The heavy oak doors of the Great Chamber creaked open, admitting a cool draft into the outer corridor of the Ministry of Magic.
Amelia Bones paused just outside the threshold, taking a slow, steadying breath. She smoothed down the front of her deep charcoal-colored robes, ensuring every seam sat perfectly. She did not wear the traditional ornate monocle of her family line; her gaze was clear, sharp, and entirely unadorned. Across her forehead lay the subtle lines of a woman who had spent weeks sleeping four hours a night, drafting legal statutes, cross-referencing ancient charters, and preparing for absolute bloody war.
Beside her, carrying a leather-bound folio that bulged with stack upon stack of parchment, stood Dolores Umbridge.
Dolores was not the smirking, resentful creature the old administration had left behind. She wore a tailored, high-collared robe of soft navy wool, her spine straight, her posture impeccably professional. As Amelia's chief secretary, Dolores had organized the entire legislative packet with terrifying efficiency. She checked her silver pocket watch, giving Amelia a crisp, confident nod.
"The lords and proxy holders have taken their places, Minister," Dolores reported, her voice quiet, even, and entirely devoid of decorative fluff. "Quorum is established. Forty-three seats filled out of the total fifty, with the remaining seven standing empty as customary since the war. I have distributed the core summaries to every desk as instructed."
"Thank you, Dolores," Amelia murmured, adjusting her cuffs. "How is the public gallery?"
"Packed to capacity. The Daily Prophet has three senior correspondents in the upper tier. They are expecting a bloodbath."
"They aren't the only ones," Amelia said quietly.
She had prepared for every parliamentary trick in the book. She knew the opposition had spent days gathering behind closed doors. She expected procedural stalls, endless points of order, bad-faith filibusters, and venomous grandstanding from the traditionalist bloc. Expanding law enforcement, enforcing mandatory practical examinations, and reducing seven bloated departments down to four core pillars was a direct strike at every unearned privilege the old families had spent centuries protecting. She was ready to fight for every single vote, even if it took until midnight.
"Shall we?" Dolores asked, extending a hand toward the heavy brass handles.
Amelia nodded once. "Let's get this over with."
The grand doors swung wide, and Minister Amelia Bones stepped into the chamber of the Wizengamot.
The amphitheater was a massive, tiered cavern of dark polished stone, lit by floating silver globes that cast long shadows across the ancient benches. High above, the public gallery buzzed with nervous energy. Below, on the main floor, the members of the highest court in magical Britain sat arranged in their designated sectors, leaving the handful of extinct bloodline seats vacant and dark.
Amelia walked down the central aisle toward the high podium, her heels clicking steadily against the marble floor. Dolores followed half a step behind, placing the thick leather folio onto the wooden lectern before stepping back into the secretary's enclosure.
Amelia gripped the edges of the lectern, looking up at the tiered benches to take in the room.
To her right sat the noble houses who had already pledged their backing. Arthur Weasley sat near the front, looking unusually sharp in fine dark robes, sitting alongside Xenophilius Lovegood, who was quietly reorganizing a stack of colorful parchment. Nearby sat Percival Parkinson, calm and unreadable, and Edmund Greengrass, whose cold posture projected absolute authority. Vernon Dursley sat comfortably near the front of that block, looking every bit the formidable head of one of the wealthiest pureblood line in the country, sipping casually from a steaming teacup as if he were attending a routine board meeting.
Victor, standing in as proxy for Harry Potter, sat with posture so perfectly rigid and composed that he looked like a statue of iron.
Amelia's gaze drifted toward the left tier, where the dark traditionalist bloc usually gathered to form an impenetrable wall of resistance. She expected to see a sea of scowling faces, folded arms, and whispered mutinies.
Instead, her eyes caught a scene so absurdly out of place that her train of thought nearly stalled right there at the lectern.
Lucius Malfoy was not sitting among his usual clique of old-blood allies. He wasn't even sitting in the Malfoy family's traditional sector.
Lucius was sitting directly next to Sirius Black.
The sharp, arrogant, perpetually disgusted sneer that had defined Lucius Malfoy for the last twenty years was completely gone. In its place was a relaxed, genuinely cheerful expression. He had his arm slung lazily over the back of the wooden bench, leaning in toward Sirius to whisper something. Sirius let out a sudden, loud bark of laughter, slapping his knee. Lucius chuckled back, offering Sirius a friendly nudge with his elbow before pulling out a small silver tin of peppermint lozenges and offering one to the Black family head.
Amelia blinked. She stopped her hands from trembling on the wooden lectern and looked again.
Lucius Malfoy was sharing mints and making jokes with Sirius Black. He looked entirely like a man who had shed forty pounds of silent stress overnight, exuding the effortless warmth of an old friend at a pub. Nearby, Nott, Avery, and Crabbe were sitting quietly, looking entirely peaceful, almost pleasant, as if they were waiting for a pleasant Sunday matinee to begin.
Amelia swallowed hard, clearing her throat to regain her focus. Whatever strange madness had taken over the left wing of the chamber, she still had a job to do.
She tapped her wand against the silver chime mounted on the podium. The clear ringing sound echoed off the high stone ceiling, instantly hushing the murmurings in the public gallery.
"Members of the Wizengamot," Amelia began, her voice amplified by a subtle Sonorus charm that carried her steady tone to every corner of the room. "We are gathered today to vote on Statute 409, titled the Ministry Efficiency and Meritocracy Restructuring Act."
She opened the folio, determined to lay out the full, unvarnished reality of what she was asking them to pass.
"For over two centuries, our administrative body has expanded into an unmanageable web of red tape," Amelia stated, scanning the tiers. "We currently operate seven full departments, encompassing sixty-three sub-offices. Many of these sub-offices exist for no practical reason other than to manufacture administrative busywork and absorb tax allocations. This ends today."
She turned a page, her tone sharpening.
"Under this bill, the Ministry will collapse all seven departments down into four unified pillars: Public Safety and Civil Defense, Global Trade and Economics, Resource and Environmental Oversight, and Archives and Research. Dozens of redundant directorial posts will be abolished immediately."
A quiet rustle went through the public gallery, but on the floor of the Wizengamot, not a single member of the old Death Eater families stirred.
Amelia took a breath, bracing herself as she delivered the core mechanism of the reform.
"Furthermore, the second section of this act mandates standardized proficiency examinations for all current civil servants," she continued, her voice cutting clearly across the stone hall. "Effective next month, every employee, from junior clerks to senior department heads, will undergo practical and administrative evaluations. Positions will no longer be inherited, bought, or granted through familial lineage."
Before she could flip to the next page of her folio, a harsh, grating voice cut across the silence from the upper backbenches.
"And what baseline are we using to judge a wizard's practical worth, Minister?" Lord Macmillan called out, leaning over the stone railing, his brow furrowed in deep skepticism. "You speak of standardized practical testing, but by whose measure? Some arbitrary scale drawn up in your office?"
Amelia turned her gaze smoothly toward the upper tier. "We are officially incorporating the Magical Power Classification and Measurement system, the MPU scale, into our Ministry assessment criteria."
A sharp scoff sounded near the center aisle. Bartemius Crouch Senior stood up straight, his posture stiff, his thin moustache twitching with disdain.
"The MPU system?" Crouch declared, his voice dripping with bureaucratic contempt as he gestured sharply toward the podium. "What in Merlin's name is the MPU system? Who created it? Who authorized an unvetted, whimsical classification to dictate Ministry qualifications? This smells of amateurish interference!"
Amelia didn't flinch. "The system was developed right here in Britain, under the oversight of Hogwarts and Headmaster Dumbledore. The primary research and magical framework were authored by Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger."
The public gallery let out an audible gasp, but Amelia pressed on before Crouch could object to students setting national policy.
"Hogwarts has been utilizing the MPU system internally for five months now," Amelia stated, her voice swelling with absolute authority. "It provides an objective, repeatable, and mathematically sound metric to evaluate a witch or wizard's actual output and magical density. I have personally reviewed the data, and its benefits to our society, and specifically our law enforcement and civil service, are immense. For the first time in our history, we can measure capability without relying on reputation or bloodlines."
"Surely you don't expect a desk clerk in the Transportation office to be tested like an Auror!" Lord Rowle barked from a few rows down, crossing his heavy arms. "Are we turning the Ministry into a duelists' guild?"
"The testing will be strictly contextual," Amelia countered smoothly, holding up a hand to quiet the floor. "A desk worker filing taxation forms does not need to possess the magical output of a Grand Sage, and they will not be measured as such. However, every single department head, regardless of whether their post is administrative or field-based, will be held to an absolute, unyielding standard."
Crouch took a heavy step forward, his eyes narrowing to slits. "And if someone fails? Decades of dedicated administrative service thrown out on the street because of some artificial testing day?"
"Termination will not be an automated sentence," Amelia clarified, her tone sharp and precise. "The final discretion rests entirely with the Office of the Minister. Existing personnel who demonstrate spectacular work ethic and exceptional administrative aptitude will be placed into mandatory retraining programs to bring them up to standard. Those who refuse retraining, or who rely solely on political patronage without a thread of competence, will have their employment terminated immediately."
She closed her leather folio with a heavy thud, her eyes sweeping over the quieted chamber.
"Moving forward, all future Ministry hiring will follow this exact standardized procedure. Every department will institute mandatory entrance examinations, practical tests, and MPU evaluations. The era of purchasing titles ends today."
She stood back, chest tight, waiting for the inevitable storm. She expected Crouch to launch into a fiery legalistic counterattack. She expected Rowle to demand an emergency debate. She expected at least three hours of shouting, venomous accusations, and parliamentary stall tactics.
Silence hung over the chamber.
It was a total, deafening quiet.
Down on the main floor, Lucius Malfoy politely swallowed his peppermint, dusted off his velvet lapels, and casually raised his hand to catch the Chief Warlock's attention.
"The chair recognizes Lord Malfoy," the presiding officer announced, sounding just as confused as Amelia felt.
Lucius stood up smoothly. He did not posture. He did not raise his chin in haughty condescension. He simply gave Amelia a warm, respectful nod.
"Minister Bones," Lucius said smoothly, his voice pleasant and entirely free of edge. "Your proposal is remarkably clear, wonderfully pragmatic, and long overdue. The state of our bureaucracy has indeed become quite embarrassing. A proper cleanup is precisely what the nation needs."
Amelia stared at him. Her lips parted slightly before she caught herself and closed her mouth.
Lucius turned to face the rest of the chamber, smiling broadly. "I see no reason to waste the Minister's valuable time with endless debate. I move that we bypass further readings and proceed immediately to a formal vote on the bill as presented."
"Seconded," Sirius Black announced instantly, grinning from ear to ear.
"Seconded," Vernon Dursley echoed from the front bench, taking a quiet sip of his tea and catching Amelia's eye with a subtle, knowing tilt of his cup.
Crouch turned his head so fast toward Malfoy that his neck practically clicked, his mouth hanging open in sheer, unadulterated shock. He looked around the room for support, but the traditionalist bloc remained completely silent, perfectly composed, and entirely unfazed.
The Chief Warlock blinked rapidly, looking down at his parchment as if checking to ensure he was in the correct reality. "Very well... The motion to proceed directly to a vote has been moved and seconded. All those in favor of Statute 409, please light your wands."
Amelia stood frozen behind the lectern.
Slowly, tier by tier, tiny sparks of bright white light began to ignite across the curved wooden benches.
Arthur Weasley raised his glowing wand tip. Percival Parkinson raised his. Edmund Greengrass, Xenophilius Lovegood, and Victor all raised theirs in immediate succession.
Then came the left tier.
Lucius Malfoy raised his wand high, casting a warm, brilliant white light over his bench. Beside him, Nott raised his. Avery raised his. Crabbe, Goyle, and Macnair all raised their wands without a second of hesitation, their expressions serene, pleasant, and completely unified.
The silver globes above reflected a solid sea of white light across thirty-nine of the active seats.
Only four wands remained dark, with Crouch, Macmillan, Rowle, and one bewildered backbencher staring around the room in utter terror, completely unable to fathom why their traditional leaders were voting for their own institutional destruction.
The Chief Warlock cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles in absolute disbelief. "The... the vote is recorded. Thirty-nine in favor. Four opposed. The motion is carried. Statute 409 is officially passed into law, effective immediately."
The magical tally recorded the result on the main stone archway behind the podium with a flash of golden runes: 39 - 4.
The public gallery erupted into a confused, muted chatter. Reporters scrambled to write down notes, their quills scratching furiously against parchment as they tried to process the fastest legislative overhaul in Ministry history.
Amelia stood perfectly still at the lectern. The total elapsed time since she walked through the doors was less than fifteen minutes.
The bill she had spent weeks stressing over, the bill she had expected to trigger a months-long political war, had passed with a staggering majority. And the core opposition, the very men whose family patronage networks she had just demolished, had voted for it with smiles on their faces.
Dolores Umbridge stepped up beside the lectern, smoothly gathering the folio pages and aligning them into a neat stack.
"A magnificent success, Minister," Dolores whispered, her tone bright, professional, and entirely calm. "The restructuring order can be issued to all department heads by noon."
"Dolores," Amelia murmured under her breath, not taking her eyes off Lucius Malfoy, who was currently laughing at something Sirius had just said while gathering his cloak. "Did that just happen?"
"Yes, Minister. The vote is fully recorded and binding."
"He voted for it," Amelia said, still trying to process the visual. "Lucius Malfoy voted to strip his own cousins of their Ministry jobs. He smiled at me."
"A very sensible decision on his part," Dolores replied smoothly, tucking the folio under her arm. "It seems the Wizengamot is finally developing an appreciation for efficient governance."
As the members began to stand up and leave their benches, Lucius walked down the stone steps alongside Sirius and Vernon Dursley. The three men were chatting casually, looking for all the world like old schoolmates heading out for lunch after a light morning of business.
Vernon paused briefly near the central aisle, glancing over at Amelia. He gave her a calm, approving nod, a faint, amused smirk playing at the corner of his mouth before he turned back to continue his conversation with Lucius about estate investments.
Amelia leaned against the lectern for a brief moment, letting out a long, slow breath.
She didn't know what kind of seismic shift had occurred behind the scenes to make the dark families vote for their own political purge. She didn't know why Lucius Malfoy looked like he had just retired to a peaceful farm. But as she watched her allies and former enemies walk out of the chamber in complete, harmonious alignment, one thing was unmistakably clear:
The Ministry of Magic belonged to her now, and the old order didn't even care to put up a fight.
Albus Dumbledore stepped out from the shadowed alcove near the Chief Warlock's private study. His silver-embroidered purple robes swept silently against the polished marble, a serene, amused smile crinkling the corners of his bright blue eyes.
"I believe," Dumbledore said softly, his deep voice carrying a touch of warmth that broke the lingering tension in the corridor, "that went rather smoother than your four-hour sleeping schedule anticipated, Amelia."
Amelia let out a breathless, half-amused laugh, running a hand over her slicked-back hair. "Smoother, Albus? Lucius Malfoy offered Sirius Black a peppermint lozenge and voted to dissolve his own family's civil service patronage network in under twelve minutes. I feel like I walked into an illusion."
"Not an illusion, my dear Amelia," Dumbledore replied smoothly, turning to walk alongside her as Dolores Umbridge fell into step behind them, meticulously stamping the official Ministry seals onto the newly approved statutory parchment. "Simply the natural progression of a world that has finally realized where the future is being built. Although I would be lying, if I said that scene didn't shock me. Now, if I am not mistaken, you have four pillars to rebuild and a bureaucratic void to fill."
"And no time to wait for formal examination boards," Amelia said, her eyes narrowing as her sharp administrative mind took over. "If I leave those department heads in place while we spend six months drafting MPU testing standards, they will spend those six months shredding documents, transferring funds, and undermining the restructuring. I need fresh blood in those four pillars by the end of the week. Uncorrupted, capable, and sharp."
"Which is precisely why," Dumbledore said, stepping toward the high arched windows that looked out over the Atrium, "we are taking the afternoon to draft the operational framework together. And why you, along with our distinguished friends from Nexus, will be joining me at Hogwarts for dinner tonight."
By three in the afternoon, Amelia, Dumbledore, and Dolores had completely mapped out the interim leadership for the four consolidated pillars. They didn't bother with the old, bloated hierarchy. They stripped away thirty-eight redundant directorial titles, established a lean executive council for each pillar, and calculated the budget savings. With sixty percent of the useless administrative posts eliminated, the remaining positions could be offered with starting salaries that rivaled private corporate retainers.
At five o'clock, Amelia finally signed the last piece of document and handed it over to Dolores. "Dolores, take the signed statutory packet to the Office of Executive Order. Have the official notices prepared for broadcast by early morning tomorrow."
"At once, Minister," Dolores replied crisply, giving a precise nod before departing toward the administrative lifts.
"Now then," Dumbledore continued, turning toward the Floo grate. "The rest of our party is already awaiting us at the castle. I believe a proper dinner is in order before we address the evening's work."
Amelia adjusted her cuffs, her sharp eyes scanning the hearth as green flames leaped once more. "Lead the way, Headmaster."
The Floo hearth in the Headmaster's office flared with a sudden, brilliant flash of emerald light. Albus Dumbledore stepped out first, followed in rapid succession by Amelia Bones, Vernon Dursley, Sirius Black, and Percival Parkinson.
The moment the group cleared the stone mantelpiece, the atmosphere hit them like a physical wall.
It was freezing.
A sharp, biting arctic draft howled against the heavy leaded windows of the tower. The air inside the office was crisp enough to turn their breath into thick white plumes, and a dusting of frost covered the edges of the ancient silver instruments humming on the tables.
Amelia immediately pulled her heavy deep-charcoal robes tighter around her shoulders, her eyes widening as she looked around the room. Sirius shuddered, pulling up the lapels of his dark suit jacket, while Percival let out a low, surprised whistle. Vernon stood perfectly still, his brow furrowing deeply as he checked the temperature in the room.
"Albus," Amelia said, her voice trembling slightly from the sudden chill. "It is the sixteenth of May. Why does your office feel like the top of the Alps?"
Dumbledore did not look distressed in the slightest. He walked over to the grand arched window, a warm, immensely amused smile playing beneath his silver beard.
"Ah," Dumbledore said softly, resting a hand on the brass latch. "We have your son to thank for this, Vernon."
Vernon froze. He let out a long, heavy, long-suffering sigh that paled in comparison to the sudden, loud bark of laughter that erupted from Sirius. Percival choked back a sharp laugh, clutching his leather folio as he shook his head in absolute disbelief.
"What did he do now?" Vernon asked quietly, his tone echoing the exhaustion of a father who dealt with legendary absurdity on a daily basis.
"So he broke the local weather?" Amelia asked, blinking rapidly as she looked between Dumbledore and the three patriarchs.
"Spectacularly so, Amelia," Dumbledore chuckled. He unlatched the heavy wooden window and swung it open. A gust of swirling, freezing wind swept into the office, carrying a handful of massive, glittering snowflakes across the room.
Except the snow wasn't white.
Down over the grounds, a thick, roaring blizzard was swirling across the battlements in vibrant, shifting streams of ruby red, emerald green, bronze blue, and rich gold.
Dumbledore reached out a broad hand, effortlessly catching several galleon-sized snowflakes on his palm before closing the window against the howl of the wind. He turned back to the group, stepping forward to display his catch.
Each snowflake was as large as a metal coin, perfectly crystalline, and intricately stamped at the center with a flawless, miniature crest of the four Hogwarts houses.
"It seems our young Harry was testing an atmospheric charm he devised," Dumbledore explained, his blue eyes twinkling with radiant delight. "But it seems that the spell went haywire and Hogwarts ended up in this unpredictable blizzard for a month, leaving Harry airborne with some very serious words to Merlin."
Sirius stepped closer, staring down at the colored snowflakes the size of galleons on Dumbledore's palm. "Wait... are those stamped?"
"And individually flavored," Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite the flavored chaos he unleashed for the month. Although, as you can imagine, the students aren't really complaining."
"So this was the reason he needed those five hundred brooms," Percival smirked, a sharp glint of appreciation in his eyes. "Quite shrewd."
"Yes, I believe those brooms were a preemptive apology, as he was quite afraid to face his Head of House," Dumbledore laughed, clearing his hand of the snow with a gentle wave of his fingers. "Minerva was remarkably forgiving once the delivery arrived."
Vernon rubbed his temples, letting out a faint breath that turned to mist in the cold air, though the edge of his mouth twitched upward. "He didn't mention a word of this at home."
"Would you, if you turned the sky into a slushie machine?" Sirius wheezed, clapping Vernon hard on the back.
"That boy is a ticking time bomb of chaos," Amelia looked back out the frosted window, shaking her head with a helpless sigh. "I never know what he will do next."
"No one does," Dumbledore beamed. "But I suppose it's fine, life at Hogwarts has been nothing short of entertaining since young Harry Potter joined us."
With a light chuckle, Dumbledore led the group down the spiral staircase, past the heavy stone gargoyle, and into the high corridors of the castle. The shift in temperature was immediate once they descended into the main halls, though the faint scent of mint and cherry still hung in the air from the enchanted blizzard outside.
When the doors to the Great Hall swung open, the student body was already deep into their evening meal. Floating candles illuminated four long tables stacked high with roasted meats, steaming pasties, and seasonal vegetables. High above, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the chaotic storm outside, swirling in vivid streaks of red, green, blue, and gold while tiny, harmless flakes of flavored snow dissolved before reaching the tables.
The entry of the small delegation instantly drew whispers across every house table.
Minister Amelia Bones drew low murmurs, but it was Vernon, Sirius, and Percival who held the room's attention. Walking side by side in tailored dark suits, the three patriarchs projected absolute authority. Pinned to the left lapel of each jacket was a single silver Nexus emblem, catching the warm candlelight. Across the hall, pureblood heirs and muggleborns alike stared at the identical pins, utterly baffled by why the heads of the Dursley, Black, and Parkinson houses were displaying the exact same crest.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry raised his eyes from his plate as the group approached the head of the room. He caught Sirius's eye, receiving a sharp, amused wink from his godfather before the trio took their seats alongside the faculty.
Dumbledore stepped to the podium, tapping his spoon against his golden goblet. The ringing tone cleared the hall of all noise instantly.
"Good evening, students," Dumbledore said warmly. "Before we return to our meal, a brief administrative note. Following dinner, all seventh-year students will remain behind in the Great Hall. The lower years will return to their dormitories under the guidance of their house prefects. In addition, Mr. Potter will also remain in attendance."
A sudden surge of hushed speculation rippled across the benches. Harry remained relaxed, taking another sip of pumpkin juice while Fred and George leaned in simultaneously.
"What did you break this time, Harry?" Fred muttered, leaning over the table while casting a suspicious glance toward the high table.
"The sky's literally bleeding ruby red, mate," George added, gesturing upward with a half-eaten sausage. "You running out of weather patterns, or are you just getting artistic?"
Harry looked genuinely offended, setting his fork down with a sharp clatter. "Why is the immediate assumption always that I did something?"
"Well, Boy Wonder..." Fred countered, propping his chin in his hand with a theatrical sigh. "You did turn Hogwarts' weather into an arctic blizzard of multi-colored, house-crested, gourmet-flavored slush for absolutely no reason."
"I was experimenting," Harry explained smoothly, crossing his arms. "There is a massive structural difference."
"Experimenting to see if you could make the sky taste like cherry slushie?" Abigail quipped from across the table, leaning her chin on her palm with a raised eyebrow. "And for what noble academic purpose, exactly?"
"I've already told you all, the colors and the flavor profile were a collateral accident!" Harry defended, tossing a hand in the air. "The runic feedback loop saturated the moisture particles. It happens!"
"Right, but the fundamental fact still stands that you were trying to summon a localized blizzard inside mid-May for no apparent reason," Hermione added without even looking up from her book, taking a crisp bite of her apple.
"I wanted mild snowfall!" Harry shot back, adjusting his collar with absolute indignity. "A light, aesthetic dusting! How was I supposed to know the spell would backfire and lock itself on a for a month?"
"Oh, poor you," Ron snorted, slapping Harry on the shoulder. "A mild snowfall math error that required five hundred top-of-the-line racing brooms to bribe McGonagall out of throwing you in the dungeons until graduation."
Up at the high table, Dumbledore quietly briefed McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick on the evening's upcoming events. McGonagall gave a swift, approving nod, her eyes darting briefly toward the Gryffindor table before settling into a rare, satisfied expression.
As the feast drew to a close, Sirius pushed back his chair, smoothed down his dark suit jacket, and walked casually down the steps toward the Gryffindor table. He tapped Harry's shoulder.
"Walk with me for a minute, Harry," Sirius said softly.
Harry nodded, sliding off the bench and following Sirius out toward the side corridor past the heavy oak doors.
The corridor was quiet, illuminated only by flickering torches. Sirius leaned back against the stone wall, pulling his shoulders back with a satisfied grin.
"I take it the vote went well?" Harry asked, resting his hands in his pockets.
"Well?" Sirius laughed, a dark spark in his gray eyes. "Amelia prepared for a three-month siege. Lucius gave her a red carpet instead. The bill passed thirty-nine to four. The entire old Ministry structure gets torn down by the weekend."
"So Amelia has total clearance," Harry noted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"Total clearance," Sirius confirmed. "Which brings us to tonight. The official implementation starts tomorrow morning. That gives us exactly one night to secure the talent before the old families try to pivot."
He clapped a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder, his expression turning sharp and proud. "You'll be standing in on what comes next. Don't sit in there playing banker, Harry. Look for the real dreamers, the ones who want to build something ridiculous, and give them room to run."
Harry matched his godfather's sharp grin. "Count on it."
"Good lad. Let's head back in. Dumbledore's about to clear the room."
When they returned to the Great Hall, the house tables were already being cleared of food.
Dumbledore stood at the center podium, raising his hands. "First through sixth years, you are dismissed to your common rooms. Prefects, lead your houses."
A rustle of heavy robes and boots filled the hall as hundreds of lower-year students reluctantly filed out into the entrance hall, casting curious backward glances over their shoulders. Within moments, the massive double doors swung shut, leaving only the seventh-year cohort, the visiting delegation, the faculty, and Harry sitting at the Gryffindor table.
"Seventh years," Dumbledore began, his voice echoing smoothly off the enchanted stone. "As you approach your N.E.W.T. examinations and prepare to enter society, Hogwarts has traditionally left your career paths to post-graduation applications. Tonight, however, represents a historical departure from tradition."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the Minister of Magic.
Amelia Bones stepped up to the podium, her dark charcoal robes crisp and her posture radiating absolute authority.
"Starting today, the Ministry of Magic is undergoing an immediate, structural overhaul," Amelia announced, her clear voice ringing through the silent hall. "We are gutting outdated administrative bloat and actively seeking sharp, ambitious minds to build a modern civil service. To that end, the Ministry is conducting an immediate, fast-track recruitment drive tonight."
She paused, looking out over the crowd of young witches and wizards.
"Make no mistake. This special recruitment drive is an extraordinary exception for this year only," Amelia stated firmly. "Moving forward, any graduate seeking entry into the Ministry will be required to sit for rigorous standardized examinations and pass high-tier practical evaluations. But tonight, for this founding cohort, we are evaluating drive, character, and vision."
Vernon Dursley then stepped up beside Amelia, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored charcoal suit. The silver Nexus pin on his lapel caught the candlelight, drawing every eye in the room.
"On behalf of Nexus," Vernon spoke, his booming, grounded voice instantly commanding total attention. "I am pleased to announce that starting this year, Nexus is establishing a permanent partnership with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Nexus is a allied clan of family houses with wide-ranging commercial, defensive, and research enterprises. Every year moving forward, our executive board will personally visit Hogwarts to interview and recruit top-tier talent directly into our holdings across various domains from runic engineering and potioneering to international trade and tactical defense."
Vernon glanced briefly at Amelia with a subtle, sharp smirk before turning back to the students.
"To ensure fair competition, Minister Bones and Nexus have aligned our entry-level compensation structures," Vernon continued smoothly. "The baseline starting salary for a junior Ministry appointee in the new administration will begin at a generous five thousand Galleons annually, scaled upward depending on specialized roles."
Gasps erupted across all four house tables. Five thousand Galleons as a baseline starting pay was unprecedented. Nearly quadruple what traditional entry-level Ministry clerks had made under the old regime.
"However," Vernon added, his eyes glinting with dry humor, "Nexus believes in maintaining a slight competitive edge. Our baseline entry-level compensation across all Nexus subsidiaries will start at five thousand one hundred Galleons annually, alongside performance-based profit sharing and access to proprietary research grants."
A low chorus of laughter and eager whispers broke out. Sirius grinned broadly from the side, while Percival shook his head with an amused tut.
"The choice of where you apply your talents rests entirely with you," Vernon finished, stepping back. "We look forward to speaking with you."
Dumbledore returned to the center, a radiant smile on his face. "Now then..."
With a swift, elegant wave of his elderberry wand, the long house tables and benches scraped smoothly back against the stone walls, clearing a vast wooden floor in the center of the hall.
Three distinct, transfigured interview enclosures materialized on the floor. Sleek, sound-proofed structures made of dark polished wood and frosted glass panels. Outside the structures, a wide semicircle of plush leather armchairs and couches appeared, providing comfortable seating for the candidate pool.
"Three panels have been established tonight," Dumbledore announced. "The first room belongs to the Ministry of Magic, overseen by Minister Bones. The second room belongs to Nexus, overseen by Mr. Dursley, Mr. Parkinson, and Lord Black."
Dumbledore's gaze shifted toward Harry, who was casually leaning against the wooden barrier of the central circle.
"And the third room," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling merrily, "belongs to Mr. Potter."
A sudden, sharp wave of hushed speculation broke out among the seventh years.
"To clarify," Dumbledore hushed the crowd with a raised hand. "Tonight's discussions are not academic quizzes. Your marks are already recorded. These interviews are focused on your personal ambitions, your long-term goals, and what you intend to build. Candidates may step forward to one of the two rooms, either Nexus or Ministry when called."
The recruitment session kicked off with immediate energy.
By the time the final candidate stepped out of the enclosures, the Great Hall had fallen into a quiet, contented stillness. The house tables had been restored to their original places, and the lingering scent of tea and warm pastries filled the room. The student body had dispersed to their dormitories, leaving only the faculty, the visiting delegation, and Harry seated around a long table near the head of the hall.
Amelia unbuttoned her outer cloak, leaning back in her chair with a cup of hot Earl Grey tea. She unrolled a parchment roster, running a finger down the column of names.
"Let us verify the count to make sure no one was overlooked," Amelia said, glancing over at McGonagall. "We had one hundred and forty-three seventh years sitting for N.E.W.T.s this term, correct Minerva?"
"Precisely one hundred and forty-three," McGonagall confirmed, adjusting her spectacles as she checked her own ledger. "Every single student was interviewed this evening."
"The Ministry managed to secure sixty-three recruits," Amelia noted, a subtle, highly satisfied smile touching her lips. "Given the overhaul, that gives us an exceptional foundation for the incoming civil service class."
"Nexus took sixty-one," Vernon announced, reviewing his leather-bound portfolio. "Mainly spread across defensive contracting, commercial management, and specialized research facilities."
Percival set down his tea, looking over at Harry with an amused expression. "Which leaves nine for Room Three. Nine independent entrepreneurs."
"Quality over quantity," Harry said smoothly, swirling his pumpkin juice. "Nine people who had wild ideas, actual vision, and enough nerve to pitch something completely unconventional."
Dumbledore leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands beneath his chin. His blue eyes twinkled bright behind his half-moon spectacles. "And if I may ask, Harry, what was the total investment for these nine visionaries?
Harry pulled out a small piece of parchment, glancing at his handwritten notes. "The smallest grant was eighteen thousand Galleons for a Slytherin working on specialized potion stabilizers. The rest were varying mid-tier allocations."
Harry paused, staring down at the bottom of the scroll. A strange, disbelieving laugh escaped his chest, and he shook his head, looking up at the group with wide, genuinely stunned eyes.
"Though... the largest wasn't a grant at all," Harry admitted, his voice carrying a mix of awe and sheer excitement. "Honestly, I went into that room expecting to hand out twenty or thirty thousand Galleons for promising research. But this Ravenclaw student walked in, laid out his blueprints, and completely blew my mind."
Vernon raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "What did he have?"
"Magical Information Networks," Harry breathed out, still looking slightly floored by what he had witnessed. "He didn't just have a vague theory. He had designed a complete, flawless framework to route instantaneous data packets and crystal-clear visual transmissions across enchanted crystalline lattices. Bypassing owls, Floo networks, and two-way mirrors entirely. It's... well, it's a wizarding equivalent of the Muggle internet."
Harry shook his head again, a wild, sharp smirk breaking across his face. "I realized five minutes into his presentation that a small grant would be an absolute insult to what he was sitting on. So I scrapped the grant framework entirely. I signed him to a full-fledged venture contract right there on the spot. A total investment of ten million Galleons, with complete incubation and endorsement under Nexus's Magitech division."
Sirius choked violently on his firewhisky, coughing into his fist, while McGonagall froze mid-sip, her eyes widening in absolute shock behind her spectacles.
"Ten... ten million Galleons?" McGonagall repeated softly, looking at Harry as if he had lost his sanity. "You committed ten million Galleons to a student before they have even sat their N.E.W.T.s?"
"I had to, Professor!" Harry laughed, tossing his hands up. "You should have seen his math! It was brilliant. The boy is Muggle-born, so he actually understands the structural architecture of the systems he's trying to replicate, but he translated the entire medium into pure magical runic lattices. I sat there looking at his calculations and thought, 'If I don't fund this right now, someone else will, or worse, the idea will sit in a drawer for a decade.'"
Vernon set his parchment down with a sharp click, his eyes gleaming with intense, razor-sharp corporate pride. "Instantaneous communication infrastructure. If Magitech incubates that under the Nexus umbrella, every government, enterprise, and household in Europe will be dependent on our network within five years."
"Precisely," Harry smirked, his initial shock settling into pure, quiet triumph. "Ten million Galleons felt like a massive number to drop on a seventh-year, but for absolute market dominance over the future of wizarding communication? It was the bargain of the century."