists desperate for the story of the century.
One particularly audacious young man—barely out of his teens, with wild blond hair had even managed to hide himself in a cramped broom cupboard just off the third-floor washroom.
He'd waited there in complete darkness for seven full hours, barely breathing, not daring to move or make a sound.
The mont Bryan walked into the washroom to wash his hands after yet another exhausting eting, the reporter burst from his hiding place like a released jack-in-the-box spring.
"Tell about Cornelius Fudge, Mr. Watson!"
The blue-eyed young reporter threw himself at Bryan without a shred of hesitation or self-preservation instinct, his Quick-Quotes Quill were already hovering at the ready, his face was flushed with excitent.
"No one saw him leave the Ministry that day! His house has been shut up tight with no signs of life! His wife hasn't been seen in public since the announcent! Mr. Watson—can you tell us where Minister Fudge and Undersecretary Umbridge and their families have actually gone?"
"I believe Minister Bones and I have already addressed that question quite thoroughly during the press conference—"
Suppressing the urge to hex this reporter into confetti and sweep the pieces into the nearest rubbish bin, Bryan forced a smile onto his rapidly darkening face.
"Minister Fudge and Undersecretary Umbridge devoted themselves entirely to the service of wizarding Britain for many years, sacrificing ti with their families, enduring constant scrutiny and criticism. After their resignations, they were desperately in need of rest. So they quietly took their families abroad for a holiday, hoping to enjoy so ti away from the harsh glare of public life."
"But where did they go, exactly?"
The young reporter wore the expression of a terrier that had seized onto a bone and absolutely would not release it, no matter how hard anyone tried to pry its jaws open. His eyes glead with stubborn determination.
"Which country? What city? Surely the public has a right to know—"
"They would prefer that their specific whereabouts remain private," Bryan interrupted smoothly. "You must understand—they may well feel a considerable asure of guilt about what happened. After all, it was their error in judgnt that nearly resulted in Harry Potter suffering a terrible injustice."
His expression grew solemn, looking almost mournful.
"Imagine carrying that burden. Imagine knowing you almost sent an innocent boy to Azkaban for life. That kind of guilt—it eats at a person. They need ti to process it, to co to terms with it, away from reporters and caras and constant reminders of their failure."
"But so people are saying this was a preditated coup, Mr. Watson!"
The reporter pressed forward relentlessly, apparently completely unbothered by the prospect of his own imminent peril.
"That you and Albus Dumbledore orchestrated the entire thing from the beginning! That you've actually imprisoned Minister Fudge and Undersecretary Umbridge—"
"Oh, haha—now that is pure nonsense," Bryan interrupted with a laugh and looked at the reporter with a 'kind' smile.
"Even if the wizarding world has so lingering misgivings about , I should hope you'd at least trust in the character and integrity of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Now—could I have a little privacy?"
The relentless harassnt from reporters was only one front in a multi-sided siege.
Once word of the political upheaval spread beyond Britain's borders carried by international correspondents, by gossip, by the gears of the wizarding world's communication networks—letters from prominent figures across Europe descended on the Ministry like a blizzard.
They ca by owl, by Ministry courier, by Floo, by every available thod, until the mailroom was literally buried under mountains of parchnt that required teams of workers to sort and categorize.
All of them demanded essentially the sa thing: the truth of what had really happened at that trial. The real story behind Fudge's resignation.
Companies and workshops with deep financial ties to Fudge sent their representatives to demand etings.
The heads of ancient wizarding families, those whose nas appeared in the Sacred Twenty-Eight and whose fortunes stretched back centuries also ca calling at the Ministry in person.
They arrived in their finest robes, dripping with ancestral jewelry, radiating entitlent and fury. They issued stern demands that Acting Minister Bones arrange imdiate etings with Fudge himself, insisting that only a personal confirmation of his resignation would satisfy them.
These visitors paid absolutely no heed to the Ministry's official explanation. Their stance was very tough and confrontational.
Had it not been for Bryan and Dumbledore holding firm at the Ministry throughout those chaotic first days, physically present and united in support of Alia's governnt, she would scarcely have been able to manage the pressure. Their presence alone—two of the most powerful wizards alive, standing as immovable pillars was often enough to make visitors reconsider their most aggressive demands.
But even with their support, it was exhausting.
There were dissenting voices within the Ministry itself as well—though they were not especially loud, and they were careful about when and how they expressed their doubts.
After all, for most Ministry employees, the difference between one Minister and another was not particularly significant to their day-to-day lives. As long as their paychecks arrived on ti and their positions remained secure, they were content to simply keep their heads down and continue working.
As for the more senior officials who had leaned toward Fudge politically, who had built their careers on his patronage and support—well, if they did not wish to lose the authority and influence they currently held, they had little practical choice but to cooperate with Bones in smoothing over the turmoil of the past two days.
Self-preservation was a powerful motivator.
And what could they realistically do if they refused to cooperate? What leverage did they actually possess?
The Ministry's largest ard organization—the Auror Office, with its legal authority to use force was now held firmly in the hands of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Rufus Scrimgeour, both of whom had declared their clear support for the new governnt. No one else had the power or the authority to deploy the Aurors.
Even Ludo Bagman, who was habitually idle and lazy, famous for avoiding work whenever possible and disappearing when things got difficult, had abruptly beco diligent and engaged.
He threw himself enthusiastically into the effort to stabilize the situation, using his considerable charm and wide network of contacts throughout the sports and entertainnt world to spread positive stories about the transition.
Watson and Dumbledore, anwhile, were the twin pillars supporting Bones's new governnt from opposite sides. Their very presence was enough to make the great majority of would-be opponents lower their banners and fall silent before even attempting resistance.
A coup of far-reaching consequence and historic magnitude was, through the combined efforts of many determined people working in coordination, slowly but steadily finding its footing and consolidating its grip on power.
"This one is from the Greengrass family..."
Alia Bones had moved into what had previously been Cornelius Fudge's private office.
Though she had claid the space and the title that ca with it, she hadn't yet had the ti or the energy to do anything about the ostentatious furnishings Fudge had installed, which were definitely not to her taste in the slightest.
The office was decorated in garish greens and golds, with plush velvet furniture that looked expensive but felt uncomfortable, and various portraits of previous Ministers glaring down from the walls with varying degrees of approval and disapproval.
She found it all rather oppressive, but redecorating would have to wait. There were far more pressing matters demanding her attention.
Bryan, Albus, and Alia were gathered around the large conference table that occupied one side of the Minister's office. The surface was buried under stacks of mail, reports, intelligence briefings, and urgent mos that seed to multiply every ti anyone looked away.
One by one, with grim determination, Alia laid out the letters she had just brought in from the latest owl delivery. She set them before a solemn-faced Bryan and an increasingly weary-looking Dumbledore, arranging them like evidence at a trial.
"Just look at these—"
Alia's expression was tight with fury, her jaw had clenched so hard it was a wonder her teeth didn't crack.
"The Malfoys, the Notts, the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Rosiers—nearly half of the Sacred Twenty-Eight have sent formal letters of protest to the Ministry! All of them demanding essentially the sa thing: that Fudge appear in person to publicly confirm that his resignation was genuine and voluntary!"
She slamd her hand down on the table, making the parchnts jump.
"And they're not just asking politely. They're making threats. They say that unless their demands are t, they will organize strikes across the various enterprises they control and throw the entire Ministry into economic paralysis!"
To be completely honest, Dumbledore had no great personal wish to embroil himself so deeply in Ministry affairs. Politics had never been his forte or his interest.
But at this perilous juncture in history, with Voldemort returned and gathering his forces, with the Ministry in chaos and the wizarding world teetering on the edge of open conflict, Dumbledore had no choice but to stand with Bryan and support the new governnt with everything he had.
He had to lend the fledgling administration every ounce of support and legitimacy he could provide.
The alternative: allowing the governnt to collapse into infighting and paralysis was simply handing Voldemort an enormous advantage on a silver platter.
"There is no question about it, Alia—"
Dumbledore picked up the letter of protest from Lucius Malfoy with two fingers.
"One can be quite certain this synchronized response is Voldemort's doing."
"That's exactly what I thought too!"
Alia gave a furious snort of agreent, glaring at the pile of correspondence.
Bryan glanced sideways at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore had not told the complete truth just now, Bryan knew. He was being tactful, simplifying the situation for Alia's benefit.
The idea of using company and workshop strikes as economic leverage against a governnt was not sothing Voldemort himself had conceived or even suggested. It wasn't his style.
It wasn't a matter of Voldemort's intelligence or strategic thinking falling short—the Dark Lord was bright in his own awful way. It was simply that a persona of his imnse arrogance, his contempt for ordinary economics and politics would never trouble himself with tricks at this level.
The one who had actually proposed this strategy was Jasnah Rosier.
She lectured at a Muggle university before. Her knowledge of Muggle history and political theory ran far deeper than that of the average wizard who typically knew nothing of such matters and cared even less.
"I think the ti has co—"
Bryan looked over the threatening letters without showing any emotion on his calm face.
"We cannot allow them to keep making trouble like this. It is ti we gave them so trouble of our own."
Alia looked at him sharply, her interest was imdiately caught.
"You an—oh. The thing you ntioned on the day of the trial, in that conversation we never finished. Shifting the public focus away from Fudge's disappearance?"
"Precisely," Bryan confird with a slight nod.
"What exactly do you plan to do?" Dumbledore asked, settling more comfortably into his chair.
He had grown increasingly accustod to playing the role of questioner in these strategy sessions. "Are you planning to intensify the manhunt for the escaped Death Eaters?"
"In fact, my thod is rather more interesting than that—"
Bryan said with a smile.
Under the watchful, attentive eyes of Dumbledore and Alia, Bryan raised one finger in the air.
"First: We need to call another press conference. A major one, with full international dia presence. At it, we formally and officially announce to the entire wizarding world: that Voldemort has returned."
He paused to let that sink in before continuing.
"We explain that the dark forces under his command grow more organized and active with each passing day. And we urge the wizarding public, to take every possible precaution for their own safety and that of their families."
There was nothing to dispute in that proposal. The founding premise of the new governnt rested precisely on this point.
"Second—"
Bryan raised a second finger and looked at both Alia and Dumbledore solemnly.
"This next proposal... I have given it considerable thought. And it is my carefully considered view that the ti has co for the Ministry to cease its reliance on Dentors—those creatures of darkness whose very nature is a fundantal violation of human dignity."
'Cease relying on Dentors?!'
Alia's eyes went wide with shock.
"You an—"
"I an—"
Bryan spoke nodding with absolute conviction.
"We end the use of Dentors as guards at Azkaban. The current Azkaban prison is to be decommissioned. The Ministry will select a new site and establish a replacent wizarding prison from the ground up."
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