ACT5CH17 - THE IRON VOW OF BONES

The War Room beneath Bones Manor had no windows. Or portraits. The Bones of old believed that windows were too closely tied to the symbology

The War Room beneath Bones Manor had no windows. Or portraits.

The Bones of old believed that windows were too closely tied to the symbology of flow and escape — open paths through which skilled sorcerers could twist meanings, subvert containment, or worse, worm their way into private thought. No one pierced this chamber without consent.

As for the portraits — that was all Amelia. She didn’t trust them. Too many dead minds prattling without any sense of time, blurting sensitive thoughts to the air because they didn’t know what century it was. And their expressions — all that condescension baked into oil and canvas.

Tonight, for the first time since the Pact of Stillwater, the War Room had opened. The same room where Medb of Connacht had once spat curses on oathbreakers and carved a ceasefire into giant flesh.

Now it would host something worse.

The slow begging of the British elite.

Amelia Bones stood at the head of the stone council table, arms crossed, lips set like a line cut into steel. She watched as the lords filed in — robes rustling, wands holstered, eyes twitching. Most of them were bearers of the traditionalist faction — the purists, the extremists, and a few neutral voices. Most of them would have been hacked to pieces for the murder of her brother Edward and his wife Mary Bones — Susan’s parents, back in the Great War. Amelia hadn’t allowed them into the Bones compound even on official grounds, where she was acting as the DMLE Director and not Minister. And now, when those same restrictions were all but naught, she had to hold the wards back from actively attacking them, as she welcomed them into this very chamber.

No, the irony was not lost upon her.

Why in Morgana’s name did I ever agree to become Minister again?

Amelia took a deep breath. Nott and his cohorts were still attempting to convince others that they could buy reality. The neutrals looked like they’d rather be anywhere else than listen to Arabella Brown and Archibald Smith as the duo attempted to convince them how they could still achieve victory over Potter. The rest of the members — Ogden, Macmillan, Fawley — all looked rumpled, the weight of international disgrace and the truth finally sinking in.

No Albus Dumbledore.

“Let’s not waste time pretending any of you deserve to sit here.”

Her words cut through the crowd, and for once, nobody had the temerity to oppose it. 

“Our nation is on fire,” Amelia said plainly. “And we are the ones who struck the match.”

“Minister —” Nott began.

“I wasn’t done speaking, Lord Nott.”

If words could strike, hers would have carved a bloody swathe through Nott’s form.

“I warned you all. Encountering entities of extraordinary power changes people. Fighting them, surviving them, even more so. Winning against them? It is simply not something that can be ignored.”

“You don’t need to tell us that Potter is dangerous, Minister,” growled Smith. “We all saw the disaster he invoked. None of us are foolish enough to believe that he won’t do so again if given the chance.”

“True, but do you truly know what he has done? Do you really know what disasters he is capable of?”

There was a long pause. The air was thick, the heavy breath of too many old men realizing they’d bet on the wrong generation.

She tapped her wand against the center of the table. A gem-carved disc responded with a pulse of light — soft at first, then brighter, humming with spectral resonance. Mist rose, curling like smoke made of thought.

The image that formed was… wrong.

Too many eyes.

Too many heads.

A creature of mass and symbol. A nightmare of scales and mirrored faces.

Arabella Brown shrieked with genuine animal panic. “Merlin’s bloody bones—what is that!?”

And she wasn’t the only one. Nott flinched. Fawley made a strangled noise and half-stood before composing himself. Ogden muttered something in Latin and grasped his wand tightly beneath the table.

The image turned slowly. Stared directly through them.

Every person in the room — from the most hardened duellist to the most cynical bureaucrat — felt it.

Something scratching at the back of their mind. The sound of something breathing just behind the curtain. Something that didn’t blink.

 A strange, unexplained sensation, like the sounds of something scratching against the door of your room in the middle of the night…

…or like the presence of an invisible thing under your bed.

“That,” Amelia said, calmly, “is Potter’s familiar.”

She let the word settle like ash.

“Life-sized. Runespoor-class. Possibly unique. According to all evidence, it was grown to its current magnitude using magical saturation techniques I’ve never even seen described — let alone performed.”

The image loomed over them. Its heads moved in synchrony, like a thought circling itself.

“It guards what we believe to be the Gate. The one Potter spoke of before he… cast Fidelius over it. The only reason we have this memory is because an Unspeakable unit had the misfortune of stepping into its territory and facing its wrath.”

She didn’t need to tell them that it took an impressive degree of Legilimency to carefully extract portions of this singular picture from all the minds at the site of impact, and even more delicate spectral surgery to put it together to present the complete picture.

Smith shifted, one hand drifting toward his wand. “Then we should send in a team. Wipe it out before it—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Amelia snapped. “That creature is immune. To wands. To curses. We believe that the Unspeakables used their best offensive against it and came up wanting. If Potter hadn’t left the Wizengamot mid-declaration to call it off…” 

She trailed, letting that implication bleed into them.

Ogden leaned back in his chair. “So that’s why he left…”

“Correct,” said Amelia, curtly. “While we were accusing him of treason, he was saving a team sent to spy on him.”

The silence that followed was uglier than any shouting match.

Brown tugged at her sleeves again, but didn’t speak.

Travers looked as if he was chewing on his own teeth.

Even Nott — who had perfected the expression of bored superiority — had gone oddly still. 

“We have to understand,” Amelia said, quieter now, as if the familiar’s gaze still lingered. “The paradigms have shifted.”

She turned toward Nott’s side of the table. “From last June, you and yours have constantly attempted to strip Harry Potter of his rights, twist his truth as fabrications and falsehoods, and denied his claims to his Ancestry.”

A small smile spread across her lips. “It hasn’t changed a thing. You can deny it all you like, but Harry Potter is the Vessel of Death. The totem he summons is the Thestral. He is genuinely a Peverell. Just like he currently holds the reins of the Black Family Magic, as he so publicly demonstrated before the Wizengamot. And I’m quite certain that the power that manifested through Daphne Greengrass is the same power that manifested the Bison that aided us in defeating the Dark Lord, meaning — he has a claim to the Greengrass Magic of Summer.”

That caused a ripple. Several heads turned sharply.

“But how is it even possible?” asked Fawley. “I’d understand Summer, for it is part of his ancestry. But Death is the antithesis of Magic. Not only are they conflicting, they are exact opposites. Potter shouldn’t even be alive.”

He looked to the others, voice rising like a man grasping for logic in a house on fire.

“He shouldn’t be able to cast spells, let alone command more than one magical core!”

“Shouldn’t,” Amelia agreed. “And yet, he does.”

“And then there is Binding,” MacMillan pointed out. “It makes even less sense. Potter isn’t even a real Black. Sirius Black might have adopted him, but why by Merlin would the Black Family Magic reject all existing Blacks to manifest through him? It doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“I supported Potter,” he said, not proudly. “He fought for us. Bled for us. He faced down the Dark Lord when the rest of us were still debating policy.”

He looked around the table, then back to Amelia.

“But he shouldn’t be able to do these things. And it scares me that he can. I don’t… understand him anymore.”

A pause.

“And I think that’s how it starts. Isn’t it? Like Nott claimed?”

“You think he’s stealing our magic?” Ogden asked, voice edged with disbelief. “That he’s absorbing family lines? Like some kind of leech?”

“I knew it,” Brown muttered, eyes wide with half-believed righteousness.

“It would explain Binding,” Macmillan said, almost miserably. “The Black inheritance shouldn’t have taken root within him. Not unless something older was working in the background. Something… designed to consume.”

“I told you all,” said Nott triumphantly. “He’s the end. That’s what he is. A black hole for every foundation we ever laid. He plays the savior while gutting our Houses like fish. He prevented the return of the Age of the Gods. He hoards the endless power of the Anima behind whatever twisted contraption he built. Whatever he intends to do with it, we’ll never know, for he cast a bloody Fidelius over it, and set loose a vicious monster to attack whoever draws near. He tore the Wizengamot apart, and he’s the reason Wizarding Britain is in dire straits. He isn’t a hero, he’s a monster, and one that will lead us to our end if we let this hoax continue.”

“Enough!” snapped Amelia. 

The word cracked like a whip. Several lords flinched. Even the runes along the stone table hissed, echoing her fury.

“Enough with this pointless fear-mongering. This is exactly what lost us the Gate. It is what lost us the Black Family Magic, and left our Wizengamot in tears. Face it, Lord Nott. You’re afraid. Afraid that for once, it is your Dark Lord that wields supreme power. That is, it is not a compliant Albus Dumbledore with no intention of wielding political influence at the helm. You are angry that you are facing someone with access to true power and not afraid to use it. One that simply won’t bend backwards just to soothe your oh-so-precious ego.”

“Potter is a threat to our nation,” Nott argued.

“One you enabled,” Amelia shot back, crossing her arms defiantly. “I’ll be blunt, Nott. The games are over. It’s been played out five times already, and every time Harry Potter has emerged as the winner. Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge acted out of their greed and delusions. Lucius Malfoy died like a dog. Your Dark Lord perished against borrowed power, and Ekrizdis was kicked out of his own twisted Ascension. And you, with your ilk and politicking just left yourselves bereft of a Wizengamot. If you have any sense, and I know you do, stop trying to make things worse for yourself.”

“You would have us bow down to the boy, Minister?” growled Nott dangerously. “One might think you’re afraid of the boy.”

“Oh I am,” said Amelia bluntly, shocking the crowd. “And if you want to convince me that you aren’t, you’re doing a terrible job at that.”

“So you agree that Potter is a danger,” claimed Jugson.

“I never implied otherwise,” said Amelia. “Potter is dangerous in the same way as basilisks are deadly. Whether he becomes a danger to us, or is used to protect something mystical and powerful from the wrong hands is for us to decide. A role we have been repeatedly failing.”

She glared at them. “If he becomes our undoing, it will not be because he was evil. It will be because you made him alone. Because when he offered you truth, you spat on him. When he gave you victory, you gave him shackles.”

She gave them a dark look.

“I know what you want. You want to soothe your egos. You want to hold on to the illusion that the world is yours to command. Well here’s the stark truth — it isn’t. Your bloody Dark Lord had most of you in his pockets and despite that he couldn’t win Wizarding Britain with a decade of planning and terrorism. He was gutted like a dog by a one-year-old’s mystical power. Ekrizdis took centuries to craft his Eternum, and he had the British Ministry supporting him in every turn. Harry Potter ended his silent reign in one night. As much as I hate to admit it, he could ravage and obliterate Wizarding Britain in a single day and we’d have no option but to lay down our wands and pray for mercy. And not you, or your political power, can do a single thing to stop him. Tell me, are you truly going to dig yourself further into your grave? Or can you, for once, push your ego aside and enjoy the opportunities that come from being with the winning side, for once?”

Selwyn scoffed. “Winning side? You make it look like we have something to gain from not escalating this issue.”

“Well, you’ll survive, for one,” said Amelia. “If you choose to attack him, you’ll die. And the only difference is that the next time we hold these negotiations, your successor might choose to think differently.”

Selwyn’s nostrils flared. 

Amelia went on, counting her fingers. “The reactivation of the Miraculum Operarius, and by extension, the Wizengamot and the Ministry protocols. The revision and subsequent enactment of protocols tying the Goblin Nation to us, so that the threat of another wizard-goblin war stays out of the equation. Complete support of Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard alive that can serve as a deterrent against Harry Potter, if things go south. Return of the Gate and the Gatekeeper. Potential foray into Anima research, allowing us to tap into the powers that almost destroyed us, and see if we can use them for our benefit. And of course, Harry Potter’s cooperation.”

“Minister Bones,” said Ogden. “I hope you know how little the last part means.”

“Harry got this far just by himself,” said Amelia. “Even at the risk of facing the entire Ministry. Imagine what he can accomplish if he has our support. We can either annihilate ourselves trying to break him, or we can achieve greatness, while having him serve as our deterrent against the rest. Perhaps you have forgotten the political benefits Britain reaped from Albus Dumbledore defeating Grindelwald?”

“And what do you propose in exchange?” asked Fawley.

“Complete cessation of all hostilities against Harry Potter. We offer him a proper invite to return to take his place in the Wizengamot. House Black will be reinstated, and Binding shall return to the Miraculum Operarius. House Peverell shall become part of the Wizengamot.”

“I think you mean Potter,” suggested Selwyn.

“Peverell,” Amelia repeated. “Whatever archaic rule we have in place in hopes to extort gold from him, you might as well forget it. If Fortune smiles on us, we might even be able to return the Ministry operations back to normalcy.”

Jugson and the others looked at each other.

“I guess… we can live with that,” said Selwyn.

“We recognize the Gate as a sovereign magical territory, governed independently by the Gatekeeper, under Clause 18 of the Old Blood Compact and the Sealed territories Act of 1312,” Amelia proposed. “Essentially, the site and the Gate would be treated with the same status as the seat of power of a Noble House.”

Interestingly, the Old Blood Compact was originally set up when the House of Black came to the Isles and helped in the Wizengamot’s formation. Only back then, it was known as the Pact of Hollowmere.

“Already he has the power to destroy the world, and your solution is to grant him more power?” Jugson scoffed.

Amelia ignored him. 

“We will set up a magical oversight body, composed of members from the Wizengamot and the ICW, who will help Mr. Potter by reviewing the situation and offer their experienced opinion. Again, it is merely an advisory board with little executive power. The final decision shall lie on Harry Potter alone. In exchange, Harry Potter shall cancel the Fidelius, and come clean with exactly what transpired at the site and how that affects the world, as well as the role he intends to play with it.”

“You think we should just leave him in charge?” asked Nott.

“You misunderstand, Lord Nott,” said Amelia, her patience now growing thin. Clearly she wasn’t made for this endless politicking. Serving as the DMLE Director was far better. Maybe after all of this was over, she could ask Rufus to step up and get the damn job, leaving her back in the comfort of her old chair. 

“Am I now?”

“Yes. Harry Potter has the authority over the site, and it will stay that way. You aren’t allowing anything. You can’t.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“I refuse,” said Nott, standing up. “The Fidelius might have hidden it, but I believe the area falls under British territory. Why else would Ekrizdis even be there? Harry Potter may be given the right to independent governance, for now, but the territory is ours. I believe if Ekrzidis chose that site for his grand project, it must contain something truly priceless that I for one, am not willing to just hand over to Potter, with or without your approval.”

Amelia arched an eyebrow.

“I told you all. She might be Minister, but she’s Potter's lapdog. I vote for a new Minister to hold the reins and get rid of this Potter problem for good.”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Amelia sweetly. “All you need is to first convince the others that the Wizengamot , as well the oaths and protocols that held the British Ministry of Magic still exist. That is, assuming, there is even a single Auror or hit-wizard out there that wants to risk their lives, when the Ministry itself is wrecked apart.”

Nott bristled. “Minister —”

“Did you think this is a business transaction, Benjamin?” She asked coldly. “That I invited you all here so that you can haggle over prices?”

Every present shuddered at her directness.

“Did you think that I summoned you all here so that I might soothe your egos and enjoy your support? As if being the Minister and hanging on a stupid seat means more than holding the nation together?For whatever reason, all of you are under the impression that your Family name, and your political power is of any value to me. Allow me to disabuse you of that notion.”

The air in the room shifted dramatically. The Chamber was alive, and obeying her intent, its disapproval hanging above the others like a metaphorical sword.

“The only purpose of your existence is to serve as a part of the Miraculum Operarius. To keep the Wizengamot and all existing oaths, vows and laws of Magic intact. If you refuse, your value becomes nonexistent. Worthless. And face it, Harry Potter has won, and you have lost. Terribly. Humiliatingly. The only purpose of this meeting is to save your face while trying to get things back to working. There is no barter. No negotiation. Because let me remind you — I am no longer held back by the oaths I swore as Minister, or the DMLE Director. I am merely the Regent Bones hosting a meeting, in which case — why do you think you will even be allowed to leave this room?” 

Nott, Jugson, Avery, Mulciber — all five pairs of eyes looked at her in shock.

“You — you —” Jugson swallowed. “You’re threatening us! This — this is an ambush!”

Amelia smiled serenely. “The Wizengamot is gone. The protections granted to noble houses — your sacred immunity, your self-ratified privileges — gone. Gringotts is rebelling, which means your gold also, is as good as gone. And while my oaths as DMLE Director might have hindered me from acting earlier, I know how many of you are true Death Eaters. For the death of my brother Edward Bones and his wife Mary, I am in full right to declare a Family Feud on all your Houses… and bury you in this very room.”

Fawley stood up. “I can’t believe I am listening to this! This — this is insane! Madam Bones, have you finally lost your mind?”

“No,” said Amelia. “Merely desperate. I have given the better half of two decades trying to keep Wizarding Britain a safe place. And now, these fools have put it on the brink of ruin. If I have to choose between two evils, I’d rather choose the one that can help me stabilize the situation. It would be, as the phrase goes — for the greater good.”

“What happens if we agree?” asked Selwyn.

His fellow purebloods looked at him in confused fury. 

“You cannot seriously be considering this?” bellowed Nott.

“My son Raleigh has had conversations with Harry Potter at Hogwarts. As has you son, Nott. And I believe the Rosiers will agree with this, when I say that Potter, for all his flaws, is a visionary. While the threat of him holding that much power frightens me, there is a chance that things just might work out in the end. Perhaps… he might even be open to negotiations.”

“He is seriously considering this,” Jugson groaned.

Amelia smiled. “You all will formally ask Albus Dumbledore to return. I am not sure if he will accept it or not, but at least, he must mediate this. You will confess your failure. You will let him carry a proposal of peace and diplomacy to Harry Potter, and you will mean it. Albus will talk with members of the ICW, and we will set up an Oversight Council meeting, where the selected members will come to the table ready to discuss whatever Harry Potter has to say in good faith.”

Ogden stood, hands trembling slightly. “And what if he refuses?”

Amelia held his gaze. “Then I suppose it’s on us to ensure that he doesn’t.”