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🕑 Added 2025-03-25 21:51:28 +0000 UTCAs Harry made his way through the Ministry corridors, he couldn’t help but notice the tense atmosphere. Aurors were stationed everywhere, constantly watching the entrances and exits. Workers moved in clusters, muttering under their breaths and throwing wary glances around.
He wasn’t surprised. Since the announcement of Voldemort’s return, the Ministry had been one step away from outright panic. Amelia’s efforts had kept things from completely falling apart, but it was clear that everyone was on edge.
Stepping out into the main atrium, Harry spotted Kingsley chatting with a group of Aurors. Kingsley’s deep, calm voice cut through the noise as he gave out instructions, his presence demanding attention even without trying. When he noticed Harry approaching, a rare smile crossed his face. He dismissed the Aurors with a nod and walked over, giving Harry a firm clap on the shoulder.
"Harry," he greeted, his tone light. "How are you holding up?"
Harry chuckled, sliding his new license out of his pocket and waving it. "Just got my Apparition license."
Kingsley raised an eyebrow before giving a slow nod. "Right. Since the tournament emancipated you, that makes sense."
"Perks of almost getting killed repeatedly," Harry replied dryly.
Kingsley let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You really did it this time. Minister and I are your scapegoats, you know."
Harry just grinned, feigning innocence. "The Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation and the Minister of Magic didn’t even know the Tournament was set up by the Dark Lord, and a poor fourth-year student was about to be killed. What do you expect me to do?"
Kingsley squeezed Harry’s shoulder. "Poor fourth year? You? Don’t make me laugh. And all of this had been set by Crouch Senior and Fudge before Bones and I took over."
Harry chuckled. "I know. They’re my scapegoats, not you two."
Kingsley huffed, shaking his head. "You really do make it difficult for the Ministry to keep a clean record, you know. Bones has had to dance around your stunts more than once."
"She’ll get over it," Harry replied easily. "Besides, if anything, I’ve been doing her a favor. Nobody’s going to trust Fudge or Crouch’s leftover policies after this. Probably saves her a few years of undoing their mess."
"Maybe," Kingsley said, eyeing him with a hint of a smirk. "But you’re making waves. Some of the older folks don’t like that. They’re used to the Ministry pretending everything’s just fine."
“Yeah, Amelia said something similar. Starting to feel like I should print my own list.” Harry scoffed then smiled. "Well, I’m not one for pretending."
Kingsley’s lips twitched, almost like he was suppressing a smile. "No, I suppose not. Just… keep it balanced. You’ve got plenty of enemies already."
"Good," Harry said. "Keeps things interesting."
Kingsley let out a low chuckle. "I’ll be sure to pass that along to Amelia. She’ll love knowing you’re purposefully stirring up trouble."
Harry gave him a lazy grin. "She knew that the moment I dragged Crouch Jr. to her feet."
Kingsley hummed in agreement. "Speaking of which, Bones is looking into his testimony. He’s given a few names—old Death Eaters that never got rounded up. Can’t say I’m surprised."
Harry shrugged. "Fudge already cleared out their names with that last law he pushed through before he kicked the bucket. Prescription will cover them, and since Crouch Jr.'s testimony is secondary, it won't be enough to bump the crime up to Heavy."
Kingsley scowled. He remembered when that law passed. It had been a circus. Crouch Sr. had been thrown under the bus for wrongfully imprisoning Sirius Black, head of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. The backlash was brutal. The public was furious that an innocent man had been kept in Azkaban for over a decade, and with Crouch already having one foot in the grave, Fudge seized the moment to look like a savior.
"Yeah," Kingsley muttered. "I remember that mess. Fudge went on and on about how it was time to 'restore faith in justice.' And somehow, that turned into a law making it almost impossible to use Veritaserum on Sacred Twenty-Eight family heads."
Harry scoffed. "Of course it did. He sold it as a way to protect the innocent from being wrongly accused, but it was just to make sure Death Eaters could weasel out of it. Once the heat died down, nobody bothered questioning it."
Kingsley rubbed his forehead, frustration creeping into his voice. "And now we're stuck with it. Veritaserum’s only allowed if the Wizengamot votes on it with hard proof. No proof, no serum. Fudge played the public like a bloody fiddle and made sure the old families stayed safe while lining his pockets with their donations."
Harry leaned back against the wall, eyeing Kingsley. "That’s why Crouch Jr.’s confession won’t do anything. They’ll just dismiss it as the ramblings of a deranged man who was tortured and kept in Azkaban for years."
Kingsley nodded. "Bones knows it too. She’s already working on ways around it, but with half the Wizengamot in those families’ pockets, it’s an uphill battle. Some of them still insist that Crouch Jr. was under Imperius the whole time, even after he admitted to everything."
Harry snorted. "The old money can’t afford to admit they were backing Voldemort from the start. They’ll twist any story they can to make themselves look innocent."
"Yeah," Kingsley agreed, voice flat. "And the worst part? Some of the newer folks are already falling for it. They're too young to remember the war properly, and the old guard keeps feeding them the narrative that it was all just 'a few bad apples.'"
Harry scoffed. "Sounds like they’re trying to paint Voldemort as just some misunderstood revolutionary."
Kingsley grimaced. "They’re not that stupid. But they’re definitely pushing the idea that most of the Death Eaters were just 'misguided.' Trying to downplay the whole blood purity fanaticism thing. Makes them look more sympathetic."
"Sodding hell," Harry muttered. "They’re really trying to clean up his image?"
"Not exactly. More like they're trying to separate Voldemort from the rest of them. Like, 'Oh, he was a lunatic, but his followers were just scared and didn’t really know what they were doing.' It’s all about minimizing guilt. Makes it easier to forgive and forget."
"Right," Harry scoffed. "Like every single one of them didn’t know what they were signing up for. Nobody just accidentally becomes a Death Eater."
Kingsley gave a tired sigh. "Bones knows that too. But the problem is, the ones who do remember the war don’t want to relive it. They’ll take any excuse to pretend it’s not happening again. They’d rather delude themselves into thinking Voldemort’s resurrection is just a one-off incident. It’s easier to believe it’s all a big misunderstanding than to admit they’re about to get dragged into another war."
"Morons," Harry muttered. "They’d rather wait until Death Eaters start killing their families before they take it seriously."
Kingsley rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It’s human nature. People don’t want to believe the worst until it’s right in front of them. Even then, some still try to look away."
Harry scoffed. "That’s how people get killed."
Kingsley looked at him, expression hardening. "Exactly. That’s why Bones and I are pushing for more proactive measures, but every time we try, the old families start whining about preserving tradition and civil liberties. It’s a load of bollocks, but it’s effective."
They talked a bit longer, going back and forth about how the Ministry was dealing with the mess left behind by Fudge and the former administration. Kingsley seemed tired but determined, and Harry didn’t bother sugarcoating his own opinions. There was no point dancing around the fact that the Ministry was a dysfunctional pile of rubbish at the moment.
Just as Harry was about to make a sarcastic comment about bureaucrats getting cold feet, he felt a faint vibration from the metal card in his pocket. He added the alert function to it recently. Fishing it out, he glanced at the message.
"Waiting by International Wizarding Travel Bureau."
Harry slipped the card back into his pocket and looked at Kingsley. "Looks like it’s time. I’m heading to South America next. Won’t be back until summer’s over."
Kingsley gave a slow nod, not looking too surprised. "Take care out there. Rumor is, there’s some unrest around the Amazon tribes—might get dicey." He then locked eyes with Harry, “You’re too valuable to lose, Harry.”
“You too, Kingsley. Be careful.” With a nod, Harry turned and headed up the stairs to the International Wizarding Travel Bureau. The place wasn’t overly crowded, but it still had a steady flow of travelers and officials moving around. A few of them gave him curious looks, but he ignored it. By now, he was used to people whispering when they thought he couldn’t hear.
Spotting Selena waiting near the reception, he made his way over. She wasn’t one to stand out much—plain robes, neat hair, and a no-nonsense expression.
The two hugged as they entered, Selena pulling back just enough to give him an appraising look.
“Look at you,” she smirked. “A year older and still trouble waiting to happen.”
Harry scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m the one who dragged the Dark Lord back from the dead.”
She snorted. “Fair point. Though knowing you, you’d probably do it just to annoy him.”
He grinned. “He’s not that special.”
Selena shook her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Right. Come on, Potter. Professor Goshawk’s expecting us to pick up the runescript kit before we head out. Think you can manage not blowing something up while we’re there?”
“No promises,” he quipped.
They entered the small, stuffy office to get their travel papers. It smelled like old parchment and stale tea, and the cluttered desks were piled high with forms and quills that had clearly been there longer than anyone bothered to remember. The witch at the reception looked up, barely interested, then returned to her paperwork. Selena walked up to the desk and cleared her throat.
"Selena Rosier and Harry Potter," she said briskly. "We’re here to pick up our travel permits."
The witch raised an eyebrow, glancing at them as if questioning why two teenagers would need international permits. But seeing Harry’s face, her expression shifted, and she nodded, rifling through a messy stack before pulling out a pair of sealed envelopes.
"Here," the witch mumbled, pushing the envelopes toward Selena. "Sign here. And here."
Selena took the quill, scribbled her name after carefully reading the fine print, then handed it to Harry. Harry also read the document twice. In magical world, sighing your name could get you in all sorts of trouble after all.
As they made their way out of the office, Selena glanced at the documents, giving them a quick once-over to make sure nothing was missing. Satisfied, she tucked them into her bag and turned to Harry.
“Looks like we’re good. We’ll meet at the airport in a week,” she said.
Harry nodded, and they shared a brief hug before Selena pulled back, giving him a small smile.
“Be careful, yeah?”
Harry smiled back. “I will. See you in a week.”
With a wave, Selena Apparated away, and Harry stood there for a moment, making sure she was gone. When the usual crack of Apparition faded, he took a breath, glancing around once to make sure no one was watching, then vanished as well.
