My gaze lingered on Adrian. He was immobilized by Cassius's Petrificus, but seemed to remain conscious. A sharp, almost obsessive impulse to speak with him arose. I walked over slowly, crouched down beside him, then, turning, sat directly on the floor, staring at the wall ahead.
"You held up well," I began in a quiet whisper, my voice sounding unusually tired. This was good; I could play on sincerity. "Better than I expected. You showed ingenuity, tactics, helped your friends… Everything was in place. You can be proud, covering for your comrades while fighting me. For that, I can only praise you. But you chose foolish friends. Blame yourself for that. You know, I would have helped hone your skills, even despite your house. You could have become a second Blackmore; I don't judge by house. Perhaps, one day, you'll choose the better side."
I paused, letting the words hang in the oppressive silence of the corridor.
"And at the end, you did something stupid, Adrian. Bombarda in a corridor? At point-blank range? Over a simple school conflict?" I shook my head, still staring at the wall as if speaking to it. "That's no longer a schoolyard scuffle. You nearly escalated our squabble into a situation where people don't get up… literally die. Our conflict isn't worth raising to those heights."
Finally, I turned my head, meeting his hateful but forced-to-listen gaze.
"I genuinely didn't want this fight. You understand that, right? How many times did I repeat it to you? I don't want to be at odds with you at all. But you… you keep getting underfoot, causing trouble. Sometimes I just want to crush you, but I hold back. Honestly. Each time, I have to respond to your antics. Burke, Reed… they're so foolish… And I…" I spread my hands slightly, feeling the inner emptiness give way to heaviness. I played on this, adding weary notes to my voice, "I don't even understand why. I have nothing to divide with you. No territory, no influence, no old grudges… except those you create yourselves. I don't blame you for anything. But I won't tolerate it when you're on their side."
I paused for a second, choosing my words.
"I would offer you a truce," I caught an instant flash of distrust in his eyes, "an end to this senseless squabbling. But you chose foolish friends… they'll reject it outright. And maybe you will too —perhaps I'm overestimating you as well. I wish we could walk the corridors calmly, without looking over our shoulders. Or do you think burns, dislocations, bruises are a price worth paying for the right to yap at me?"
Not waiting for an answer, I waved my wand. Finite Incantatem dispelled the Petrificus. Adrian coughed convulsively, wincing from the pain in his shoulder.
"Go to hell…" he rasped, looking away. His tone held suppressed pain, weariness, and a deep, unspoken bitterness. But not agreement.
I nodded — foolish to hope for a different answer, but I had tried. I rose from the floor with a single thought: to leave quickly and still make it before breakfast ended.
I wanted to eat, and the newspaper… there was nothing I could do about it now. I needed to write to my father, or he'd definitely forget to even tell me what was happening, and whether he could do anything. After all, why warn the one most directly affected? This whole affair had started yesterday, since they printed it today. And the future Lord Black, threatened with losing his title by the release of an Azkaban prisoner, was completely in the dark.
But I suppose I do forget that, in my father's eyes, I'm just a child, no matter how mentally adult I consider myself. And these grievances of mine only prove it.
"Fine. The choice is yours," I turned to Avery and Cassius. "Let's go to breakfast. We'll send a passing second-year to the infirmary from there. Have them report that three injured Gryffindors on the seventh floor need help. I hope you have enough pride and courage not to report the fight."
The last part of my address — aimed at the Gryffindors — I said loudly, so everyone conscious could hear. Finally, we dispelled all the charms, even the Incarcerous binding Reed.
Already descending on the moving staircases, which took their time letting us down, I thanked the guys.
"Well done," I said simply. "You… came at the right time."
Cassius nodded and even seemed to puff up his shoulders a bit, clearly in higher spirits from having helped and received praise.
Avery turned his head slightly. His usual mocking mask had shifted to a rare seriousness.
"You didn't look like yourself. So we decided to follow you," he stated, studying my face. "What happened? Was it the newspaper?"
I shook my head. Not now, not here, but they deserved part of the truth. I'd tell them a little later.
"I was out of it," I admitted, looking down. "If you hadn't come… I might have gone too far. Seriously hurt them…"
Avery exchanged a meaningful look with Cassius. They didn't press. Simply accepted it as fact.
"Hah, well, you did go far," Cassius tried to lighten the silence with a smirk.
"It was necessary!" Avery retorted sharply, not finding it funny, and shot Cassius a warning glance.
"I'm not judging. They deserved it," Cassius shrugged. "Just… how much further could it go?"
To Cassius's rhetorical question, which wasn't entirely rhetorical, a knowing silence hung.
"Alright," Cassius grunted, breaking the pause. "Let's hurry, I didn't finish eating. And those idiots…" he waved a hand toward the downed Gryffindors, "I hope this teaches them a lesson. Bloody jackals, honestly…"
And for the first time that morning, I felt an unfamiliar relief and understanding: I had done it. Thank Merlin, I had managed to overcome an episode of the ancestral curse! But better not to dwell on the consequences of Sirius's release right now, or the anger would start building again. Just focus on the process of the release itself and the fact of such a change in my future knowledge, not work myself up over the outcomes. Nothing is decided yet. And this anger… I'm already tired. I just need to repeat the mantra I'd devised.
The main thing is, I didn't snap… almost. I didn't become what the anger could have made me. With my friends' help, right at the edge, but I held on. And this proved to me that I am still in control of my body, and the Black rage could be made into a tool. After all, if you can't get rid of it, you must remember: this curse is a double-edged sword.
"That was a dangerous moment with Bombarda…" Marcus threw out of nowhere.
"Yeah, he literally tried to kill us! Those Gryffs… total idiots," Cassius added.
"I agree. I could have shielded us, of course, but he definitely would have been caught in it, and we wouldn't have escaped unscathed. Possibly fatally," I stated coldly.
"Not to mention the danger of an explosion in a stone corridor," Avery clarified.
His remark about attempting an explosion in the castle resonated, and we nodded in agreement.
"Do you think, for something like that… well, if we'd been seriously injured, would he have been expelled?" Cassius asked, scratching his head.
"I think so. And if he'd killed someone… he'd probably be sent straight to Azkaban."
Avery, however, hadn't considered that laws apply with varying force depending on who you are, what family you're from, and so on. I think I'd at most be expelled, or maybe just suspended for a while.
***
Despite the internal chaos of thoughts and plans, Lucius Malfoy walked unhurriedly, his steps measured by the clear, icy tap of his silver-topped cane against the marble floor. His bearing, his gait, his impeccable appearance — everything marked him not as an ordinary citizen, but as a true representative of magical society's elite. His personal guards had remained at the entrance to the floor, in the lift lobby, not setting foot deeper into what was called the Minister's Office — and this referred not just to the physical room where the newly elected minister worked.
The Office of the Minister for Magic was, essentially, one of five full-fledged departments of the magical state, with its own sub-divisions. In practice, it was primarily a complex of working bodies and premises ensuring the activities of the head of state and his administration, including analytical units, protocol services, reception areas, and also the physical workplace (such as the private office, meeting hall, and other rooms) where the Minister exercised his powers, met guests, and made decisions. The "brain" and "office" of the Minister, where documents were processed, reports prepared, and the work of the executive branch coordinated.
Additionally, the Office included departments such as the Office of the General Coroner, the Heraldic Chamber, the Magical Legislation Bureau, and the Press Office.
Here, on this floor where the air itself seemed thick with power and eternal intrigue, Lucius alone was more than enough. Bringing his two best fighters would have been not only excessive but foolish — it would have seemed strange and suspicious. Allowing a man with a personal guard near the Minister… whom would this respected wizard be afraid of? There were few places in Britain more protected than this floor and the Minister's physical office. Such a man would be suspected of plotting something dangerous against the Minister.
Lord Malfoy, a Lord of the Wizengamot, a representative of the Conservative party, and the wealthiest man in magical Britain, entered the office without knocking. The Minister, of course, had long been alerted. By the doors, impeccably still, stood guards from the elite Auror unit, directly subordinate to the Minister, and only secondarily to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which included the Auror Office. The massive dark oak door swung open silently, admitting him into a spacious room filled with the quiet rustle of parchment. At a desk, like an island in a sea of neatly sorted papers beneath several Quick-Quotes Quills, sat Cornelius Fudge himself.
The Minister for Magic looked much as he had before his election, though now he held himself a little straighter, trying to appear taller, and projected slightly more confidence. Yet this still didn't conceal his typical features: short stature, stocky build, graying hair, and that perpetually worried expression which so effectively hid a calculating mind behind the facade of a slightly bewildered and "innocent" politician. His formal robes were slightly rumpled, and his famous bowler hat rested peacefully on a vacant chair. Seeing Lucius, Fudge didn't rise, but his shoulders straightened a little, and his face assumed an expression of tired but cordial welcome.
"Lucius, my friend," he said, his voice carrying a light, well-rehearsed weariness and cheerful notes. "I was just thinking you might drop by. Please, sit down. It turns out it's not easy starting with a clean slate when that slate is already covered in someone else's handwriting."
The last comment the Minister made while gesturing at the documents spread across his desk. The first couple of months would be extremely hectic for him, but the further on, the fewer tasks would require his personal intervention and approval. He would be able to delegate most duties to subordinates.
Lucius sat, resting his cane on his knees. He didn't bother donning the mask of social pleasantry — with Fudge, it was unnecessary. Both understood why he was here. And Fudge's feigned joy was far preferable to the tired face of a not-so-kind, but not-so-vile politician. In politics, it's customary to smile at everyone who doesn't openly insult you.
"Minister Cornelius," he began, his voice even, without threat, but also without a hint of familiarity. "I congratulated you on your appointment," a slight icy note, which Fudge couldn't miss, crept in — standing beside you at the ceremony, expressing my joy for you. However, your very first steps in your new chair have raised… questions and indignation in me. The Sirius Black matter has resulted in public support for Dumbledore's initiative. Explain to me, as an old friend, the wisdom of this action."
Fudge took a deep breath, his gaze becoming frankly bewildered, almost lost. He spread his hands in a gesture full of sincere — or masterfully feigned — sorrow and incomprehension.
"Lucius, my friend, what is there to explain?" his voice, as always, was syrupy. He spoke slowly, drawing out his words. His tone suggested he was stating an obvious truth for the hundredth time. "Dumbledore is the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot. He has presented new materials in the case, which, I must admit, appear… convincing. As the new Minister, I am obliged to treat them with all seriousness, given the previous Minister's failure. And you know that ignoring such materials would mean signing my political death warrant in my very first month."
Cornelius was clearly reminding him of how great the Headmaster's reputation and influence still were: half of magical Britain continued to support him. Lucius understood this without reminders.
"Playing the simpleton," Lucius noted coolly to himself. "Presenting himself as a hostage to circumstance. Standard and even effective for those who don't know him well."
"Duty to consider is one thing, Cornelius," Lucius continued softly but relentlessly. "Active public support in the pages of the Prophet is a political choice. A choice which, to put it mildly, diverges from the spirit of our previous agreements. Or could you not control the Press Office of your own Cabinet?"
Fudge ran a hand over his face, and for a second, his mask of good-natured concern slipped, revealing the weary disappointment of a man who knew the true price of compromises.
"Our agreements, Lucius, concerned support for my candidacy. And your help, believe me, is not forgotten. But a Minister is not a private individual. My task is to balance. When on one side of the scales lies authority and public opinion, and on the other…" he paused meaningfully, "…a wise ruler seeks a point of equilibrium. I haven't gone against you, after all. I've only strengthened my position, to remain useful to all my… allies in the long term."
Thus, deftly juggling sides, he had achieved the highest office in Britain. Seemingly, he neither denied nor made excuses — he explained political necessity. He hinted that he had other obligations, but preferred to maintain the agreement with Malfoy. Cornelius Fudge was cleverer than many thought. Lucius himself acknowledged this. Not Millicent Bagnold, certainly, but Lucius didn't need another like her. The previous Minister had pressured the Conservative party — or as they were otherwise called, the Dark faction — so much that former Death Eaters dared not raise their heads, let alone scheme on her turf. They had been pardoned, after all, but could have been re-imprisoned at any moment in the early post-war years if new details emerged. But those times had passed with Millicent Bagnold.
Now, Lucius Malfoy finally had the opportunity to begin his great game — without his father, without the Dark Lord above him, and without the total control and threat of searches and imprisonment as under Bagnold. Not for nothing had Lucius Malfoy worked so hard. At last, his faction could afford not to grovel in ashes, but to act.
"Balance built on ignoring the interests of those who helped you rise is a dangerous game, Cornelius," Lucius said, and for the first time, a slight, almost imperceptible note of steel sounded in his voice. "My family has legitimate interests in the Black family inheritance. And your 'balance' creates serious complications for me."
Fudge leaned back in his chair, which creaked softly and plaintively. His face held neither fear nor anger — only the concentration of an experienced player calculating his next move. His eyes, usually darting, now stared intently at his interlocutor.
"And who said, my friend Lucius, that this would be quick?" he asked, a warm, almost friendly note entering his voice. "The Wizengamot is not a swift court. It's an ancient, wise, and, let's be frank, unhurried institution. The new materials need to be studied. Thoroughly. From all sides. Appoint examinations, locate witnesses… how many years has it been? Eight? Nine? Lucius, nine years! The first substantive hearing is tentatively scheduled for November. But the preparation will be a titanic effort. And the judges, and you… the Lords… as you yourself know, are renowned for your… meticulousness, not your speed. So what's to stop us from feeding it all into the bureaucratic mill?"
Lucius felt the tense atmosphere in the office shift to another, more familiar feeling — mutual understanding between two people speaking the same sophisticated language. The direct threat receded, replaced by concrete, elegant negotiation. This was why Malfoy had initially pressed Fudge. Finally, Fudge offered not confrontation, but mutually beneficial cooperation — precisely the strategy on which he had built his career. Playing both sides, offending no one, and retaining support from both camps, and perhaps the neutrals as well.
"You suggest… delving into procedural intricacies?" Lucius clarified, pretending to just grasp the essence of the proposal, though he had calculated all this the second Dumbledore had filed the motion for retrial at the full Wizengamot session. Even without Dumbledore's influence, the Supreme Mugwump could lobby for at least an initial hearing. And the Hogwarts Headmaster was hardly lacking in loyal Wizengamot Lords.
"I merely suggest following the letter of the law with all possible thoroughness," Fudge corrected him, his face resuming its concerned, businesslike expression. "Haste in such matters is the mother of all errors. And in a case personally overseen by the esteemed Albus Dumbledore, any procedural error… would tarnish the good name of the Supreme Judge. You and I will simply take all necessary measures to prevent such an occurrence."