Time passed, and it soon became clear to Fury and his group why children’s toys were scattered throughout the aircraft. Not long after reaching the chamber, Talos began signaling with his voice—some form of Skrull language or code—and soon Skrulls, both young and old, began emerging from all directions, gathering around the group.
At first, Danvers and her group thought they were surrounding them for an attack, but then realized it was only a reunion. An emotional reunion, as it turned out, and Danvers finally realized that it wasn’t really the Tesseract Talos was after, but his family—his wife, his child. That was the reason he had been so adamant and impatient, going through all the trouble of chasing, or perhaps leading her, across star systems all the way here.
“We didn’t know what to do… Mar-Vell instructed us not to send a signal for any reason… else the Kree would find us,” the female Skrull—Talos’s partner, undoubtedly—said to him. She looked absolutely relieved at this moment, and it was clear she had been waiting, patiently, for a very long time.
“You did the right thing…” embracing his partner, Talos acknowledged. Though it had been a long time, this moment was worth it for him.
“But who… is she, Talos?” the female Skrull asked again, pointing at Danvers—or more precisely, her uniform. Although not the standard color of Kree uniforms, she had been running from the Kree all her life and could recognize their gear at a glance.
“She’s with me… it’s okay. She’s the one who led me to you,” Talos assured her lovingly.
The emotional exchange continued, with Danvers apologizing to the Skrulls and Talos explaining his journey to finding them. Fury and Maria stood like passive observers, watching the exchanges, while the Tesseract remained stored inside a metal box in Maria’s hand. And, unknowingly, they had all relaxed their guards.
Maverick, standing by the metal wall of the chamber, shook his head, watching Carol play ping-pong with the children when they should have been planning their next move—either to stop Yon-Rogg or at least get the non-combatant Skrull women and children to safety, knowing he was on his way.
But Maverick had no intention of reminding her, and besides, at this moment, neither Danvers nor Fury was even aware that he was already here.
Soon, and sure enough, his magical senses detected a group heading their way, and before long, the door to the chamber clunked open with a mechanical shriek, startling everyone inside.
The lab doors swung open, and six figures in Kree Starforce armor advanced, weapons raised and spreading with practiced precision. At their forefront strode Yon-Rogg, clad in flawless armor, his expression cold, clearly the authority among the group.
As soon as his eyes landed on Danvers, sweeping over her new red-and-blue uniform, his face twisted from the scowl of betrayal to blatant disdain. "Fraternizing with the enemy, are we now, Vers?" he said coldly. "Tell me, what have you done to your uniform?”
"My name," Danvers snapped, clenching her fists, "is Carol Danvers. Not! Vers!"
Yon-Rogg’s eyes narrowed. “It seems these Skrull… terrorists, have poisoned your mind beyond repair.” He took a few steps in her direction, while his Kree soldiers raised their weapons, sweeping their aim over everyone in the room—the Skrulls, women, children, and even Fury and Maria.
"YOU… HAVE BEEN LYING TO ME," Danvers shouted angrily. "You lied. About who I am. Where I came from."
"I MADE YOU! I made you the best version of yourself." Yon-Rogg's eyes glinted with a disturbing possessiveness. “All that you are… you owe to me. To the Kree. And not—” he gestured sharply toward the green-skinned aliens, “to these… terrorists.”
Danvers could no longer contain her rage. She lunged recklessly, fist raised and photon energy flaring—but Yon-Rogg, as if reading her every move, acted too—not at her—and simply fiddled with a device on his belt.
"What's given…" he said disdainfully, while crackling blue energy began to wrap around Danvers like spectral chains. "…can be taken away."
It was clearly the Kree commander’s doing, and as a result, Danvers’ photon energy powers seemed to have vanish. She staggered forward, then sank to one knee, clutching her neck as she struggled against the invisible force that had drained her strength.
"Do you understand now? What was given... can be taken away."
"Enough with your lies. You didn't give me these powers," Carol gasped. "The blast from the light-speed engine six years ago gave me these powers."
"True. And yet," Yon-Rogg countered, stepping closer, "what is all that power if you can’t… control it?"
Desperate, realizing the man she had believed was her mentor all these years was truly her enemy, the future Ms. Marvel then tried to forcibly grab the inhibitor off her neck, even if it meant enduring excruciating pain.
Unfortunately, that was as far as she got before an energy blast from Yon-Rogg’s wrist struck her squarely in the gut, and she collapsed, unconscious.
"Carol!" Maria cried out, but Fury grabbed her arm, pulling her back before she could run toward her friend.
"Don't! You can't help in this situation."
They were out geared and outnumbered, and in that moment, Fury couldn’t help but think of the wizard bastard who was so good at pissing him off. His eyes darted around the room but found nothing, no sign of them, and all he could do was mutter a curse under his breath.
"Secure the target," Yon-Rogg commanded, and two soldiers lifted Carol's limp form. His attention then turned to the only two humans beside Danvers, and finally to the metal box, from which an ethereal blue glow was seeping from its closed lid. He smirked and walked toward them.
“You would be wise to hand that over, human…”
Fury still had no idea about the significance of the Tesseract—otherwise, Yon-Rogg might have had to take it over his dead body. He only knew it was some kind of energy core, nothing more. So given the situation, he reluctantly—but obediently—handed the metal box over.
And Yon-Rogg, as though a decades-old ambition had been fulfilled, allowed his eyes to shine at the box containing Tesseract. But the moment he opened it, excitement gave way to utter perplexity.
And then rage.
“WHERE IS IT?”
Before opening the box, a mysterious glow clearly emanated from the edges of its closed lid, and he was certain the Tesseract was inside. Why else would these two humans be guarding it? But when he opened it, it was empty—and even that glow had vanished.
“Got no clue what you’re talking about. That’s where the kid stores his baseball, and before you came, I was just about to have a few throws with him.”
WACK!
Yon-Rogg was in no mood for ridicule and punched Fury squarely in the face, rattling the superspy’s senses with the impact. Yon-Rogg was no human—though he looked like one—and his physical prowess far exceeded any human’s. His single blow sent Fury spinning before he hit the metal floor, collapsing and barely staying conscious.
The Kree commander then looked at Maria, who glared back defiantly, but for some reason he didn’t strike her, and commanded his minions.
"Find the energy core. Search everywhere! Everywhere!"
The grunts moved through the lab like efficient machines, tearing apart equipment and searching everywhere, while Maria and Fury had their weapons confiscated and were restrained in alien cuffs.
Yon-Rogg cast another glance at Danvers’ unconscious form on the metal floor, fully aware of what was happening inside her mind. "The Supreme Intelligence will deal with you soon enough, my perfect soldier," he murmured to himself, then shouted, "Take them to the holding cells. And keep the humans separate from the Skrulls."
They were soon taken out of the main deck and shoved into a stark metal room, with just bare walls and a single cold light. The Skrulls were in one cell, and Maria and Fury were in the other—oh, and Goose too.
Before the door slid shut, though, one of the grunts activated a scanner, running it over each one of them.
The scanner passed over Goose first, emitting a series of frantic, high-pitched chirps and blue light before the guard’s expression visibly changed, eyes widening.
"Species: Flerken. Threat level: HIGH."
“A what?”
Another grunt rushed to him, hearing a name he wasn’t expecting, and looked at the display before changing to a similar expression.
“A Flerken of all things… here?”
“Don’t just stand there. Strap it.”
The second grunt immediately stepped forward, producing a complex-looking muzzle from who knows where, and with extreme caution, carefully fitted the device over the cat’s head, securing it tightly. Goose only blinked with his adorable eyes, not flinching in the slightest, or perhaps simply clueless, at what was being done to it.
The two grunts sighed as if having survived an encounter with death itself, then turned to Fury and Maria, who seemed confused as well. They seemed to have heard that name before, from Talos. Once then twice he had dismissed it, but this was the third time. Fury was skeptical now—this was the third person to claim his cat. His Goose was, in fact, not a cat.
The grunts didn’t care about the two’s expressions and swept their scanner over them also, once on each.
"Species: Human. Threat level: Low to none."
Although they were still captured, they were curious to see what this strange alien device would grade them, but as soon as they heard the announcement, it was like having an arrow pierce their pride-filled human hearts.
“That thing’s clearly busted…”
The alien huffed, cast one last disdainful glance at them, paid no mind to their reactions, and left, carrying Goose secured inside a high-tech cage.
Meanwhile, back in the now-empty main dock of the spaceship, Maverick and Isabella were seen standing frozen, eyeing the strange, mesmerizing, and equally dangerous-looking cosmic cube that Yon-Rogg was searching for and Fury and Maria believed had inexplicably disappeared. Yes, when Danvers had handed it to Maria earlier to keep it secure, and while the others had relaxed their guards, Maverick had finally made his move and taken the cube into his hand.
The illusion spell was unleashed to its limit as soon as Maverick laid eyes on the cube, and taking it from Maria’s hand was really nothing difficult. But he still kept the illusion of something being inside the metal box, even after Yon-Rogg had arrived. As a result, as soon as they entered the chamber, they were all under the spell and had no idea that the metal box, with its fake glow along the lid edges, was in fact an illusion, and the box held nothing but empty air.
And now… the Tesseract rested in Maverick’s hands. Isabella watched him, waiting for him to speak, because, well, it had been a long moment since he had fallen into that deep, calculating silence.
2025-09-24 15:11:48 +0000 UTC
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Author’s note:
Two chapters up—enjoy, guys!
———————
The modified aircraft hummed with energy as Danvers entered the last instruction into the system. Beside her sat Maria, and just behind them was Fury, carrying Goose in his arms, while Talos sat agitatedly in his seat.
“You know you really shouldn’t be carrying that thing in your lap…” Talos said uneasily, fear visible in his eyes.
“As long as it keeps scaring the green out of your face, I’ll keep doing exactly that,” Fury retorted, snuggling the ginger cat with even more affection.
“Alright, buckle up.” Danvers turned from the cockpit, drawing their attention. Looking at their bickering—one man and one alien—she had a feeling they would become good friends eventually, despite being from different species.
“Initiating launch sequence…”
“Space, huh… never thought I’d spend the New Year’s holidays doing something this insane...” Fury muttered nervously, clutching the ginger cat tighter.
He was a soldier who had been through plenty of dangerous situations, but this was a whole different level of crazy—even for him, leaving Earth’s atmosphere to track down, and likely fight off aliens. Goose, however, merely purred, the least bothered of anyone aboard.
“And… takeoff!”
With Danvers’s last announcement, a hum of power filled the cabin—Vrrrrmmm—as if the ship itself were stretching awake. Then—
BOOM!
A thunderous blast shook the inside and outside of the aircraft. The twin turbines roared to life, thrusting the craft forward, and, slowly at first, it began to lift off the ground.
From outside, Maverick and Isabella watched as the craft shot straight up moments later, defying gravity without even moving forward. The rush of wind brushed against their robes, and before long, it pierced the clouds and vanished, leaving only the endless sky ahead.
“Are we not following them?” Isabella asked some time later, turning from the small dot in the sky to her fiancé, who seemed lost in thought.
“We will…” Maverick murmured without looking, his focus fixed on something else—specifically the figure near the cabin beside Maria’s house.
There, Morex—disguised as Danvers—stood waiting, as if anticipating someone’s arrival. Maverick, too, was waiting, certain of what was about to happen: Yon-Rogg would soon land with his crew, coming for Danvers.
In the movie, Yon-Rogg had killed this pitiful Skrull as soon as he realized it wasn’t Danvers, and Maverick simply wanted to change that—partly because he liked the alien, and partly because he wanted Talos to owe him a favor.
They waited—half an hour, then nearly an hour—and sure enough, Maverick’s magical sense finally detected something large, like an aircraft—or, in this case, a space pod—invisible and landing not far from the property.
Yon-Rogg soon emerged out from his spacepod hidden under cloaking technology and walked towards the cabin with a smile on his face, seeing Danvers outside there.
What followed next was pretty similar to what happened in the movie. The Kree commander didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t Danvers but a Skrull in disguise.
Boom!
"Where is she? What did you do with her?"
Despite the gun pointed at his face and having already been shot in the shoulder, the Skrull science guy didn’t budge a word and looked defiantly at Yon-Rogg, who was threatening him to reveal the whereabouts of Danvers.
"She already knows, doesn’t she?" he asked again, realizing that Danvers may very well be compromised by now.
Then, he gave one more glance at the brave, yet pitiful Skrull on the ground, and without even a hint of sympathy, pulled the trigger at his face.
Boom!
The Skrulls were he and his race’s mortal enemies, so killing it was just adding another to his already countless tally. He didn’t give it a second thought, then fumbled with the communicator in his hand and informed Ronan, a high-ranking member of the Kree Empire he served, to come to Earth, fearing the planet had been compromised.
All this was witnessed by Maverick and Isabella, who remained outside. When Yon-Rogg finally left and his spacepod took off, Maverick and Isabella canceled their invisibility and walked inside.
Inside, Morex—whom Yon-Rogg had just shot, or at least thought he had—was lying on the ground, very much alive and looking bewildered by what had just happened. At the same time, his eyes bulged; ever since that first shot to his shoulder, he had felt as if someone had their hands over his mouth, preventing him from speaking.
Yes, he wasn’t dead, and just beside his head, there was an impact on the wooden cabin where Yon-Rogg’s energy gun had fired and hit, clearly not Morex as the Kree had thought.
Mr. Science Guy raised his head, hearing the sounds of footsteps, and saw two Earthlings enter, walking lazily, the female with her hand tugged around the male’s arm.
"You're welcome, by the way. I’m a friend of Danvers." He heard the male human speak some inexplicable words, then tsked pitifully before adding, "That’s a nasty wound on your shoulder... are you gonna be alright with that? Do you have a way to treat yourself?"
Morex, despite feeling intense pain and having countless questions, nodded, bobbing his head like a chicken. Besides, he still couldn’t speak, as if something had been shoved into his mouth.
"Good." He heard the male human nod and say, then snap his fingers. Subsequently, he felt the restraints covering his face and his body loosen. But just as he was about to question who they were, he saw orange sparks materialize behind the two humans and form into a large circle, making him stuck on his words. Then, while he was still wordstruck, they simply walked inside, and the orange circle—which was very likely a portal—disappeared altogether.
---
Meanwhile, some time earlier, as the quinjet ascended toward the edge of Earth’s atmosphere, the blue sky gradually deepened to indigo, then to inky black. Stars emerged, impossibly bright without the haze of air to dim them, and Fury’s breath caught in his throat.
Despite all he had seen and endured—as a soldier, facing aliens, mutants, discovering the existence of witches and wizards among them, and not to mention the strange supernatural horrors stored in the SHIELD database—the scene before him still left him baffled: the vast emptiness of space, the glittering pinpricks of distant suns, and the curve of Earth below, a flawless blue marble suspended against the void.
“Hell… ain’t that something,” he muttered, leaning his face closer to the window.
“First time in space?” Maria glanced back at him with a smug smile.
“This not your first time as well?” he countered.
She shrugged. “I’ve skimmed the edge in a jet. Close enough to taste it.”
“So?”
Clearly, the argument wasn’t going anywhere. She then turned fully in her seat to face Talos and fixed him with a sharp look. “Mr. Alien… can I ask you something?”
“Ask away,” Talos replied warily.
“This shapeshifting… can you just turn into anything you want?”
“Ah, the eternal question,” Talos sighed. “Well, I have to see it first. Get a good visual imprint.”
“Can all you Skrulls do it?”
“Physiologically? Yes,” Talos confirmed. “But doing it well… now that takes practice,” he cleared his throat and puffed out his alien chest a bit. “And, dare I say, a certain degree of natural talent.”
“Can you turn into a bird with wingspans of hundreds of meters?” Fury asked, an impish gleam in his eye.
“What’s a bird? And are you suggesting there are creatures that large on this primitive planet?” Talos responded with genuine confusion.
“Fine… what about a cat?” he tossed back. “I’ll give you fifty bucks right now if you can turn into a ginger cat…”
Talos sighed deeply, thinking Earthlings had some weird fetishes.
“Switching engines from scramjet to fusion,” Carol announced from the front, cutting off the banter. “Buckle up, folks. Might get a bit bumpy.”
The craft lurched forward with sudden acceleration, pressing them all deeper into their seats and flipping their stomachs as they finally broke free of Earth’s gravitational pull entirely.
“Hey,” Fury stammered, gripping his seat. “Is this normal… like, space turbulence?”
“Pretty much,” Danvers replied, smirking without turning around.
The engines roared for minutes, pushing them through a nauseating surge of speed, then slowly cut back before going completely silent. There was still nothing visible in front of them—only endless stars sparkling against the darkness. It was both a breathtaking and utterly terrifying, unyielding vastness.
“Locking in on coordinate grid,” Danvers scanned the emptiness ahead. “It’s gotta be here.”
“Is it in front of all that nothing?” Fury asked sarcastically.
Paying no mind to his jab, Danvers focused on the Kree technology on her wrist device, fumbling with it as she worked. Before long, the emptiness ahead began to shimmer. A massive structure materialized—a huge spaceship suspended silently against the starfield, and she recognized it immediately.
“Is that…” Fury mumbled, jaw dropped halfway.
“Mar-Vell’s laboratory,” Danvers said. “It’s actually a Kree Imperial cruiser, likely the one she arrived on Earth in.”
“Right then… everyone hold tight. I’m preparing for docking sequence.”
Just as they thrust the craft forward, some distance behind them, an orange circle materialized out of nowhere, and out came Maverick and Isabella, enveloped in a magical construct like a dome surrounding them.
“Looks like we’re just in time…”
“It’s much bigger than that little spaceship you have heading to Mars, Ricky,” Isabella said, eyes sparkling. She wasn’t fazed by being in space—after all, this wasn’t her first time—but the sheer size of the Kree Imperial cruiser left her breathless. It was, for lack of a better word, majestic.
“Let’s go…”
“How long are we going to stay invisible before revealing ourselves?” Isabella asked, as the magical construct moved, following the Quinjet.
Maverick hummed thoughtfully at the question. “I’m waiting for something… but soon,” he said ambiguously. He wanted to wait until Danvers fully unlocked her potential, broke free from the Kree control chip, and until then, he didn’t want to interfere in the course of events. Though his butterfly wings had already made some changes, the general direction was still on course. More importantly, his target was now within reach, and at the thought, he couldn’t help but tug a grin across his face.
“What’s with that stupid smirk?” Isabella raised a brow. Her fiancée was doing that again.
Cough. “Let’s keep following…”
---
Inside Mar-Vell's Lab
After docking their modified Quinjet, the group cautiously ventured into the space station. The corridors merged Kree efficiency with unexpectedly human touches—posters, personal items hinting at Mar-Vell’s undercover life, and even children’s belongings, whose presence none of them could yet explain.
Eventually, the three humans and one cat reached what appeared to be the main research chamber. And there it was—the object of their quest, glowing with an ethereal blue light: the Tesseract, resting securely at the center of the room, held in place by two mechanical arms extending from either side.
While the others were distracted by the surroundings, Maverick—still invisible and a little behind the group—also saw it for the first time and felt inexplicably drawn to the cube. He couldn’t tell whether it was his own desire or something else, but the moment his eyes landed on it, an overwhelming urge to grab it surged through him.
Can’t blame him—after all, it held the Space Stone, one of the six Infinity Stones. Yet he still held back, drawing on his magical energy and Occlumency shields to barely restrain the pounding temptation, waiting for the course of events in his mind to finish unfolding.
2025-09-24 15:11:11 +0000 UTC
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The recording clicked off, plunging the room into heavy silence. Carol sat frozen, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks as the dam of suppressed memories finally broke, and she made a run for it out of the house.
"He lied to me," Carol yelled, with her friend Maria, followed by Fury and Talos, trailing behind.
"Everything that I knew was a lie."
Maverick and Isabella stood quietly near the house, watching the drama unfold, and although Maverick had known this moment was coming, witnessing the raw emotion on Carol's face as her entire worldview collapsed was something else entirely.
"I feel really bad for her, Ricky. Can’t you do something to cheer her up?" Isabella whispered softly, resting her head on his shoulder.
"No. She needs to face this herself. But later, once all this is over, I don’t mind giving her a few calming drafts… well, depending if she really needs them by then..."
Back to Danvers, "Now," Talos said, approaching slowly, his usual sarcastic edge gone, replaced by something resembling genuine sympathy. "Now you understand, right?"
"Understand what?" Carol's voice cracked. "What do I understand now?"
"Yon-Rogg killed Mar-Vell," Talos explained patiently. "He killed her because she realized she was fighting on the wrong side of an unjust war. He killed her to protect the Kree Empire's secrets and to acquire her light-speed engine."
"No," Carol shook her head defiantly. "Your people are terrorists. They kill innocents. I saw the ruins on Torfa."
"Ruins that the Accusers are responsible for," Talos countered. "My people lived as refugees on Torfa. Homeless ever since we resisted Kree rule and they destroyed our planet. And the handful of us that are left will be slaughtered next... unless you help me finish what Mar-Vell started."
Maverick, listening not far away, raised a brow to that. The MCU did indeed portray the Skrulls as survivors, always on the run, but that “innocent refugee” narrative didn’t quite match what he remembered of the Skrulls’ often morally ambiguous history across the entire Marvel multiverse.
Skrulls in the Marvel comics weren’t as innocent as Talos was portraying them... even in this timeline. While Talos’s current situation deserved sympathy, Maverick understood that they were conquerors themselves, much like the Kree, expanding their rule across planets by any means necessary.
Not to mention, he remembered seeing many YouTube videos and fan theories suggesting that Skrulls had long infiltrated Earth. Perhaps they were only fan theories, perhaps not, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe Talos’s words just because his arguments were convincing.
But for now, he chose to keep all that inside his head, and maybe after all this was over, he wouldn’t mind having a one-on-one with the shapeshifter leader.
"And Dr. Lawson’s light-speed engine helps you do that how exactly?" Carol asked, glaring at Talos with burning eyes.
"Simple. It allows us to travel far beyond the Kree's reach," Talos explained patiently. "To find a new, uninhabited world where we can finally be safe."
"Ask him what happens if he doesn't find an empty planet?" Maverick’s voice rang inside Fury and Danvers’ heads, making them turn momentarily in his direction, but they quickly turned back.
"Right," Fury said, scrutinizing the alien from head to toe. "What if you eventually find one… and it happens to be already occupied? Like, say… this planet? Convenient location, nice atmosphere, plenty of resources. Tempting to just… settle in?"
Perhaps more than Maverick, Fury wanted an answer to that more than anything. After all, he was Nick Fury. In the future, in the original MCU timeline and even in many other timelines, he had done some—no, a lot of—questionable things at the helm of S.H.I.E.L.D. for the sake of the world, things that any normal person would easily label him an outright monster.
But if one disregards the gray area and only focuses on black and white, there would be no doubt the man really wanted what was best for the world.
Talos met Fury’s fiery, skeptical gaze and couldn’t help but feel a thrum in his chest. He had a feeling that his next words had to be sincere, and sincere 100 percent.
"I give you my word, Agent. Commander Talos's word," he said more solemnly than ever. "My people will not seek to conquer C-53. Besides, even if we wanted to, even if we had the manpower, we can’t—lest we anger the wrath of the All-Father. Not even the Kree Empire would dare invade here for conquest."
Fury, who thought he would receive a simple answer, was bewildered by the sudden name drop. He had no clue about it and could only turn to the one person who might know.
"Another day, Agent Fury." He saw the kid let out a sigh and nod at him before the voice ran through his mind again: "No promises, but I don’t mind showing you some... of the extraordinary sides of the world later. For now, focus on Talos."
"We seek only refuge," Talos continued, "and even if other Skrull factions cause trouble here, I will aid you against them. Is that a sufficient guarantee, Agent?"
Fury turned back to him, and though he had a thousand questions wracking his brain, he knew it was not the time.
"We'll see," he said, neither acknowledging nor denying his promise.
Talos sighed, then turned back to Danvers. "Right now, the Kree are the enemy we both share. They're coming for me, for my people," he said. "Help us find the lab, get Mar-Vell's engine core, and we leave. By doing so, we also take the Kree threat with us. It’s mutually beneficial."
Carol still looked lost, with her newfound memories settling in, and was unable to think straight, so she turned to Fury and Maria for help.
Maria came closer, held her hands and squeezed them tightly with care. "Carol, remember, Lawson always told us that his light-speed engine was not to fight wars but to end them. Finding a way out."
"Exactly!" Talos chimed in on her words. "Finding the core lets us escape the war for good!"
"Have you forgotten... I destroyed the core," Carol reminded them.
"No," Talos corrected, "you destroyed the engine. The core that powered it is in a remote location. If you help us decode those coordinates, we can find it."
"What if you find it and use it as a weapon against us?" Carol challenged him again.
Sighing, Talos replied tiredly, "We just want a home."
After a moment of tense silence, he added softly, "I know I don't deserve your trust, but you were our only lead. We discovered that your energy signature matched Mar-Vell's core. Now we know why."
"If only you knew the importance of it to me," the Skrull said, the face of another, someone dear, surfacing in his mind. "I just need your help decoding the coordinates to Mar-Vell's lab."
Back and forth, the alien and Danvers argued some more, neither backing down, and finally, with Fury and Maria supporting the decision, Danvers chose to agree to help the Skrulls.
With the new determination on her face, she said, "Actually, those weren't coordinates. They're state vectors for orbital position and velocity. You didn't find her lab on Earth because it's not on Earth." She smirked, then added, "That was the location on the date of the crash six years ago. If we track its course, we can find it in orbit even right now."
"Basic physics," Maria chimed in as well, with a small, proud smile.
"In... orbit?" Talos asked, looking stunned, then turned to Morex, who looked like he had just heard a bad joke. "Was that so difficult to figure out? I mean, you're my science guy, right?"
"I..."
"Yon-Rogg is also coming. He should reach here soon," Carol interjected, suddenly remembering the detail, and urgency filled her voice. "We've got to get to the core before he does."
"Then we shouldn't waste any time," Talos said, equally taken aback.
"Now hold on a second. Are we really talking about going to space?" Fury suddenly asked, looking utterly incredulous. "In what? The government-issue sedan we borrowed?"
"I can help with that..."
Everyone turned their heads to Morex, who, with all the attention, couldn’t help but look down and then continue.
"I can... do a few tweaks to your vessel... handle the modifications."
"Are you sure... Mr. Science Guy?" Fury muttered skeptically under his breath, narrowing his eyes.
---
Time passed, and another day went by while the science guy worked on the aircraft, transforming it for space travel. Meanwhile, Carol somehow convinced Maria to join the mission as well, but as a result, Monica had to be taken to another place while they were gone.
The kid was upset, but alas, she was a kid. Before she was driven away, though, she helped Danvers with a new look, and Danvers for the first time picked the color she would wear in the future as Captain Marvel.
Maverick and Isabella also did not linger at their home all the time and left, popping around the world doing who knows what, with the heads-up to Fury and Danvers that they would return when the aircraft was ready.
Then, finally, on the morning of the next day, two nights after they first arrived at the property, everything was ready. The group—Fury, Danvers, and Monica—gathered beside the newly modified spacecraft.
Fury and Danvers approached Maverick and Isabella, who were hanging back a little, but didn’t appear ready to board, and gave them a questioning look.
"Are you coming with us?" Danvers asked.
"Ah, don’t worry about us, Ms. Danvers. We wouldn’t miss it for the world," Maverick replied instantly, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Just know that we’ll be right behind you."
"You… aren’t going to call back Twinklefeather, are you?"
At that, Isabella, standing beside Maverick, couldn’t help but chuckle out loud.
2025-09-22 20:33:45 +0000 UTC
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“You know, you really should be kinder to your neighbors. You never know when you’re gonna need to borrow some sugar.”
Fury immediately drew his gun, pointing it at the alien, while Carol’s fists began to glow with energy. The alien, presumably Talos, on the other hand, seemed in no hurry and simply raised his hands in mock submission.
“Now, hang on a second,” he said. “Before you go swinging those jazz hands around and making a mess of your friend’s house…” He motioned toward the window, directing their attention outside.
“Oh my God!” Maria gasped.
Outside, they saw another Maria together with Monica, playing together, and the little girl clearly had no idea she was with an imposter.
“No one’s gonna hurt the girl,” Talos assured them, raising his hands higher. “Just… don’t kill me, alright? That would really complicate things.”
Unbeknownst to Maria, Talos, the imposter Maria, and Monica outside, there was also a third person near the girl and the alien—someone only Fury and Danvers saw when Talos pointed in their direction.
At that moment, Fury and Danvers had also heard Maverick’s voice inside their heads: “You don’t need to worry about little Monica. If he so much as tries anything funny with the girl, I’ll turn him into a pig.” The reassurance made them both let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Back to confronting Talos, Fury leveled his gun and said with cool confidence, “I’m about five seconds away from decorating that wall with some ugly-ass Skrull brains.”
“I’m really sorry I impersonated your boss, Agent Fury. I had no other options,” Talos said with surprising sincerity, meeting his eyes. “But now I stand before you as my true self—without deception.”
“And who is that out there?” Carol demanded. Her tone, too, didn’t betray nervousness—knowing Maverick was outside.
From their brief half-hour chat, she had learned a great deal about this young man. First, he was someone with decision-making authority on this planet. Second, according to Fury, he was ridiculously strong. If it weren’t for her current situation, she might have even wanted to have a go at him—to test his abilities against hers. Fortunately for her, she didn’t.
“Okay, that’s a fair point,” Talos admitted, “but I’m sure you understand I had to take some precautions. After all, I saw you crush twenty of my best men with your hands bound. I just want to talk.”
Danvers scoffed. “Last time we talked, I ended up hanging by my ankles.”
“That was before I knew who you were,” Talos explained. “Before I knew what made you different from the others.”
“Is Monica safe out there?” Maria interjected anxiously, staring at the window, worried more about her daughter than the alien inside her house.
“She’s fine,” Carol replied with unexpected confidence, which made Maria suspicious and Talos... confused.
“Hmm… didn’t think you’d take my word so easily, Danvers,” the alien said incredulously.
“Worry about yourself,” Carol stated, looking barely a hairsbreadth away from blasting a photon beam at him.
Talos became even more confused and wondered for a second whether this was the real Danvers or one of his kind in disguise, but then brushed the thought aside just as quickly. How could he, the leader, mistake his own kind?
“You seem awfully confident,” he asked again, cautiously. Maria also had the same thought, but given the situation, she chose to trust her close friend.
“We have our reasons, asshole,” Fury cut in. “Now talk. What do you want?”
Though still puzzled, Talos decided to stop trying to figure it out; more important things awaited him. Then, slowly, with one hand still raised, he reached into his jacket with the other.
“I have an audio recording from Pegasus, from your plane crash six years ago, on a device I believe you call a... black box.”
“What? They told me it was destroyed in the crash,” Maria interjected suddenly. “How’d you get it?”
“Young lady, I’m not sure you’ve been told everything, but we... I have a very special skill that allows me to get into places I’m not supposed to be…”
He expected a retort, but none of them reacted to his snarky remark. Sighing, he continued.
“Okay, anyway, if you’ll listen to this recording, I assure you it’ll be worth your while.”
“First, call your buddy back inside, and only then will I listen,” Carol demanded, her expression leaving no room for argument.
“Deal,” Talos also had no intention of trying any tricks, and agreed just like that.
And it was at that moment that they all heard a meow echo through the tension-filled room. Goose, the cat, suddenly wandered in, purring softly, and subsequently, Talos, as if he had just seen a dead alien ghost, jumped in horror at the sight.
“Oh my God! Get that thing away!” he cried, pressing himself against the wall.
“Goose… where have you been?” Fury asked, a smile tugging at his lips as he saw his new buddy.
“Are you… scared of a cat?” Carol asked, bemused by the alien’s reaction as she looked between Goose in Fury’s hands and Talos, who really seemed to be scared out of his mind.
“That… is not a cat!” Talos insisted, pointing a trembling finger. “That’s a Flerken! An extremely, extremely dangerous inter-dimensional, tentacle-monster!”
“Tentacle monster?” Fury chuckled as he scooped up Goose. “Why do you all keep insisting Goose is dangerous? You wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, Goosy?”
Talos raised a puzzled brow. “If not me, then listen to the other one, Agent… Also, can you tell me who it is? Is he one of us?”
“Its name is Twinklefeather. And I don’t know whether it’s an alien or not… but you don’t need to worry about that, right, Goose?” Fury said, cuddling the ginger cat even more lovingly, which only made Talos more agitated.
Are Earthlings always this brave? Talos thought, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
And just then, the door opened, and Monica stepped inside with the fake Maria behind her. Maverick also entered and walked over to Isabella, remaining to watch how things played out.
As soon as little Monica saw another person who looked like her mom, confusion washed over her face. “Mom?” she murmured, looking back and forth, and instinctively backed up toward Danvers, who at that moment seemed like the safest choice in her mind.
“Right, Norex… you can change back,” Talos instructed his minion.
The alien reverted to its natural green form, causing Monica’s eyes to widen in astonishment rather than fear. “So cool! Mom, is this your friend?”
---
Soon, everyone followed Maria to her office, where she had an old desktop computer ready to play the black box recording.
“It’s important that... especially you, Carol Danvers, hear the full length of this recording,” Talos said solemnly while the device began to load… very, very slowly.
Time seemed to stretch as they waited.
“What’s happening?” Carol whispered, her eyes fixed on the screen. For someone who had come across and used advanced alien tech, this scenario seemed odd.
“It’s loading,” Fury explained, which made Maverick chuckle quietly from further back. Such slow loading speeds would have frustrated him too, much less Carol.
Finally, the computer beeped, signaling readiness, and Talos reached out and clicked ‘Play.’
Silence filled the room before the speaker came to life. Static hissed, alarms blared, and engines roared. Then the voices came, sounding urgent and panicked. Danvers and Maria recognized Lawson immediately, calling out orders and warnings.
Carol’s younger voice followed, confused, and then came a voice she hadn’t expected: Yon-Rogg, her supervisor for the past six years. Her eyes widened as she realized what it meant, and, more importantly, everything finally started to make sense.
The recording told the story clearly. Dr. Lawson, revealed to be Mar-Vell, a renegade Kree scientist, tried to escape with her light-speed engine. The Kree pursued her, Yon-Rogg leading them, until her plane crash brought it all to an end.
The sounds of twisted metal, engines, and explosions filled the room. Mar-Vell’s final stand came through in her desperate words, revealing that she was not like a typical Kree. In fact, she was a traitor to them and more of an ally, acting only to prevent more bloodshed.
Then came the explosion. Carol’s own voice surged as she destroyed the engine core herself. Instead of handing it over, she chose to destroy it—and herself—in the process.
Silence returned. Those listening could only imagine the wreckage, the chaos, and the scale of it all. And just as it seemed the recording had ended, Yon-Rogg’s voice returned from the speakers, outlining his next move with his soldiers: taking Danvers back to Hala, the Kree homeworld.
Obviously, Danvers’ attempt to destroy herself along with the engine failed. Well, not exactly—according to the recording, the engine was indeed destroyed, but its power was absorbed by her body, explaining the source of her superpowers as well.
Finally, the truth was clear to Carol Danvers. The missing years, her time in the Kree army—it all made sense. The recording revealed everything, and with it, her lost memories returned as well.
2025-09-22 20:33:06 +0000 UTC
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Author’s note:
Three chapters up—enjoy, guys!
———————
Slurrrrp.
The sound was out of place in the heavy silence of Maria Rambeau’s living room. Isabella leaned against the wall near the window, sipping juice through a straw from a bottle she had scavenged from the fridge without anyone noticing.
Maverick was close by as well, but his attention seemed fixed on something other than the memories being recalled in the room at that moment. Isabella didn’t even bother to ask—her fiancé often drifted off, absentmindedly thinking of Merlin-knows-what.
Of course, as far as Maria Rambeau was concerned, only Fury and Danvers were there with her, and no one else. Maverick and Isabella, as agreed earlier, remained invisible to everyone except Fury and Danvers, and carried on pretending they weren’t there. Like background characters, the two had lingered nearby after landing—from Danvers’s first reunion with Maria and her daughter, all the way to being invited inside and listening to her story presently.
“Come look…”
Monica Rambeau’s small voice, carrying just enough excitement, made everyone turn their heads. She came rushing down the stairs, both arms wrapped around a dented metal box, and set it carefully on the table in the middle of the living room.
Fury was the first to wander closer, curiously, then Maria and Danvers followed, their conversation already slipping into an awkward pause, and both of them looked almost relieved for the interruption.
“Since you said you don’t remember anything, Auntie Carol,” Monica said, pulling out a stack of photos, “I thought it’d be a good idea to show you some… with me, Mom, and you. We even have some of you from when you were little.”
Having said that, she held one up with a grin. “This is me and you on Halloween…” Then, picking up another, softly added, “And this one… this one’s you with your dad. Mom told me you didn’t get along much with your family. So… we became your real family.”
One after another, Monica laid the pictures out like treasures. “This is us on Christmas… and this one’s from the summer picnic…”
Danvers stared absentmindedly at the snapshots, listening to Monica’s recollections, each one a fragment of a life she couldn’t remember—fragments full of laughter, warmth, and a sense of belonging that felt unmistakably real. Even though she still couldn’t place the moments, the feelings in the pictures hit her hard, and a smile tugged at her lips before she even noticed it.
Even Fury, staring at the pictures while the girl recounted the memories tied to each one, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Danvers. To have once had a life and not remember it… that must hurt like hell. And with that, he also cleared the last bit of doubt in his mind about Danvers being an alien.
Yes, until now, Fury hadn’t completely ruled out Danvers being an Earthling, no matter how many coincidences seemed to point to it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be Nick Fury. But now, looking at Monica—that innocent, adorable girl—how could anyone possibly lie with such a straightforward, cute face?
So the real question now, he pondered, was… how did she end up mixed in with some intergalactic, alien empire?
Hmm?... From the corner of his eye, he then saw one of their invisible guests, Caesar, turn around with a thoughtful expression and walk to the window. Curious, he also excused himself, walked over, and whispered, “What? Did your tingly magic detect something?”
Maverick raised an eyebrow and, without turning, responded, “What tingly magic, Agent? Is that a thing your Shield records about my kind?”
Fury shrugged.
“I’m just admiring the weather,” Maverick remarked thoughtfully, a slight gleam in his eyes. Then, turning to Isabella and signaling her with a thought, he looked at Fury and said, “Anyway, I’ll be out for a bit.”
“Out—?”
Woosh!
But before he could ask, Maverick had disappeared from the spot, startling the crap out of him.
“This mother f—”
“—Fury?”
Danvers called at that moment, making him turn around—and fortunately, forcing him to hold back cursing aloud.
“It’s nothing…” he said with a resigned sigh. He glanced at Isabella, and seeing she wasn’t bothered by Maverick no longer being there, he brushed the rude bastard from his mind and turned to the owner of the residence. All that running around back at the Pegasus base, being scared to death by some magical monster bird, and finally flying all the way here had left him famished.
“I’m a bit hungry, Ms. Maria. I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
---
Half an hour later...
Maverick had been wandering the Rambeau property, admiring the little private propeller plane parked in her garage, when his magical sense suddenly flared—alerting him to a group of uninvited guests sneaking onto the property.
He smiled knowingly, understanding exactly who they were, and watched things play out.
It was Talos, the Skrull leader, along with his grunts. They were disguised as random humans, of course, and what gave them away to Maverick was the conversation they were having with one another. It was the plan they were going to carry out, and to Maverick, it frankly wasn’t even a plan—more like a bet.
Soon, he saw one—Talos himself—enter the house, while the other had changed appearance again and was heading toward young Monica Rambeau, who was now outside, playing alone near the small attic at the edge of the property yard.
His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, his magical sense thoroughly scanned a life that wasn’t native to planet Earth, searching for anything unusual. The outward appearance looked flawless, perhaps even on par with someone under a Polyjuice potion, but... that was all.
His magical sense could clearly distinguish that this wasn’t Maria—or, more accurately, the feedback he was receiving told him it wasn’t human at all.
Humans—muggle or magical—have their own unique signature that magical senses can pick up, and not just humans; all creatures emit their own distinct feedback. Call it a smell or a taste—for example, a watermelon. Every watermelon tastes similar, but some are sweet and some not so much. Yet from a single bite, you can tell it’s a watermelon.
Of course, that wasn’t the limit of magical-sense reconnaissance ability. When one’s proficiency in the talent is as good as Maverick’s right now, they could even distinguish individual humans—just like how Olympe Maxime first discovered he was Bloodraven.
Back to the matter at hand, he figured, Good. At least this way, I can distinguish whether a Skrull is impersonating someone in the future.
---
Meanwhile, inside the house
Danvers, Fury, the invisible Isabella, and the real Maria were still at it, going through old photo albums, when a knock at the main door interrupted them.
“Don’t answer that,” Fury warned immediately, out of instinct, but Maria wasn’t as vigilant as he was.
“It should… just be my neighbor,” she said. “He drops by around this time quite often with his kids…”
“The Skrull, Maria—they can change into anyone,” Carol reminded her.
Maria hesitated at that, and Carol walked forward to the door, followed by Fury with his gun ready. He gave Isabella a sideways glance and a nod, signaling her to be ready as well, then, finally, Carol opened the door.
It turned out it was indeed their neighbor, apparently there to check out the jet because his kids had been asking. To his credit, the Quinjet prototype they had come with was indeed pretty cool—and likewise, an out-of-place sight to be parked in front of one’s yard. But Carol wasn’t buying it. Suspicious, she kept pressing questions one after another.
“You’re really working overtime to sell this one, aren’t you, Talos?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, even raising her fist.
But Maria had had enough. “I’m sorry, Tom,” she intervened just in time from behind her. “But this really isn’t a good time. I’ll come by tomorrow, okay?”
“Uh…” The man still looked like he wanted to say something, but Maria had already closed the door in his face.
And just as the door clicked shut, a voice came from inside the house, startling all three of them—well, except Isabella, who was still slurping from her drink, amusingly watching.
She had seen the green-skinned alien, dressed in some weird gothic formal drip, sneak into the house from the other side, take a drink just like the one she was having, and then lean against the wall, trying to look all cool—before delivering his line.
“You know, you really should be kinder to your neighbors. You never know when you’re gonna need to borrow some sugar.”
2025-09-22 20:32:21 +0000 UTC
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The world returned in fragments. A low hum pressed against their ears, droning steadily, while blurred shapes drifted in and out of focus. The stale tang of recycled air filled their lungs, the vibration beneath their seats thrummed faintly through their bones. Slowly, vision sharpened—and with it came the rush of memories, the storm, the lightning, and… the monster.
Nick Fury’s eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, he lay there, dazed. Beside him, Danvers stirred as well, a soft groan escaping her as her head turned and her eyes blinked open. At first, her vision swam, but clarity soon returned—revealing not the nightmarish void still vivid at the back of her mind, but the familiar cockpit walls enclosing them.
Her chest rose and fell sharply as she pieced it all together: the image of colossal wings blotting out the sky. Not even on the harshest planets she had ever set foot on had she encountered, or felt, something that made her seem so utterly insignificant.
“Oh… that didn’t take long.”
A teasing voice, male, suddenly drifted through the cabin, reaching their eardrums. Lazy, almost amused, it made Fury and Danvers freeze for the briefest of seconds—too caught off guard to register at first—until muscle memory kicked in and their instincts took over.
Both were seasoned soldiers in their own right, and they didn’t need time to think in a moment like this, so almost in sync, they sprang from their seats, bodies whipping around toward the source of the sound.
Click…
Hummm…
One hand cocked a gun, and the other… just a hand, but it glowed with raw energy, ready to strike. Their brains were still scrambled, but their reflexes were sharp—and they held back, just one step short of pulling the trigger.
“And who the hell are you two clowns supposed to be?”
Sharp-tongued as always, Fury squinted at the absurd scene unfolding before him.
Is that… a motherfucking sofa? Or did I miss it when we rushed in to take off?
Because yes, there was indeed a chair—a full-on sofa—parked right in the middle of the cockpit. Sitting on it, he saw a young man dressed like he had just wandered away from a beachside lunch: loose, wrinkled white shirt, white pants, and—he blinked—flip-flops.
Flip-flops!
The man—no, a kid by his standards, from the looks of it—looked completely at ease, one leg casually crossed over the other, stroking Goose like it was a lifelong companion, fingers moving with practiced affection over the cat’s head.
And then there was the girl. Behind the sofa, leaning casually like she owned the place. She didn’t even flinch at the gun pointed her way. Her outfit wasn’t battle armor either, or tactical gear, but a kind of careless, street-casual drip—denim jacket slung loose, black crop top, ripped jeans, sneakers too clean for how relaxed she looked. Her hands were shoved in her pockets, head tilting, eyes wandering the cockpit like a tourist taking in the sights.
“My apologies, agent,” the young man said, smiling like he had all the time in the world. “You see, my fiancé and I were casually taking a stroll through the skies atop my little pet this fine afternoon, when she—my pet,” he shrugged, “suddenly started acting… weird. Although, in her defense, she only does that when another alpha creature’s nearby. Right, honey?” He tilted his head lazily at Isabella, now standing beside him, that grin never leaving—like he was asking for a mundane yes-or-no.
Isabella had to resist every twitch in her face. Eyes, mouth, hands—she froze them all. Finally, she gave a single, lazy nod, perfectly in sync with his ridiculous calm.
“That’s when we found you,” he continued, turning back to them. “Well… your airplane—or jet… whatever this is. Never thought I’d run into Pierce’s famous assistant, though.” He shrugged again. “Anyway, turns out I was wrong, hence I apologize on behalf of Twinklefeather.” He waved a hand vaguely. “That’s my pet bird’s name. It was only a cat she got all agitated about. Oh, and don’t worry—I reverse-summoned that unruly girl back to its lair.” He finished with a small smile, eyes closing briefly before opening again, like he had just finished explaining the weather.
Fury: …
Danvers: …
A long, inexplicable silence hung in the cabin as Fury and Danvers tried to process what they had just heard.
“What do you mean—” Danvers was the first to react, wanting to ask what in the world he was talking about, but Fury beside her seemed to have reached the end of his patience, raising his gun even higher.
“MOTHERFUCKER! You have one last chance to rephrase that bullshit into English, or I’m pulling the trigger!”
“What a rude uncle,” Isabella interjected, sounding unhappy. “Honey, I thought you said you knew this strange man, so why is he—”
“Wait a minute… that’s right. How the hell do you know I’m an agent? And Pierce… how the hell do you know him? You military or—” He suddenly froze mid-sentence, because the more he kept talking and looking at Maverick, the clearer things became in his head—memories, classified details—until finally, he registered the face.
He couldn’t help but swallow hard, realizing exactly who was standing in front of him, before Danvers snapped him out of his shock. “Fury, are you okay?”
“You are… High… Councilor… Caesar?” he stammered.
Maverick’s smile widened, and Fury took that as a yes, immediately lowering his gun. And Danvers, noticing the sudden change in Fury’s expression—the spark of recognition—also relaxed her guard, realizing that these two young weirdos might actually be acquaintances. At this point, the only person she trusted was Fury—and whoever Fury vouched for, she’d trust as well.
“Good… now that we have that cleared out—”
“Wait!” Fury interrupted again, his hand twitching, unsure whether to raise the gun or not, as more doubts arose. More accurately, he finally remembered those ridiculous, absurd explanations he had received earlier about why these two were here in the first place.
Mustering all his strength and managing to remain calm, he asked, “Mr… High Councilor… why, and how are you even here… what really happened to us earlier, before we—”
“Got swallowed by your pet!” Danvers finished for him, looking at maverick.
“Have I not explained?” Maverick said tilting his head. “It was all a misunderstanding caused by Twinklefeather,”
“Misunderstanding? Twinkle…feather?” Fury tried his best to process it, while Danvers beside him looked thoughtful, then nodded, as if she had somehow grasped the gist of what had happened.
“So, that was your pet? That monster?” she asked.
“Absolutely.” Maverick nodded three times, his head bobbing. “And it’s not a monster. Just a slightly larger raven than most.”
“‘Slightly’?” The corner of the space soldier’s eyes twitched. “And you named it… Twinklefeather?”
“Cute, right? Isabella helped me select it, right, honey?” He raised his head toward her, and Isabella almost rolled her eyes all the way to the back of her skull.
“Her feathers are pretty…”
“That makes absolutely no sense!” Fury argued, raising his voice again before softening and adding, “Respectfully, Mr. High Councilor.”
“Basically, my pet wanted to eat your plane thinking it was an enemy. I stopped it at the last minute… You’re welcome, by the way. But when I got onboard, I found you two unconscious.” He shook his head, tsking. “Not looking very good on your resume, Agent.”
Fury held back the urge to curse and took a breath. This kid was definitely messing with him, he was sure of it, but then he saw Danvers suddenly turn and check the controls, and he followed her gaze as well to see what was going on.
“What happened?”
“I just remembered... none of us are piloting the plane, but… it seems it’s already running on autopilot.”
“Oh… I took the liberty of putting the plane on auto since, well, you both were out cold,” Maverick said, making the two turn back to him. He shrugged after finishing. “You’re welcome, again.”
“How did you get inside?” Fury asked, ignoring the jab and this time more calmly. Things were starting to fall into place about their current situation, at least somewhat.
Maverick tilted his head as if he had been asked the stupidest question. “You do know that I’m a mage, right? Or hasn’t Pierce given you clearance to know about us?”
“Of course I know you’re a mage… but that doesn’t explain—”
But before he could finish what he was about to say, Maverick had suddenly made a snap of his fingers, a mischievous smile on his face. Then, in Danvers’ bewildered eyes, she saw Fury’s body suddenly shrink and transform into a… chicken. It wasn’t even gradual—almost instantaneous—leaving her no time to even react.
“Buk buk?”
“BUK BUK BUK?”
“BUK BUK BUK BUK!”
The chicken bukked, sounding confused at first, then flapped its wings as if in fright, bukking even louder. Maverick was pretty sure the last bit was the guy’s signature curses at him.
“Hay! What did you do to him?!”
Danvers came out of her shock and pointed at Maverick, looking back and forth from the chicken to him.
“Don’t worry…” Maverick waved his hand, then snapped his fingers again, and Fury returned to his original self. “He asked a stupid question, that’s all.”
“YOU MOTHER… FUC—”
If looks could kill, Maverick would be dead multiple times over now, seeing Fury’s bloodshot eyes.
He cut him off as well, waving his hand and saying, “Again, Fury, I am a mage. So don’t go asking stupid questions like how you entered here to a wizard. Understand?”
“Son of…” huff, huff. In all his life, Nick Fury could swear this was the most pissed he had ever been.
“Fine! Never mind then…” he said, swallowing the boiling anger and humiliation about to erupt from his gut. “Then, High Councilor—”
“Just address me as Mr. Caesar, Fury.”
“Then Mr. Caesar. This is a highly classified SHIELD operation. Even if you are a High Councilor of the World Security Council, you cannot just interrupt our missions. I must ask you to leave...”
Maverick raised a brow, lips curling into a smile. “Really now?” Saying that, he got up from his seat, stepped closer, and pulled a phone from his pocket, grinning at Fury. “Shall I call Director Pierce and ask permission? Hmm… you’re right, protocol is protocol.”
Then, ever so slowly, he pretended to dial some numbers, fully aware that Fury would stop him.
“Wait!”
“What is it, Agent?” Maverick asked, looking confused but inwardly amused. He knew why—Fury wasn’t exactly playing by the rules either, having raided a classified military base and escaped his own agency just an hour ago.
“Don’t,” Fury said, coughing awkwardly and raising his hand to his mouth. “Of course you’re welcome to stay. But we’re not heading to do anything relevant. Only to speak to someone in Pennsylvania.”
“Oh… Pennsylvania?” Playing clueless, Maverick stroked his chin and glanced over at Isabella. “Honey, have you ever been to Pennsylvania?”
Isabella also played along, took a thoughtful expression, then shook her head.
“Great then. We’ve never been to that area, so we might as well follow. Actually, Agent Fury, we were just strolling over the sky, flying aimlessly, before we ran into your plane. A bit bored, to be honest, so this sounds perfect for us…” He clapped his fist against his palm. “Oh, and don’t worry. Just treat us as invisible when you’re there. I’ll cast some magic over me and my fiancé so that only the two of you—and nobody else—can see us. And I promise on Merlin, we’ll keep whatever we see buried.”
Fury had a million comebacks bouncing around his head he wanted to retort—it all sounded absurd and wrong in so many ways, breaking so many agency regulations than he cared to count—but somehow, for some inexplicable reason, he just sighed and accepted. Then, waving a hand surrenderingly, he walked up to Maverick and held out his hands.
Tilting his head as he looked at the offered hand, Maverick thought the subtle compulsion charm he had carefully crafted on the super spy might have worked a little too well—but then, just as quickly, he realized he was dead wrong
“Goose. I want my cat back...”
“Oh… so this is your pet?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not… we only found him today at the military base, and he just decided—”
Fury coughed abruptly, cutting her off. He didn’t want Maverick—a World Security Council High Councilor—to know he had just raided a military base without authorization.
“What she means is… even though we only just found him, he’s taken a liking to me. I doubt a wizard of your stature would want to separate a man from his cat, right?”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Maverick said, righteously shaking his head, then handed the cat over. “There you go, Agent.”
Without another word, Fury took the cat, turned, and walked to the co-pilot seat.
“Danvers… how long until we reach our destination?” he asked.
At his question, she glanced over the controls briefly and said, “Half an hour more.”
Back to Maverick once again, curiosity shone in her eyes. Things had settled, they were back on track, and with half an hour to go, she wanted to know more about this mysterious magic couple. After all, it was her first time seeing Earthlings with special abilities.
“So… you’re a mage? Are you the ones Fury mentioned—the reason this planet doesn’t fear outside species invading?”
“Danvers!” Fury turned again with a sigh. He’d thought she hadn’t heard him before blacking out earlier—but apparently, he was wrong.
“What?”
“What you’re asking is this planet’s classified information… which—”
“Wait. Are you saying she’s an alien, Fury?” Maverick cut in, feigning shock.
Goddammit. Fury cursed inwardly—too many things were going wrong. If he had a choice, he didn’t want Danvers knowing Earth’s core secrets, and Maverick—High Councilor or not—he didn’t want knowing everything about hers either. And yet, everything was slipping out of his control.
“High Councilor,” he said with a sigh, “we’re not sure she’s an alien. That’s why we’re on our way now—to confirm. But…” He paused, pondering weather to tell or not, then thinking that the topic would come up sooner or later, and remembering he had already agreed to let them tag along, he finally decided to come clean.
“We did come across extraterrestrial life today, Mr Caeser...”
Fury then went on, explaining their situation—everything from the start up to the present. Of course, if he had had a choice, it wouldn’t have gone his way; sharing information simply wasn’t in his character. But today, he was dealing with an archmage—someone with masterful control over a very specific kind of magic for situations like this.
The compulsion charm, as the name implies, was a spell designed to subtly force a target to act in a specific way. Not as blunt as the Imperius Curse, of course, which outright compels the target to obey the caster’s bidding. The compulsion charm had its limitations, and one of its prerequisites was that the target’s own thoughts had to somewhat align with what the caster intended.
In this case, because Maverick was a World Security Council High Councilor with legitimate access to SHIELD’s high-level clearances, Fury wasn’t entirely opposed to including him in the mission or sharing certain details.
For his part, Maverick had nudged the magic very carefully, guiding certain outcomes his way—and it was thanks to this subtle influence that Fury hadn’t questioned much. Of course, he was careful not to overdo it, so that even in the future, if Fury looked back, he would believe the decisions had been his own. Well, probably.
Naturally, not just anyone could have pulled this off. It required at least advanced level proficiency of the spell and precise control of magical energy to weave it as flawlessly as Maverick did.
Time passed slowly amid their discussion, with Danvers also satisfying her curiosity by asking a few questions of her own. Before long, half an hour had slipped by as the jet cruised nonstop, and they finally reached their destination: Pennsylvania, specifically the residence of Maria Rambeau, a former Air Force colleague of Danvers. Carol herself hadn’t yet recalled this detail, but the reason for her coming here was precisely that.
2025-09-20 19:52:50 +0000 UTC
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Whooosh—
Booom!
High above the Mojave Desert, the air suddenly trembled with a shattering boom. It wasn’t a bird, and it didn’t resemble any conventional aircraft—and of course, it wasn’t a man in blue tights and red trunks causing it.
The culprit seemed more like a fighter jet—only larger and far faster than a typical passenger liner—tearing east just shy of the sound barrier, with twin white contrails streaking across the sky in its wake.
The roar of its engines was deafening, yet inside the cabin it was surprisingly calm, with only a steady hum filling the space. Two individuals—and a cat—occupied the cockpit, and they had been streaking through the sky at supersonic speed for nearly an hour now.
“…six years ago, I didn’t remember anything when I woke up on Hala at first.”
“Hala?”
“That’s the capital planet of the Kree star system…”
Carol Danvers kept one hand steady on the controls as she handed a file to Fury in the co-pilot seat.
“This is…?” the super spy asked, frowning.
“I don’t know,” Danvers admitted, then continued on to explain her situation—or rather, the fragments of her resurfacing memories.
Nick Fury frowned, suspicion flickering across his face as his eyes lingered on the photo, particularly the woman in the background.
Piecing together the experiences she had recounted so far—about being a space soldier for some galactic empire—and the fragments of memories she was supposedly recovering, he had more or less figured out what had happened to her.
This woman had clearly been used, exploited for her unique abilities, and it was very likely she was human. Could she be a mutant? he wondered—the most logical explanation for her powers.
But that begged the question: how had she ended up in outer space? Was she the only one? Were aliens really so unscrupulous nowadays as to kidnap Earthlings? And how could SHIELD—the agency he worked for, the leading organization worldwide handling extraordinary affairs—have been completely oblivious to all of this?
Thoughts raced through his mind, and an unprecedented chill ran down his spine. Fortunately, he was trained to control his emotions, so Danvers didn’t notice the subtle change in his expression.
And as a super spy, he wasn’t one to be straightforward, so he continued playing ignorant, asking questions while carefully pretending to be clueless.
“…so you’re saying you could very well be an Earthling, and not only that, but this woman—who apparently piloted the plane six years ago, the one that went down with Dr. Larson—was also you?”
"I didn’t say that... you did," she shot back playfully, making Fury raise a brow at her antics.
Does this woman really not care, or was she just putting on an act? Could the possibility that she once had a life here not bother her? No—she had to be pretending to be nonchalant. Otherwise, why would she go rogue from an apparent galactic army just to uncover her past?
Right, she was clearly putting on an act, but… that’s not my problem; it was hers.
He was more concerned about something else, so he pressed on, ignoring what he was certain was an act.
"I'm serious," he said, giving a deliberate nod, signaling that she should take it seriously. "If this is true, then our planet has long been compromised…"
Danvers couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. Did this man really think his world had never been visited by extraterrestrial life before? Not to mention the Kree and the Skrulls—as far as she knew, C-53 was also called Midgard, a realm directly under the rule of the supreme rank cosmic deity, Odin.
She was about to lecture him, thinking his reasoning was stupidly shallow—but then she pushed the thought aside, sensing something, and her expression suddenly changed.
Her eyes narrowed at the distance, seeing something amiss. Unbeknownst to her just yet, her senses were far sharper than ordinary humans’, but because she couldn’t recall anything from before she had her powers, she had always assumed it was something innate. And right now, a bad premonition was gnawing at her, that something... dangerous, was closing in.
Fury noticed the change too and followed her gaze, his instincts flaring. Yes—something about this sudden change in the weather was definitely not right.
Purrr…
Even the cat let out a low purr and assumed an alert stance, staring ahead. The duo didn’t realize it yet, but very fortunately for them, that was all it did.
For a few beats, the only sounds were the steady hum of the engines and the occasional beep from the controls.
“I… think we should turn around… or fly up to escape the clouds, don’t you think?”
Fury said, a perfectly logical suggestion, one that any pilot should obviously know. He thought right.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that Danvers couldn’t understand something so simple; she simply couldn’t act. Her eyes darted to the control stick, pupils shrinking as she felt something powerful and invisible was holding her hands in place right now, refusing to let them move or budge.
"Danvers!"
Fury called out again, sharper this time, noticing that she wasn’t looking quite right.
Crackle.
Thunder ripped across the sky in a deafening boom, making him shiver involuntarily. Of course, he wasn’t scared of stormy weather—but tens of thousands of meters above the ground, inside an aircraft he wasn’t even sure had proper lightning protection, anyone would feel uneasy.
Crackle.
Crackle.
More lightning split the clouds, jagged and wild, swallowing everything else in darkness. The plane was bathed in fleeting flashes of electric brilliance, the swirling gray shadows of the storm twisting like a living thing around him.
"I… I can’t move," finally, Danvers managed to speak up, making Fury snap out of his stupor.
"Fury… I can’t move. Help me… push the control stick… to the left—"
Her words stumbled, trying to get him to take control at her suggestion, but then her eyes widened in sudden alarm, swallowing the rest of what she was about to say as she saw something utterly absurd.
"What in the..."
Seeing her eyes widen, Fury followed her gaze instinctively toward the darkness beyond the glass as well.
Crackle.
Crackle.
Followed by the relentless flashes of lightning, he saw it too—it was impossible not to—and like her, his eyes nearly bulged from his skull as well.
“Mother... fuc—”
Between the flashing bursts that illuminated the clouds, the horror—or its shadow—seemed right in front of them. The first thing noticeable were its wings, so vast they could very well swat the aircraft they were in like a fly.
Gulp. Fury swallowed a dry mouthful, and Danvers was feeling no better.
Carol Danvers might be an intergalactic space soldier, but she wasn’t that overpowered chick who could go toe-to-toe with the galaxy’s Director of Human Resources and his army—at least, not yet.
Actually, if it were just a visual shock, these two experienced super-warriors wouldn’t have been affected this much. It wasn’t only their sense of sight making them feel so small in that moment, but their very wills were being subtly pressed, restrained by a power they couldn’t yet comprehend.
They both watched helplessly as the colossal creature, as dark as night, drew closer. Its body loomed like a monstrous crow, massive beyond reason, until its beak—and those crimson eyes, bigger than their aircraft—were directly in front of them.
Every flash of lightning revealed it in stark, unfathomable detail: a shadow, a behemoth moving with the storm, each beat of its wings sending turbulence that rattled the plane.
"I… never thought… C-53 had creatures like this. Fury… what aren’t you… telling me?" Danvers’ voice trembled.
Amid the fear churning in his gut, the booming thunder, the plane’s warning alarms, and the rain hammering against the windows, the future one-eyed SHIELD director still managed to catch her whisper—and even gave it a moment of thought.
“Fuck it…” he thought. If he, they, were about to become food, maybe a little honesty wouldn’t hurt.
“Actually… I’m not really that worried about the Skrulls or whatever you’ve warned me about… invading Earth,” he gasped for breath. “What our planet doesn’t lack, if anything, are… super-powered beings like you, Danvers. We have… stronger, more powerful monsters than you, more numerous than you… can imagine…”
He only managed to get that far... and then, his stomach finally dropped. He wasn’t even sure if Danvers had heard him—frankly, he didn’t care—because at that very moment, he saw the monster finally opening its colossal—goddamn—beak.
“MOTHERFUCK!
Nicholas Joseph Fury muttered one final prayer, unaware that in his panic, one hand had shot out and grabbed Danvers’—who, strangely, had done the same. Their wrists tangled, fingers locking together as they both clutched their seats with their other hands, backs pressed hard against them, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the inevitable—until… darkness swallowed them whole.
...
...
...
Click.
A sudden flash of light—and it wasn’t lightning, but from a camera—came from behind them, capturing the moment their hands were outstretched from their seats, fingers tangled like an unwavering couple.
“Was all that… really necessary?”
Isabella lowered the camera from her face and walked toward them, sighing as she glanced up at the sky through the aircraft’s front windows. It was blue, clear, with not a single cloud in sight. The aircraft was still on its course, heading due east.
Meow… purr.
From behind her came a soft sound—a cat’s meow—followed by steady footsteps. Maverick appeared, holding the “cat” that Fury seemed to have named Goose, gently petting its head as he walked shoulder to shoulder with her.
His eyes twitched, seeing Fury’s eyeballs roll all the way back. If he hadn’t been able to sense his heartbeat, it would have almost looked as if he were dead.
Maverick raised a hand to his mouth and let out an embarrassed cough.
“Cough… I… might have gotten a little carried away there.”
2025-09-19 11:42:33 +0000 UTC
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The midday sun blazed like a merciless spotlight, its heat bending the world beneath it into a wavering mirage, burning too fiercely for any human eye to endure.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead—whether from the heat or from the crushing realization that his world was far stranger than he had ever imagined—Nick Fury finally pulled himself together and sprinted toward his car.
Of course, he wasn’t new to the weird side of the world, but today he was hit once again with another profound lesson—never underestimate any possibility.
Aliens? What’s next… angels, demons, and magicians?
Oh, right. We already have one of those.
“Motherfu—” he bit off the curse, growling it under his breath as he yanked the car door shut. His glare cut to his partner, voice sharp with fire.
“Follow them!”
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, two pairs of eyes had witnessed everything that unfolded here—probably even more than he did.
High above the street, concealed by powerful invisibility magic, Maverick and Isabella perched atop a floating construct, quietly watching—and occasionally commenting on—the chaos playing out below.
Isabella had already pulled out her recorder and started filming everything. After all, she was a journalist now, and whether or not it had anything to do with their magical world, this was still a huge story.
Besides, she wasn’t doing anything illegal, like crossing the secrecy law. She wasn’t interfering with Muggle affairs or exposing herself—just quietly recording from the shadows.
Even if she did, what could anyone do to her? Is the ICW going to arrest her? Of course not. Rules are only meant to control the weak, or people without connections. And Isabella had more than one pair of thick enough thighs behind her to make anyone think twice before even trying anything.
And really, the magical world had every right to know their discovery. News of life beyond Earth would be a first for them as well, and seeing them with abilities similar to her own kind made it all the more monumental.
Maverick glanced at her from the corner of his eye and could only let out a helpless smile at her antics. He hadn’t realized just how passionate Isabella was into this—into being a reporter.
At first, he had thought she had chosen this profession to help him achieve his ambitions, but now it was clear that he had been mistaken. Observing her behavior, it was obvious that she was completely in her own element—a full-on, news-hungry reporter with zero pretense.
“Are you sure, Ricky, that’s a creature not from our world? Like… an actual alien, from outside?” Isabella asked. Her tone wasn’t shocked in the slightest—if anything, she sounded almost giddy as Maverick explained his theory.
Of course, it wasn’t really a theory. He knew exactly what it was, but he couldn’t exactly admit, Yeah, I’ve seen this in a movie from my past life. So he kept it vague.
“That’s definitely not a magical creature,” he said calmly, nudging the magical construct they stood on to rise a little higher for a clear view of the action below—the woman who would one day be Captain Marvel chasing the Skrull, and Nick Fury, along with… not Coulson, hot on their trail.
“I can’t sense any trace of magical energy from it. The only other explanation could be a mutant, but I’ve never heard of multiple mutants sharing the exact same ability.”
Earlier, when Nick Fury had been momentarily frozen by Danvers suddenly displaying her powers and the Skrull, another shapeshifter had slipped in from behind him, flawlessly taking on the form of the other agent who had entered the Blockbuster store just moments before.
Fury didn’t notice, but Maverick and Isabella saw it clearly—what had first looked like an ordinary Muggle suddenly changed form, exactly like how the one Danvers was chasing.
So if there were already two… then it could only mean there were more, ruling out the possibility that these strange creatures were mutants.
"Are we going to tell him?" she asked, eyes never leaving the camera’s viewfinder, flicking between the speeding car and the on-foot chase that had now spilled onto the top of a moving train.
"I don’t think that will be necessary," Maverick replied, the corner of his lips curling up as they paced above. Of course, he was ready to take action at any moment—obviously he couldn’t exactly let Fury die.
Inside the car at that very moment, a fistfight was erupting while the vehicle zigzagged wildly out of control. It seems Fury has finally realized that his “partner”... wasn’t really his partner.
“To the front, Ricky! I want to capture the cat fight!” Isabella nudged him sharply in the arm, her eyes alight, her voice buzzing with excitement.
Maverick’s corner of his lips twitched, but he obliged nonetheless.
Isabella was grinning from ear to ear, capturing every tense second of the back-and-forth struggle between one man and one green alien.
“They are not physically, in terms of strength, that much different from ordinary humans. At least not that one…” she remarked from time to time as the fight dragged on, until—
Boom!
Screeech…
Eventually, Fury managed to turn the tide. With one clean shot right between the brows, he put the Skrull impostor down, then wrestled the car back under control and brought it to a stop.
“Hm… it’s green?” Isabella finally lifted her head from the viewfinder, squinting at the crumpled body to get a better look.
“Well, more proof it’s not an Earthling. We humans—whether mutants or magicals—at least all bleed red, right?” Maverick shrugged his shoulders.
Isabella made a thoughtful expression as she nodded, then shut off the magical camera with a contented smile and stowed it in her storage ring.
“So, what’s next? Where’s that woman and the other alien?”
Maverick smiled helplessly. “No need to look for them. The alien has slipped away, and the woman’s searching in the opposite direction.”
His magical sense hadn’t left Danvers and the Skrull, but he had no intention of chasing them for now. If memory serves, what happens next would be Danvers digging into her past, eventually stumbling across Project Pegasus—likely in a day or two.
The entire movie—at least the Earth-side plot—wasn’t very long, he thought, hand on chin. Aside from the flashbacks, it all unfolded over just a few days, and if things really did follow the script, it was shaping up to be the perfect holiday for him.
Following the aliens with his fiancée, having fun together and maybe picking up a few alien tech “souvenirs” along the way—what’s not to like about that?
That said, he wasn’t planning to just sit on the sidelines until the very end. The real opportunities—specifically the Tesseract—would, or should, make its debut a little later, and that’s when he would make his appearance. Until then, though, he preferred to let certain events play out naturally.
Of course, that was assuming no unexpected surprises popped up—which he wasn’t leaving to chance. The moment he realized things were going off the rails compared to what he remembered, he would, by all means, try to track down the cosmic cube, even if it meant rummaging through a few minds along the way.
Besides, tonight was New Year’s Eve. He had a surprise planned for Isabella—a romantic dinner somewhere special, and he wasn’t about to miss it. As for Fury and Danvers, a simple tracking charm was more than enough. Their trail would still be there tomorrow.
“Let’s go,” Maverick said with a smile, linking arms with Isabella. “We can find them tomorrow, but for now… I’m still craving some of those ribs. Hopefully the other places are just as good.”
---
They didn’t linger long at the sight, and after realizing that most of the nearby restaurants had closed due to the earlier commotion, Maverick decided it was time to take Isabella to his surprise location. Thanks to the time zone difference, it was almost sunset there, with only a couple of hours left until evening.
But first, they returned to their hotel, took quick showers, and changed into casual-formal outfits: Isabella in a stunning fiery dress, Maverick in a smart-casual ensemble with a loose long-sleeve shirt and crisp white pants. Only then, with a subtle flick of magic, they teleported halfway across the world.
Their destination: the Maldives. Maverick had reserved a grand suite at a luxurious five-star resort, perched right over the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean—a perfect spot to welcome the New Year together.
They spent the first part of the evening enjoying the scenery and soaking in the extravagant New Year’s decorations, impressive even by Muggle standards. Then, they moved to a private beach where a candlelit dinner awaited them.
Needless to say, Isabella couldn’t hide her delight at the gesture. The couple shared a quiet, romantic evening under the stars, the ocean stretching endlessly before them, before finally stepping back to admire the resort’s fireworks display.
But the night wasn’t over yet. After dinner, they joined the resort’s big festival, dancing with the crowd to DJs and music, even squeezing in some karaoke. By the end of it, both were laughing and breathless, calling it a night with hearts full and memories made.
---
Two days later, Mojave Desert, California.
A deafening boom ripped through the air as a heavily armored, heavily customized aircraft—its size somewhere between a VTOL and a private jet, with a sleek black hull glinting under the harsh desert sun—blasted out of what appeared to be a military base.
Gunfire cracked and ricocheted off its reinforced plating, sparks trailing behind as bullets and energy blasts tried to catch up. The jet shuddered with each near hit but clawed higher into the sky, engines screaming as it pierced the thin desert air, leaving a plume of dust and smoke in its wake.
After spending New Year’s Eve in the Maldives, Maverick and Isabella once again returned to the United States, and had been quietly trailing Fury and Danvers ever since.
Until now, Maverick hadn’t made a move, content to simply observe alongside Isabella. Judging by everything that had happened—from Danvers uncovering the Pegasus secrets to Fury tracking her down—he concluded that most events were unfolding exactly as he remembered from the movie.
Eventually, they traced the duo to a desert facility that, on paper, appeared to be a NASA lab. Ofcourse, in reality, it was the true Pegasus base, a high-security U.S. military installation.
Casting one last incredulous glance at the dozen or so soldiers who had let the pair escape with a stolen, bloody Quinjet prototype of all things—something, for lack of a better word, that could only be explained as plot armor—Maverick chose to leave as well.
“Hold on…” he murmured, wrapping an arm around Isabella and forming a magical barrier in front of them to shield against the wind.
Then, with a gentle nudge of his magic, he lifted their construct high into the air and propelled it forward at an incline, soaring above the desert and slicing through the clouds toward the east.
“Where are they going?” Isabella asked, gripping him tightly as they trailed the duo ahead. Half an hour had passed, and they were now maintaining a steady pace at virtually constant velocity, keeping roughly a kilometer behind.
“Up ahead should be Louisiana…” he paused, then nodded, having made a decision. “Bella, I think it’s about time we make an entrance, don’t you?”
Isabella raised a brow and shrugged, letting him decide. She was just following along—but, honestly, it was starting to get a little boring.
“Are we… apparating in to spook them?” she asked mischievously.
“Of course not. I don’t want to be swallowed by a cat…”
“A what?”
“Hehe… never mind,” he chuckled. “Anyway, how could I, a dignified archmage make an entrance that boring?”
With that, he grinned wildly and raised his free hand, letting his vast magic ripple outward, spreading through the air like a storm about to break.
2025-09-18 10:15:03 +0000 UTC
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The morning sun dragged itself lazily over the horizon, painting the rooftops with a thin sheen of gold that glittered against the frost. Winter was in no mood to loosen its grip, the air so sharp it could bite through a scarf, and the streets below carried that brittle calm only found on frozen mornings.
By the time breakfast rolled around, the wizarding world were humming with gossip. Papers rustled open on kitchen tables, in corner cafés, even at cluttered office desks—and every single headline shouted the same story.
From Britain to the rest of Europe—and even a few overseas presses—yesterday’s Wizengamot fiasco went global, with front pages ripping apart the circus of English magical politics in full view of the world.
Yes, on paper the assembly had been called to clear Sirius Black’s name and expose Peter Pettigrew, but in print, those were just merely just afterthoughts. The true spotlight fell on the English magical government itself, with critics circling like vultures over the state of their politics.
“Minister Toppled in Broad Daylight!” one French paper declared.
“The Fall of Fudge: A Lesson in Power,” sneered the Germans.
Even the Americans chimed in with their usual flair: “London in Flames—Politically, Anyway.”
Every column tore into the politics of England’s magical elite—mocking, dissecting, and questioning what kind of circus they were running across the Channel. It was a coup, plain and simple. But since it had gone off clean, by the book, and actually worked, there wasn’t much anyone could do about it—except laugh at how ridiculous it all looked in the end.
Fudge, right up until the final moment, hadn’t even realized what was happening. What made it more ridiculous still was that he had engineered the conditions himself—convening a grand assembly that needn’t have happened at all.
Yet by gathering so many, he gave his haters both the stage and the numbers they required. In other words, it was his own hands that had prepared the grounds for something as drastic as the impeachment of a sitting Minister.
Article after article dragged him through the mud, painting him as the biggest fool. For a while, the English magical community would be the punchline, sneered at for ever having such a clueless, bumbling leader.
Maverick, sitting at the small dining table in his Los Angeles hotel room, set the paper aside, the corner of his lips curling as he finished the article. Honestly, he hadn’t expected yesterday’s drama to blow up this big, with even papers that hadn’t been at the auditorium splashing it across their headlines. Still, it wasn’t a big deal.
At most, Jameson’s new government would take some heat for a while, but like every other scandal, it would dry up soon enough. This wasn’t the twentieth century, nor the matured politics of the Muggle world from his previous life, where sanctions came down the moment a legitimate government got overthrown in some surprise coup.
“Ricky!”
Maverick looked up at the sweet sound of his fiancée’s voice and couldn’t help but swallow hard—absolutely because he was thirsty, and not because she was wearing his shirt… just his shirt. She strolled over, a coffee cup in hand freshly prepared for him.
Last night, after dinner, they had gone to a Muggle movie, which, to his inner child’s surprise, turned out to be Batman Returns. The story followed the script he remembered from his previous life almost exactly.
The only difference seemed to be the cast, for some reason, but the cinematography was way better, so even though he had seen it before, he had a blast watching it. As for Isabella… well, he guessed she enjoyed it too. Probably. Who doesn’t like Batman, right?
“What's so interesting on the news that you’ve been lost in it all this time?”
“The what?” he asked, still unable to tear his eyes away from his half-naked lioness.
“The paper.”
“Oh… the paper,” he said, glancing at it briefly before returning his gaze to her. “It’s about yesterday’s hearing. Everyone’s calling it a coup d’état.”
Isabella slid the cup to him and settled across from him, shrugging. “What else could it be? Don’t forget—it was you who orchestrated all that. Did anyone connect the dots?”
Taking a sip from the steaming cup of caffeine, he shook his head. “The articles are mostly about how big a moron Fudge was… and a little heat aimed at Jameson.”
“Or maybe the papers don’t dare make accusations against you, Mr. Speaker… lest they face your archmagical wrath,” she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.
“How is that possible? I am a law-abiding, civilized, well-respected wizard,” Maverick said, raising his chin dramatically, which only made her chuckle.
“So… what’s on the agenda today?” she asked after a moment.
Maverick’s expression softened into a thoughtful pause before his grin widened, and he stood up. “Today… my lady darling.” He circled the table, and before she could react, he scooped her up in a princess carry.
Her startled gasp only made him chuckle more as he continued, “How about some Venice barbecue? I hear the restaurants near the beach are absolutely worth it.”
Isabella squirmed slightly in his arms, laughing. “At least let me change first before you Apparate…”
“Apparate?” he shook his head, winking as he carried her into the bathroom. “Today, we’re going the old-fashioned way.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. Then, after a long—very long—shower, they checked out of the hotel, rented a car, and drove leisurely, taking in the sights as they made their way toward the neighboring district of the city.
---
Venice, a district within Los Angeles known for its beaches, boardwalk, and canals, wore a mellow chill today.
The sky was bright and almost cloudless, the kind of afternoon that felt cool on the skin yet gentle enough for a leisurely stroll along the boardwalk, with seagulls calling lazily overhead. Even in the middle of winter, snow was basically unheard of here, and the weather stayed mild and dry, with daytime highs around 20°C and cool, crisp evenings.
Inside a cozy corner of a bustling beachside restaurant, Maverick and Isabella settled into their seats, the hum of chatter and clinking cutlery surrounding them. A basket of ribs sat between them, the smoky aroma mingling with the tang of barbecue sauce.
Maverick leaned back slightly, grinning as Isabella took her first bite, wiping her fingers on a napkin with a teasing glance. For a moment, the bustle outside felt worlds away, leaving just the warmth of good food, soft conversation, and each other’s company.
And the food was indeed good. A little messy, sure—but that’s barbecue—and besides, who cared when the flavors of meat and sauce melted in your mouth, impossible to get enough no matter how much you ate.
They chatted about everything and nothing, time slipping by without them even noticing, and of course, the food—before long, it had all turned to bones. It was shaping up to be a perfect start to an excellent holiday… or so they thought.
Until—
Boom!
The bustling chatter inside cut off abruptly, and everyone’s heads ducked instinctively at the loud bang from outside, followed by sharp cries and startled yelps echoing through the restaurant as people scrambled to see what had happened.
It sounded like an explosion—not massive, but not small either—and Maverick and Isabella also turned their heads toward the restaurant’s large windows.
"Hmm… a duel?" Isabella squinted at the block across the road, casting a wandless cleaning charm over her sauce-stained hands.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Three more sharp bangs rattled the street. Inside, apart from Maverick and Isabella, chaos reigned now—people screamed, ducked, and scrambled for the exits, unwilling to be anywhere near whatever was causing the explosions across the street.
Maverick furrowed his brows as well, extending his magical senses to see who had dared ruin his lunch date. But then, the crease of concentration on his face eased, as he took in—or rather, guessed at—the figures out there.
At least one of them looked familiar—he had met him once before—but…
"They’re not wizards. Although… you have a point," he muttered under his breath. "No ordinary muggle weapons could do that."
Isabella’s curiosity flared, her reporter instincts kicking in, and Maverick caught from the corner of his eye that she was itching to get a closer look.
He let out a quiet sigh, then unhurriedly cast a Notice Me Not around them. Once the charm took hold, he turned them invisible and, without a word, Apparated to high above the scene where the ruckus was unfolding.
“Merlin… is that human body Transfiguration?” she exclaimed.
They watched as a woman in green, oddly patterned tights leapt from rooftops and darted through alleys, chasing a man who, at one point, flickered into another form—and then another.
“It certainly looks like it,” Maverick said, nodding thoughtfully. By now, he was fairly certain about what was happening, and his earlier guess was quickly solidifying.
For starters, the man frozen in momentary shock was none other than Nick Fury—whom he had seen during his inauguration assembly as High Councilor for the World Security Council.
So the woman chasing the shape-shifter has to be Carol Danvers, aka Ms. Marvel. As for the shapeshifter… that would have to be a Skrull soldier.
“Isn’t this straight out of the Captain Marvel plot,” he muttered to himself with a frown, then added silently, but… isn’t it a bit early for this?
“What plot?”
Isabella’s sudden question snapped him out of his thoughts, and the crease in his brow eased. “Nothing,” he said quickly, though the grin that followed gave him away. A spark lit in his eyes.
Alien technology. Spaceships. A cat. And, of course, the bloody Tesseract—housing the Space Stone itself.
“I know that look…” Isabella folded her arms over her petite mountains, one brow arched high as she studied him.
“What look?” he asked back, though the curl of his lips didn’t budge.
“That look you always get whenever something happens. Next thing I know, you’re knee-deep in the middle of it.”
“I—” He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again just as quickly. Was this what they called a woman’s sixth sense? But never mind that for now.
So instead, his grin only widened. “Say, honey… you up for a super interesting adventure?”
2025-09-16 20:02:29 +0000 UTC
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“…I’m sorry, Harry, for not sharing these with you sooner.”
Lupin said it apologetically, the two of them still sitting in the dining room where their talk had stretched on for quite a while. Maverick had brought Harry over earlier, and before Sirius arrived, Lupin had slipped into sharing old stories from his school days—little pieces about James and Lily that Harry had never once heard before.
Harry nodded slowly. “I get it, Professor. Nobody could’ve seen this coming, I guess.” Then, after a small pause, he smiled. “Anyway… I really am grateful… for coming to Hogwarts to protect me, I mean.”
Lupin chuckled at that. “Well, I realized soon enough that it wasn’t really needed. If I’d known beforehand you had someone like Professor Caesar as your mentor, I’d have skipped the job entirely and gone straight to hunt for Padfoot.”
Harry laughed under his breath, and his eyes drifted to the living room where Maverick sat lazily watching a program on Magic Vision.
“And you’re not quite right about one thing, Harry,” Lupin added, making him turn back.
“What do you mean?”
“About nobody realizing the truth.” Lupin tilted his chin toward the other room. “Professor Caesar had already pieced it together a while ago. It was his arrangements that made my friend’s freedom come so easily. So if anyone deserves the thanks, it’s him.”
Harry followed his gaze back to Maverick, a small warmth rising in his chest as he gave a quiet nod. Just then, Maverick turned his head away from the glowing screen toward the front door, and right on cue, the handle moved, and in came the man they had all been waiting for.
Sirius Black stepped inside, looking like he hadn’t had the best day—worn out, probably from fending off reporters. He pulled off his coat right away and turned toward the living room. His eyes first met Maverick’s smirk, then went further back to Moony, and finally landed on the one person he had been longing to see. In that instant, his weariness vanished, replaced by a wide, unrestrained smile.
Harry also met his eyes, and for a moment, it was like the most important person he hadn’t seen in years had suddenly appeared. He froze, his eyes welling up as he finally looked the man in the face.
“Siri… Sirius…”
“Harry…”
They both called out each other’s names, and Sirius stepped forward toward the frozen boy.
“It’s like I’m looking at Prongs… you look so much like him. Except for the eyes, of course—they’re Lily’s, through and through,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, unable to hold back any longer, he swept his godson into a tight embrace, his hands trembling slightly, and Harry, still stunned, didn’t pull away.
“I’m… so, so sorry, Harry… for letting it happen to your parents,” Sirius choked out, his voice breaking. Harry, having finally shaken off his shock, wrapped his arms around him too without thinking, holding him just as tightly.
“It’s not your fault… Mr. Sirius Black…” Harry whispered, just as trembling, and there wasn’t a hint of blame in his voice.
Pulling back just slightly, Sirius smiled and said, “If you want… you can call me Godfather, Harry. Or just Sirius. No need for formalities when it comes to family.”
While the two began to reminisce, Maverick stood up from his seat and gave Lupin a small nod before heading toward the front door.
Harry and Sirius exchanged confused looks, and Harry asked, “Professor, where are you going?”
“I’m sure you and your godfather have a lot to talk about, kid,” Maverick said with a smile and a shrug. “It’s your first meeting… I don’t want to sit here staring at two grown men getting all emotional.”
Harry’s cheeks flushed slightly, still hesitant—or maybe just shy. Maverick caught the look, let out a soft sigh, and told the kid not to worry. He glanced at Sirius and gave him a nod too, then walked out, and Lupin, after giving his friend a hug and congratulating him for his freedom, followed soon after.
Harry didn’t notice how time had flown that day, at long last, he was finally meeting his godfather and learning more about his parents. Before he knew it, it was starting to get dark, and snow had begun falling outside, when Maverick and Lupin returned carrying some takeout.
Compared to when they had left, the atmosphere was much lighter now. Sirius and Harry were laughing together over another story Sirius was recalling, and it was impossible not to smile watching them.
“Professor Caesar! Professor Lupin!” Harry called, running over. Maverick could tell the kid was in a great mood—not that he was a gloomy kid, but right now, he was practically radiating enough positive vibes to light up a Hungarian Horntail Patronus.
Before long, the four of them were in the dining room, enjoying an early dinner with light conversation—the kind that made the room feel warm and easy. Maverick also passed along Dumbledore’s message, and Sirius, without giving it much thought, agreed to meet the old man. Perhaps a few days later, as the new year approached, he would want to spend the festive occasion with his godson, whom he had been disconnected from for over a decade.
Maverick didn’t linger in the house much longer and, seeing that Harry had insisted on staying the night, he left the boy in the care of the two adults. He trusted Remus and Sirius to look after a teenager since Harry wasn’t exactly a clueless kid anymore, but he still gave them instructions to update the Dursleys before stepping back out into the evening. Vernon might not mind his wife’s nephew being gone, but Petunia had completely changed how she felt about Harry, so it was best not to make her worry.
Outside, the night was still young. Speaking of the New Year, Maverick had a date with a certain reporter tonight, and a whole holiday planned with her for the rest of the break. He would much rather spend his evening with her than with two grown men and a kid.
As for official business, Sirius was now part of his plans moving forward, but that could wait since the man had just regained his freedom. After school started, Maverick would assign him tasks, and thanks to his early intervention in this year’s plot, the rest of the semester at Hogwarts would… should, probably, pass without any major trouble.
---
Diagon Alley.
Late December brought a crisp, biting chill even to this always-bustling street of enchanted buildings. The night sky was dark and cloudy, but moonlight still managed to peek through in spots, glinting off rooftops dusted with frost. Puffs of smoke curled lazily from chimneys, mingling with the cold air, while snowflakes drifted down, catching the glow of tiny, enchanted lanterns that floated above the cobbled streets.
Despite the late hour, a few magical pedestrians hurried along, cloaks pulled tight against the cold and wands tucked safely in their pockets, leaving faint trails of sparks behind them. The shop windows glowed warmly, some displaying moving, bewitched toys or dancing ornaments. Christmas decorations hadn’t disappeared just yet, lingering and twinkling as if holding onto the season a little longer. The alley felt alive, yet quiet; the usual bustle slowed by the chill, giving the street a cozy, magical hush beneath the winter sky.
The headquarters of the Magical News Network had its main base in the magical streets of MACUSA, but at the same time, a branch had been opened in Europe as well. And of course, it couldn’t be anywhere else but her soon-to-be husband’s home turf. With Maverick’s help, Isabella had snagged a good chunk of land, and now the office was tucked into the cramped alley full of stalls and shops in the magical heart of London. And by coincidence—or maybe not—it wasn’t far from Maverick’s own business too, the Magitech store.
Until now, Isabella had been running the network’s operations from London. At first, most of their coverage focused on Quidditch, and being closer to the last European tournament had made things easier. Over time, she had expanded to cover other noteworthy events, from interviews with famous wizards to everyday magical happenings in both America and Europe.
It wasn’t much yet, since she and the company were still finding their rhythm, but a few scheduled programs were airing now, and tuning in to their daily evening news broadcast had become a regular routine in many wizarding households.
The London branch of the Magical News Network was a two-story building, its facade lined with enchanted glass windows that shimmered with moving headlines and floating ticker texts. It didn’t look anything like the usual shops around here, which seemed like they belonged in museums.
So with this new, unusually modern building, second only to Maverick’s own store, the historic street finally started to feel a bit more up-to-date, and in time, he was hoping more buildings like it would start popping up.
When Maverick arrived, the nightly news was long over, and most of the staff had already called it a day, leaving only a few lingering in the building. Feeling a bit drained after the long day, he made a beeline for Isabella’s office. There, he found her buried in a mountain of papers, glasses sliding down her nose as she scribbled notes frantically.
Since when had she started wearing glasses, he thought, raising a brow before shrugging. It… wasn’t a bad look on her, and right now, just seeing her like this made his gut tighten in more ways than one.
“Hello gorgeous…”
Still keeping the invisibility up, he slipped behind her, bent down, and whispered in her ear.
Her reaction to his tease, though, wasn’t what he expected. She didn’t flinch, didn’t jump—like she had been expecting him all along—and instead gave a slow, sultry smile, eyes sparkling, shoulders tilting just slightly, as she turned her head enough to meet his gaze and see his figure come into view.
“Do you have to sneak into my office like that every time, Ricky?” she said, shoving the papers aside. She stood, resting her hands on his shoulders, and he slid his hands to her hips, pulling her just a little closer.
Maverick sighed, smiling, and shrugged. “I… will try to knock next time… but forget about that… I’m starving right now.”
“For food, right?”
Hours—and ten thousand words later—they found themselves on the other side of the ocean, in Los Angeles, sitting at Spago in Beverly Hills, where the sun was still hanging low in the sky.
---
Meanwhile, a few dozen miles away from their current location, in Malibu, California…
The late afternoon sun hung low over Zuma Beach, casting long, golden shadows across the sand and turning the Pacific into a mix of deep blue and green streaked with sunlight. A warm, dry wind carried the smell of salt and sunscreen, lifting tiny bits of sand across the dunes. It was a quiet, lazy hour: sunbathers dozed, and only the most determined swimmers braved the chilly water. For now, the waves were mostly empty.
Then, suddenly, from within the churn of the breaking waves, a figure rose.
It didn’t stumble out like a tired swimmer. Instead, it moved with an unsettling, deliberate grace, water sliding off a form that looked completely alien. Tall and unnervingly slender, its skin had the texture of emerald stone. A ridged, prominent brow shadowed large, black eyes, and its face was sharp and severe, moving with the stillness of a predator.
The first figure paused for a moment, a statue of green against the shimmering waves, foam swirling around its knees. Then, from the surf behind it, three more identical forms emerged, their dark, liquid eyes scanning the shoreline, the cliffs, and the few scattered humans.
Because of the time, not many people were on the beach. The first figure that emerged scanned the shoreline with calculating eyes, pausing briefly on a woman some distance away who was just about to enter the water.
Not long after, something impossible began to happen—or at least impossible to any ordinary human eye. Its skin, or whatever passed for it, began to melt and reform, flowing over itself in a fluid, almost hypnotic motion.
Moments later, where the alien had stood, a woman in a bright turquoise bikini now smiled faintly, brushing her wet hair back as if she had just stepped out of the surf. Every detail was flawless: the sunlight glinting off her sunglasses, sand clinging to her tanned legs, and the playful ripple of water sliding off her shoulders.
As it glanced behind, the three figures that had followed also no longer looked like... well, aliens. Each had taken the form of another human from the beach: a man in red swim trunks adjusting his towel, a teenager in a rash guard lugging a surfboard, and an older woman in a wide-brimmed sunhat scrolling on her phone.
The first alien—now fully the woman—surveyed the others briefly, then nodded approvingly.
“You all know what to do,” it said, voice calm but authoritative. The three behind her nodded solemnly.
No commotion arose, and no one on the beach noticed the impossible transformation that had just occurred. Even the humans whose forms they now wore seemed oblivious, caught up in their own routines or too lazy to pay attention to anyone else around them.
With their disguises complete, the four figures moved toward the city, blending seamlessly into the late-afternoon crowd. From their brief exchange, though, it was clear they were here to look for something—or perhaps, someone.
2025-09-15 20:22:09 +0000 UTC
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The moment Barty Crouch proclaimed Sirius’s innocence, the somber atmosphere that had weighed over the Wizengamot lifted, replaced at once by a surge of energy. The great chamber grew alive with murmurs, camera flashes flickered in every direction, and the councilors—along with the guests watching from the stands above—leaned toward one another, whispering and debating about the string of unbelievable events they had just witnessed.
Where once the hall had looked at Sirius with suspicion, doubt, or uneasy curiosity, their gazes had now changed, sharp and calculating, filled with interest. To them, Sirius Black was no longer a wrongly imprisoned man, but an opportunity itself. And politicians, whether muggle or magical, always had an instinct sharper than any beast when it came to the scent of wealth and power. Standing before them now was the sole heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, and now that his freedom had been restored, it was only a matter of time before he also claimed his rightful place as a council member in this very chamber.
But it was not just the name, nor the political power tied to it, that made their eyes gleam. It was the fortune—vast, untouched, and now fully under Sirius’s control. The House of Black, after all, was not only one of the oldest but also perhaps the wealthiest and most aristocratic of all wizarding families in Britain. And with no other heir to claim it, that immense inheritance now lay entirely in his hands.
Councilors argued in hurried whispers, some thinking carefully before speaking, while others spoke without thought and rushed straight toward him. Up in the gallery, dignitaries speculated wildly, their voices clashing and overlapping like a noisy market. The press was no different, cameras flashing as they pushed closer, desperate not only to capture the moment but also to get a single word from him. Even Crouch’s formal call to close the assembly was drowned out, his voice swallowed by the uproar. And the truth was, no one seemed to care.
Meanwhile, Maverick, rather than approaching Sirius just yet, slipped out through the private entrance with Lord Greengrass and Dumbledore. If he went to him now, it would only add fuel to the fire, and he had no interest in mingling with the press.
“Please give my congratulations to Sirius Black, Professor,” Dumbledore said softly, a trace of melancholy in his voice. “And… if it is possible, extend my invitation for him to visit the school. I have… long-overdue conversations to have with him, and apologies I ought to offer.”
“I’ll deliver your message,” Maverick replied evenly. “But the apology… you will have to give yourself, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore inclined his head without protest. Then, after offering one last congratulation and a courteous farewell to Lord Greengrass, he departed, leaving Maverick and Jameson alone.
“Don’t look too smug, Jameson. We’re only getting started,” Maverick said, long noting the older man’s struggle to contain his grin, as he paused near the private entrance to the auditorium to wait for the kid he had brought. “You know what comes next.”
“Yes, leader.” Greengrass straightened at the remark, catching the full meaning behind it. “It won’t be long before I have the Ministry completely under my control.”
He knew well that election as Minister of Magic was only the beginning. The Ministry itself—its departments, its machinery, its far-reaching influence—would need careful shaping, and the right people placed in the right positions. Only then could he truly claim control.
“Take your time,” Maverick instructed, his voice calm but edged. “Don’t rush, but don’t be soft either. And once everything is in order, call a cabinet meeting and inform me. Also, keep Bones and Scrimgeour close. Do not put chains on them, and let them do as they will.”
“I understand. It will be done,” Greengrass assured him. Yet a flicker of doubt crossed his face. “But, leader… can they really be trusted? Will they cooperate all the way?”
Maverick’s eyes glinted coldly. “They have no choice. I gave them the chance to walk away, but they chose to stay tangled in this. There’s no turning back now—least of all by standing in my way.”
Greengrass swallowed hard. That’s right, he thought. His leader hadn’t forced them to do anything, and it was their own insistence that had pulled them into the grand plan. Taking control of the Ministry was only the first step; it was meant to ensure that the events planned for a year later would unfold smoothly, without any authoritative obstacles. Both Bones and Scrimgeour had been fully briefed, and they could have walked away, leaving only a blank memory of the plan behind. But they hadn’t. They had wanted to see if everything would fall into place as intended.
The outcome, after all, if everything fell into place, was simply too good to ignore, tempting even hardliners like them. So with that thought, any lingering reservations he had vanished under the certainty in Maverick’s words. Anyway, even if Bones or Scrimgeour wavered, he trusted that his leader would handle it—decisively.
Maverick gave him a few more instructions to follow up on until their next meeting, and with that, the new Minister of Magic left, no doubt heading straight into the swarm of reporters waiting for him.
Meanwhile, Maverick stayed by the door where he and Harry had parted ways when they first arrived, and not long after, Kingsley appeared, leading little Potter in from the other side.
“Apologies if I kept you waiting, Speaker,” Kingsley said with a wry sigh. “He’s been pestering me to take him to Sirius Black, but there are simply too many reporters out there…”
“I was wondering why it was taking so long…” Maverick said, waving a hand in a gesture that meant there was no need for apology. “Anyway, you did the right thing. Thank you, Mr. Shacklebolt...” With that, he dismissed Kingsley, and once the Auror left, he turned to Harry.
“Let’s go…” he said, starting to walk back the way they had come. Clearly, the boy’s emotions were tangled up inside him—and for good reason. During the hearing, it had already been made clear that Black had been very close to Harry’s parents, and Harry was simply eager to ask him about them.
“Professor…” Harry said quickly, falling into step beside him.
“I know you want to meet Sirius Black now, Potter… and don’t worry, you will, today. But first—did Mrs. Weasley say anything?”
“Lots of things, Professor! Did you know… Sirius Black is my godfather? She said he and my parents were really good friends. And—oh! My mum, my dad, and her… they were all part of this, like, ultimate group of Aurors back then, fighting Voldemort’s Death Eaters!”
Harry rambled on, and Maverick raised an eyebrow at the mention of the “ultimate group.” He hadn’t expected Mrs. Weasley to speak so freely about the Order of the Phoenix to a child. Was it Arthur’s idea? he wondered, then shrugged.
“And what do you think about Sirius Black now?” he asked.
“I…” Harry hesitated, then blurted out again, “I want to meet him. I have so many questions about Mum and Dad I need to ask him. Mrs. Weasley said if there’s anyone who knows them best, it’s Sirius Black… And… even though Aunt Petunia is my family, Sirius Black should be my only magical relative. So I want to know him… to know my parents through him.”
Well, you can’t blame the kid, Maverick thought inwardly. They moved along the corridors and soon reached the VIP elevator, where Maverick first turned them invisible before stepping inside. When they emerged, the Ministry was a chaotic mess, crowded with press and the bustling public. And there he was—the man in question—standing in front of his lioness, giving a live interview, while reporters flashed cameras and scribbled notes furiously.
Maverick smiled, seeing Isabella living up to her ambition. He wanted to check on her, make sure everything was fine—after all, this was probably the first live event her news network had covered outside of sports—but she was clearly absorbed, in the middle of her interview, so he let her be. After this, she would be free, and he already had most of the rest of the holiday planned with her.
Harry, meanwhile, wanted to rush forward, but Maverick placed a hand on his shoulder. “Be patient, kid,” he said, before heading toward the exit. “We’re going to meet him later, without a swarm of cameras, and you can talk to him as long as you want.”
Harry thought for a moment, then reluctantly nodded and followed Maverick. They left the Ministry the same way they had entered—via the ridiculous phone booth—and once outside, Maverick placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and apparated from the spot.
A moment later, somewhere in North London—
“Where are we?” Harry asked, glancing around the unfamiliar neighborhood, while holding back the uneasy shudder from the jump through space.
“This is where your godfather has been staying. We’ll wait until he arrives,” Maverick replied, then walked to the house in front. Taking out the key, he opened the door and saw someone already in the living room, watching Magic Vision, and it was the interview with Sirius that Isabella had been conducting before they had left.
“Professor Lupin?” Harry said, surprised to see his DADA professor there.
—————————
Author's Note:
Hey everyone! My paternity leave is over, and updates will return to the regular schedule from now on. Thank you all so much for your patience and understanding.
I’m truly humbled and beyond grateful that the subscriber numbers didn’t drop while I was away. Your support means the world to me. Thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
I can’t wait to bring you more and continue this journey together—and I’m sure the next arc will be very interesting for many of you.
P.S. From now on, the Marvel side of the story will start to pick up more.
2025-09-14 16:03:08 +0000 UTC
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“I have been advised, Adjudicator, that an understanding had been duly reached with my predecessor—had it not? To let this matter rest, as compensation for Mr. Sirius Black’s twelve years of wrongful imprisonment...”
Barty Crouch’s recommendation to press the charge of illegal Animagus transformation did not catch many in the assembly off guard.
In fact, when recalling the events of the night the Potters were killed—and when he had chased and confronted Peter Pettigrew—Sirius, under Veritaserum, had inadvertently revealed he was an Animagus, making the charge technically valid and its addressing inevitable.
However, the matter had already been communicated to the Ministry before Sirius turned himself in, since, naturally, how he escaped Azkaban would come up and he had to be forthcoming. The then-Minister, Cornelius Fudge, was, of course, shocked by how anticlimactic it was, but regardless, he had promised that the matter would not be pursued.
Fudge, along with Rufus Scrimgeour, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, had personally vouched that the charge would not be pressed—at the very least, as a small compensation for Sirius’s wrongful imprisonment of over a decade. This had also been addressed to Barty Crouch, and he had verbally agreed—but it now appeared that may not have been the case.
So when Barty began going off the rails, Minister Greengrass immediately rose to his feet and addressed the assembly, loud and clear, effectively cutting off his attempt. While the deal may have been communicated with Jameson’s predecessor, the agreement was still with a sitting Minister of Magic.
Below, Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour both furrowed their brows, eyes fixed on Barty Crouch. After all, they had been the ones to mediate between Black and the Ministry before he ultimately turned himself in. To see their former supervisor act unilaterally, blatantly ignoring the agreement they had all reached, left them visibly displeased.
Barty, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the Minister of Magic’s argument and to the pointed scrutiny of his two former top employees. His cold, impassive gaze was fixed instead on Sirius Black, who stood in the witness dock looking equally caught off guard. For the first time that day, things had veered off the script he had been given, and he had no idea what was happening.
“Sirius Black, I assume you are aware that the Ministry of Magic has long enforced strict laws regulating the dangerous and complex Transfiguration magic of Animagi, correct?”
“Yes, I’m aware…” What else could he say to answer such an obvious question?
Having answered Crouch, he couldn’t help but glance toward the three highest seats, brows furrowing as they landed specifically on Maverick. He wasn’t sure whether this was part of the plan or if something had changed that he wasn’t aware of.
His confusion only deepened, seeing Maverick sitting so coolly beside Dumbledore, utterly unfazed by the turn of events.
Could it be… that I’ve been set up? he thought, if only for a brief moment.
No… that can’t be. He quickly brushed the thought aside. Besides… there’s no benefit for that kid in this—so this must be a variable in the plan.
Sirius wracked his brain, trying to make sense of the situation, but nothing came to him—until he heard Minister Jameson Greengrass repeat his earlier remark.
Crouch acknowledged the minister this time, at least, but then his face turned sterner than ever before he answered.
"The acknowledgment you speak of between Sirius Black and the Ministry," he said, turning from Greengrass to Sirius, and finally to the assembly below, "holds no legal weight here, Minister!"
"Absurd!" came the voice of Amelia Bones from below, almost as if she could no longer contain herself.
"The courtroom has conducted many such proceedings with convicted criminals," she emphasized, "whether for intelligence or otherwise, and has compensated them by lightening their sentences. In fact, I recall you, Chief Adjudicator, presiding over many such hearings... so why are you being different with this case?"
As soon as Amelia finished, Scrimgeour rose next.
"I must object as well," he said. "Besides, it is now blatantly obvious that Sirius Black is not guilty, even if the council has not yet voted. And don’t forget… we, the Ministry, held him captive for thirteen years in Azkaban. If anything, this so-called compensation that is overlooking his unregistered Animagus status is, quite frankly, a joke in my opinion—thirteen whole years we took from him!"
Following Scrimgeour, more and more councilors rose to their feet, voicing their objections, and Minister Greengrass, having made his point, no longer addressed the assembly.
At first, Maverick was taken aback by Crouch’s sudden, rogue move, but Dumbledore, wise as ever, seemed to understand the motive behind it and quietly explained it to himself as the one-sided debate unfolded.
Dumbledore believed Crouch basically just wanted to go out with a bang. Unlike Fudge, who had struggled to repair a tarnished reputation, Crouch’s name had never truly been sullied, but the stain left by his worthless son simply hit him too hard, affecting his psychological mindset.
And he had been brooding over it for more than a decade, and perhaps had moved on, but he had no desire left to remain in politics. At the same time, he didn’t want to fade into irrelevance, and he intended his final hearing to be remembered in history.
First, he had overseen proceedings when Fudge was impeached—the first time ever a Minister had ever been kicked out from the Wizengamot. And now, he was determined to make this final trial as fair as possible—at least from his side.
Besides, he knew the council would not vote against Black for something as minor as being an unregistered Animagus, especially after being wrongfully imprisoned for over a decade. The only reason he brought it up was to make a point: that he was just and fair as an Adjudicator.
After the arguments against his recommendation had been voiced by over a dozen councilors, Crouch addressed the assembly once again.
"I do not believe there are any substantive issues with the conclusions I have drawn," he began, still pressing. "Perhaps… you may think I act out of personal grievance, given that I wrongfully sentenced him to Azkaban. But I ask you all to remember: throughout my long career, there is ample evidence of my consistent and unwavering loathing for those who choose to break the laws we have sworn to uphold."
"Of course, it is not a problem to waive the charge as compensation for the many years Mr. Black has spent wrongfully in Azkaban… but my point is this: I want it addressed here, rather than brushed under the rug. Lawbreakers—regardless of their position or perceived justification—have always been the object of my deepest scorn."
It was just as Dumbledore had guessed. Now, Crouch looked less like a judge, and his actions could only be described as an attempt to redeem himself for past errors while simultaneously scoring points for his image before retirement.
Perhaps if Fudge were still the minister, he would have shouted the obvious, but Greengrass let him go on and made no objection once he understood what was happening.
Had the setting been more fitting, he might have even applauded Barty Crouch Sr.’s performance.
"So I leave the decision to you, esteemed councilors," Crouch continued, his eyes alight with a passion. "I urge each and every one of you to give serious consideration to my statements regarding Sirius Black. Do not allow the truth to be obscured by sentiment or misplaced sympathy!"
While Barty’s words and actions that day may not have deceived the truly intelligent and discerning among those present, he still managed to hold the people’s hearts and the steadfast support of the masses—within the Wizengamot, the Ministry, and across wizarding Britain. He would reture as a man of the law, someone who wouldn't budge for anything.
And frankly, that was all he wanted at this point, and that was why he was putting on such a show, playing rough with Black’s case.
"Headmaster, I think you should voice your opinion too…" Maverick said to Dumbledore.
"I believe so," the old man replied, rising to his feet. "First, I firmly believe that Sirius Black bears no legal responsibility for the tragic affair involving the Potters. On that account, he should be cleared of all charges and deemed innocent."
"Of course, we are all agreed that he is indeed an unregistered Animagus, having used this ability without the Ministry’s leave. Yet, as many of you, esteemed councilors, have already observed, he has borne the weight of thirteen years’ wrongful imprisonment. In light of that grave injustice, I, too, stand by the decision of the former administration—that no further punishment should be sought for so small a matter."
"Very well, then—" With the wisest voice in the chamber having spoken, Crouch pressed on, offering no further argument on the matter.
Then his tone rose, booming across the chamber:
"Let us put this matter to a vote by a show of hands! First—those in favor of declaring Sirius Black innocent and pardoned for the offense of practicing as an unregistered Animagus, raise your hands!"
From the very top, three hands shot up almost immediately, followed by more, row by row, until over forty hands were raised high into the air within the allotted time for voting.
“Sirius Black!” Crouch declared, his expression unchanged, as he looked down at the man before him. “You are hereby declared innocent by the Wizengamot for practicing as an unregistered Animagus. That said, let me remind you: the very first thing you do, should you walk out of this chamber a free man, is ensure your registration as an Animagus with the Ministry.”
Sirius scratched the back of his head, nodding repeatedly, when Crouch’s voice rose once again, carrying through the hall:
“Next—those in favor of declaring Sirius Black innocent and pardoned of all charges, including, but not limited to: the breach of the Fidelius Charm to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the indirect deaths of James and Lily Potter, the deaths of over a dozen innocent Muggles, and the destruction of public property—raise your hands!”
Contrary to what many had expected, he was the first to raise his hand this time, a decisive gesture of support—swiftly mirrored by Maverick, Dumbledore, and Jameson.
Then, it was like a tidal wave sweeping through the chamber. From the front row to the back, one by one, the assembled witches and wizards rose to their feet, hands shooting skyward in a united show of backing.
Sirius, watching from his place below, swallowed hard. Each raised hand made his heart pound harder against his ribs, a forceful drumbeat of hope.
Fresh from his ordeal in Azkaban, Sirius had once been indifferent to the prospect of either imprisonment or freedom. But in the time he had spent with Maverick and Remus, the embers of hope had slowly reignited within him. After all, he had a responsibility, did he not? James and Lily’s son—young Harry—was still waiting, yearning for the care and guidance that only Sirius Black, his godfather, could provide.
“Fifty-five in favor, six abstentions!”
“Sirius Orion Black!” Crouch’s voice rang out, his gaze sweeping over the now flushed and exhilarated man below. “Let it be known—henceforth, all charges against you are dropped! By the authority of the Wizengamot, you are declared... innocent!”
2025-09-11 20:35:25 +0000 UTC
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Veritaserum—or in other words, truth serum—was a highly regulated magical concoction, strictly controlled and monitored by both the ICW and individual magical governments around the world.
Only after meticulous review and explicit approval from the very top of the ladder—high councils or the Minister himself—could this potion be legally administered.
Its reliability was unquestionable. No wizard or witch in their right mind doubted its accuracy. And when the hoarse, heavy voice of Sirius Black, full of remorse, echoed through the cavernous courtroom under its influence, an eerie silence fell over the Wizengamot and the audience above them.
In that moment, all uncertainty vanished. No one could deny the truth anymore. The real traitor stood exposed, and his guilt was undeniable—the potion had stripped away every last lie.
Crouch demanded that Peter Pettigrew also submit to Veritaserum and recount the events from his own perspective. But the rat refused outright, panicked and trembling, and under ICW regulations, the potion couldn’t be forced without the subject’s consent—so the courtroom got no testimony from him.
But it hardly mattered. Sirius’s words, given under Veritaserum, had already laid everything bare beyond doubt, and Crouch insisting that Peter take the potion was little more than a formality.
"Peter Pettigrew," Crouch’s voice boomed across the chamber, cold and unflinching after Pettigrew’s final refusal—even when offered leniency for cooperation. "You stand accused of the most heinous and unforgivable crimes… revealing the secret whereabouts of the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, an act that directly led to their brutal murders; and the wanton, unconscionable killing of multiple innocent Muggles."
"For these cumulative crimes against the wizarding world and its very values, the recommended sentence is…" He paused, sweeping his gaze first over the cowering rat, then across the councilors, before finally declaring, "Execution!"
As Barty Crouch's chilling words reverberated through the Wizengamot chamber, an eerie, drawn-out silence fell over the courtroom. Many in attendance stared in disbelief at Crouch’s stern, unyielding face, their expressions a mixture of shock and dawning comprehension—including the stunned Sirius Black, seated on the opposite side.
So many Death Eaters, guilty of heinous and unforgivable crimes, had been tried and sentenced—always to life in Azkaban’s soul-draining confines—and Sirius had expected the same fate for the rat as well.
Yet here was the very same Bartemius Crouch, the man who had personally condemned many such dark wizards to Azkaban, including himself, now proposing that Pettigrew face the death sentence. Sirius stared at him, caught between disbelief, resentment, and… gratitude he couldn’t yet name.
Maverick, watching from above, was also taken aback by the sudden call for execution, since he, too, had assumed the worst Pettigrew would face was life in prison. Besides, he didn’t want the rodent dead just yet; he still had plans for the rat, and if Pettigrew were killed, he would have to overhaul a good part of his blueprint.
His expression grew increasingly cold as he contemplated the implications, wondering whether to ask Jameson to object to the sentence. But realizing that the jury—or the council—would first have to vote in order for the sentencing to pass, he brushed the thought aside for now and glanced sideways at Dumbledore beside him.
Surely the old man wouldn’t be okay with execution—he was Albus Dumbledore, after all.
Sure enough, he saw that the old man looked just as surprised by the sentence, one brow arched at the Adjudicator’s chair below.
"Headmaster..." Maverick asked, carefully wording his thoughts and speaking only loud enough for the three at their table to hear. "I’ve never known the Wizengamot to hand down death sentences. Even over a decade ago, those ruthless fanatics only got life in Azkaban... never execution. What do you make of this?"
"Indeed…" Dumbledore murmured, stroking his chin. "It may be that Sirius Black’s wrongful imprisonment—a grave mistake, a blemish upon Barty Crouch’s record, second only to the shame his own misguided son brought upon him—has driven him to severity in this case. Yet I doubt the council will follow him so far. Let us wait and see what the assembly decides."
"Your Excellency, the Adjudicator. According to the established laws and precedents of the British Magical Constitution, he should be sentenced to life imprisonment, not execution."
It was Rufus Scrimgeour who broke the silence first. Shaking off his stunned daze, he rose sharply from his chair and voiced the objection.
At once, the full impact of Bartemius Crouch’s unprecedented sentence rippled through the chamber. Since Maverick had first entered these chambers, he had not yet seen such uproar—not even when Fudge had been stripped of his seat—as a cacophony of voices erupted from the assembled witches and wizards.
He wondered why they were so against the death sentence, as a lot of these politicians weren’t exactly saints—some were outright former Death Eaters—and yet they acted as if executing a convicted murderer was some unspeakable taboo.
He scoffed at the spectacle, watching the pathetic drama unfold. Politicians were all the same, muggle or magical, always trying to put on a saintly face.
“What is your opinion on this matter, Speaker Dumbledore… will the council approve… or…” Lord Greengrass also inquired, his gaze flicking briefly toward Maverick.
Jameson was fully aware of Maverick’s plans for Peter Pettigrew—what had been arranged for the rat once he was sentenced to life in Azkaban. But with Dumbledore present, he couldn’t speak his mind freely.
Nonetheless, he wasn’t worried, because from the looks of it, Crouch’s recommended sentence wouldn’t pass, and Pettigrew would likely receive life imprisonment instead, just as Maverick had expected.
"The death penalty is a punishment of grave and irreversible finality, one that has lain dormant for many years within our British wizarding world. To set such a precedent with Peter Pettigrew would be to invite a torrent of unforeseen consequences and bitter controversies—burdens that, I fear, you, Mr. Minister, could ill afford."
"Headmaster is right, Jameson," Maverick added. "If I were you, I wouldn’t risk letting this happen—not with laws so loose and full of loopholes in the Constitution. There’s a high chance more cases like this could follow."
"You’re right…" the new Minister of Magic murmured after a moment’s thought. But just as he was about to raise an objection, Barty had swiftly cut him off. Perhaps he had noticed, from the corner of his eye, the discussion unfolding—the frown on Lord Greengrass’s face—and guessed the minister might take a controversial stance.
Better to get it over with quickly, Barty decided, and with an insistent gesture, he called for an immediate vote from the assembled council members, allowing no further discourse or debate on the matter.
"Now, let the esteemed members of the council cast their votes without further delay!"
And sure enough, barely any of the councilors raised their hands in favor of the death sentence. Only a handful did, mostly those considered radicals when it came to notions of right and wrong. Needless to say, none of the pureblood fanatics’ hands went up—they certainly didn’t want to be next in line if, somehow, they were to face such a trial in the future.
But Bartemius Crouch didn’t seem unhappy with the outcome, almost as if he had expected it. Or perhaps… this was merely a performance. Barty Crouch never truly expected the members of the Wizengamot to approve execution for Peter Pettigrew; he only wanted to assert his firm stance.
Meanwhile, Pettigrew’s muddled mind finally began to clear as the implications sank in. He covered his face with trembling hands, not daring to look but too afraid to hear the outcome, wanting to know first. Fortunately for him, his miserable life was spared—for now—and his wailing subsided, if only momentarily.
"Very well then…" Barty Crouch declared, his stern face betraying no hint of emotion or disappointment at the outcome. "Those in favor of sentencing Peter Pettigrew to lifelong imprisonment, raise your hands accordingly."
This time, the vast majority of the Wizengamot raised their hands in solemn affirmation, supporting the more measured proposal of a lifetime behind bars for the rodent.
Upon witnessing this, Peter broke into wails once more—not out of fear of execution this time, but out of sheer terror at the thought of spending the rest of his life under the merciless watch of Dementors.
With the council having decided his fate, the rat was promptly seized and dragged away by the grim-faced Aurors who had been guarding him, to be escorted first to the chamber that housed the portkey to Azkaban.
Now that Peter’s fate had been settled, it was time for the sentencing of Sirius Black. After all, he was still a convicted criminal.
Maverick, watching from above, had assumed the trial would wrap up quickly now that Peter Pettigrew, the true traitor, had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. All that remained was to clear Black of the wrongful charges against him.
But Bartemius Crouch Sr. seemed to have other ideas and suddenly changed gears, unveiling a brand-new accusation aimed squarely at Sirius Black.
“Sirius Black,” he said, turning his stern gaze on the dejected figure, “although your wrongful imprisonment was a grave mistake by the Ministry, that does not absolve you of all crime, nor excuse you from accountability. Therefore, you shall face an additional charge, brought forth by this seat as Chief Adjudicator: the unlawful study and unauthorized practice of the Animagus transformation!”
Once again, the hall erupted in murmurs, camera flashes, and whispers.
To Barty’s credit, if one were to ask what most concerned the Ministry of Magic in this affair, it was neither the long-overdue revelation of Sirius Black’s innocence nor the exposure of Peter Pettigrew as the true traitor. No, the Ministry’s foremost worry was far simpler, and far more damning:
How had Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban in the first place?
Azkaban, the fortress prison guarded by soul-sucking Dementors—those dreadful, spectral beings whose mere presence could unravel even the strongest mind. It was a place designed not just to contain, but to destroy—a black pit of despair where time and hope withered.
To the wizarding world, and especially to Britain’s magical community, Azkaban was hailed as more than just a prison. It was a symbol, a warning, a weapon—a grim reminder of the British Ministry’s absolute power. Loathed by all who knew of it, it nonetheless stood as the Ministry’s sharpest blade, cutting down resistance not through justice, but through fear.
And now, a wizard had somehow managed to shatter Azkaban’s legend by accomplishing the seemingly impossible—a successful escape from its clutches. This unprecedented feat had, to some extent, shaken the very foundations upon which the Ministry’s authority rested, casting doubt on the security of their most potent instrument of control.
It was also one of the main reasons why the former Minister, Fudge, had resorted to such extremes— even sending Dementors to patrol the grounds of Hogwarts in pursuit of Sirius Black. In doing so, he had also issued orders to the Ministry directors, demanding that every resource at their disposal be used to uncover how Black had managed to escape.
Only after Black had been taken into custody was it made clear to then Minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge. Together with Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour, he had, in fact, spoken to Barty just before the trial began—advising him to let the matter rest as compensation for Black’s long years of wrongful imprisonment.
However, the agreement had been made hastily and only verbally, since Black had turned himself in at the last moment. With nothing in writing, perhaps Barty saw an opening to twist the situation to his advantage—harboring plans of his own about the matter.
2025-09-08 20:45:09 +0000 UTC
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Step.
Step.
Step.
Jameson Greengrass, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass, climbed the short flight of stairs with measured poise, the thunder of applause swelling through the hall as he moved toward what was now rightfully his: a seat of power in the Assembly of the Wizengamot.
No longer was he simply the head of a noble house, or just another councilor among Britain’s magical representatives. Today, he stood at the pinnacle of power—the most coveted seat in all of wizarding politics, the head of government itself: the Minister of Magic.
Yet it wasn’t the wealth, nor the power to command armies and galleons with a single word, that made his pulse race. No—it was the realization that, after years of a life he had once thought unremarkable, he had finally accomplished something truly extraordinary.
With the final step, he drew in a steadying breath and set his features into calm composure. A faint smile tugged at his lips as his gaze lifted and found two familiar figures watching him.
Albus Dumbledore. The old wizard’s eyes shone with quiet encouragement, his gaze warmly inviting him to the seat beside him. Yes—it was his now. And if only in the game of politics in this country, he stood shoulder to shoulder with this legendary old monster now, whom everyone either feared or worshiped.
With a measured nod, he inclined his head in respect, then turned to the younger man seated at Dumbledore’s side—the one to whom he owed everything that had unfolded for him on this very day.
Their eyes met. How long had it been? he wondered, studying the man he had chosen—by will or by fate, it no longer mattered—to follow in leadership. A year? Perhaps. Even so, the weight of this moment still felt unreal. He had long known this would be the outcome, but knowing it and standing here to live it were two entirely different things.
He saw the young man’s lips curl into a knowing smirk, and with a subtle gesture, he too extended an invitation for him to take his place—no less warm than Dumbledore’s. Cameras flashed relentlessly from above, capturing every breath, every glance, so in this moment, both of them had to keep up appearances.
So after brushing aside the thrill rising in his chest and taking another long, steadying breath, he looked down for the first time at the witches and wizards governing the country from that position—each of them meeting his gaze with expectant expressions.
The hall fell silent. As the new Minister of Magic, he would, of course, have to give a speech before taking his seat. Then, clearing his throat, he addressed not only the councilors before him but also the hundreds of thousands who he knew were watching live across the country.
He had long anticipated this moment, and his speech was already written and memorized. Yet the nerves were undeniable, flickering across his face for anyone keen enough to notice. Still, he delivered it with poise, each word carrying the weight of his new authority.
Finally, with the last syllable leaving his lips, he lowered himself into the seat beside the two Archmages, allowing the Adjudicator below him to carry on with the rest of the proceedings.
The Assembly was complete once more—except now, there was no Cornelius Fudge, and in his place, a new Minister of Magic looked over the Wizengamot.
---
“Let’s begin,” Bartemius Crouch announced for the second time today, his voice cutting through the hall and forcing the murmurs into silence.
He moved briskly through the formalities of the matter at hand, and to the relief of many, it was finally the issue for which the assembly had truly gathered. Only the journalists slumped in their seats, shoulders sagging as they realized there would be no further scandals to feast on today.
With Barty’s command, the iron gates on either side of the chamber rattled open, their grinding echo bouncing off the high stone walls.
Chains scraped harshly across the floor as Aurors pulled the prisoners forward. Moments later, two figures emerged—Sirius Black, dressed surprisingly well for a so-called fugitive on the run, and Peter Pettigrew, by contrast, in ragged clothes that made him look more like a homeless beggar dragged in off the streets. Both were hauled into the open and shoved toward the defendants’ dock at the center of the chamber.
Sirius looked calm, almost as if he already knew the verdict would fall in his favor, while Pettigrew seemed utterly drained of hope—especially when his eyes lifted to the high platform and found Bartemius Crouch seated there, stern and unyielding, with the front row of power gathered at his side.
Terror flickered in the rat’s gaze—after all, this was the man who had once sentenced his own son to life in Azkaban. If Crouch could do that to blood, what chance did he have?
The noise around the chamber swelled, whispers and murmurs rising like a tide crashing against the stone walls. From the auditorium, countless glares bore down on the two suspects, raw anger written across every face. After all, the Potters were one of the most respected noble families in Britain, with ties that reached into nearly every house present.
Just then, the chains binding the dock groaned and rattled. Peter flinched at the sound, and his head snapped toward Sirius Black—only to meet eyes blazing with unfiltered murderous intent.
“Wretched traitor… scum!” Sirius roared, spitting toward the dock where Pettigrew sat trembling. His voice boomed like thunder, but immediately, the Aurors stationed near his dock raised their wands—a silent warning that one more outburst would earn him a spellfire.
Grudgingly, Sirius forced himself to stay still, recalling all the advice Maverick and Ali had drilled into him, and only then did he manage to calm down.
"If you disrupt the proceedings again, Black," Bartemius Crouch snapped, meeting Sirius’s glare with an icy stare, "then guilty or not, I’ll throw you straight back into Azkaban without hesitation."
With that warning, Crouch drew a file from the stack before him, letting his voice cut through the chamber.
“Trial of the twenty-eighth of December… the defendants: Sirius Orion Black, and Peter Pettigrew.”
His eyes left the parchment and fixed upon the two men shackled in the chains.
“You stand accused of betraying the Fidelius secret of James and Lily Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in October 1981, directly causing their deaths. Do either of you have anything to say in your defense?”
Peter stared blankly ahead, lost in a stupor, his mind fleeing from a truth he could no longer escape. Sirius, on the other hand, was unnervingly calm, collecting his thoughts to give his testimony.
But before he could speak, a councilor in the front row rose. He gave a courteous nod to the Adjudicator and the high council above, then addressed the chamber in a steady, measured voice.
“Speaker Dumbledore, if memory serves, over ten years ago you declared Sirius Black to be the Potters’ Secret Keeper. Yet the Ministry now prosecutes Pettigrew for the same betrayal. We require clarity.”
“All true,” Dumbledore replied gravely, inclining his head. “But only recently did I learn that the secret had been changed a second time, without my knowledge. I would therefore ask the defendant himself to explain and offer what proof he can.”
All eyes turned to Sirius, but he didn’t falter. He knew he had to explain, and besides, he wasn’t going to fabricate anything—he would simply tell the truth. So, he nodded once to the assembly, stepped forward, and began to speak.
“Back then,” he began, voice low but clear, “we had word that You-Know-Who was hunting James and Lily. Dumbledore advised the Fidelius Charm, and James chose me as Secret Keeper. But just before the charm was sealed, I… I told him to use this rat instead. Everyone knew me as their closest friend. Voldemort would’ve suspected me first. I thought… I thought it would be clever.”
His voice still cracked as he recounted everything, even though he had told the same story countless times since his escape to Maverick and Ali.
Meanwhile, the chamber stirred with unease. Even before his testimony, the news of Pettigrew being alive—and now seeing him there in front of them—had forced the public to reconsider the truth. But the law demanded more than speculation—the Wizengamot required proof.
“This is an official trial,” Crouch cut in, his tone hard as iron. “And words are not enough. Over a decade has passed since the crime, and it is only natural that tangible evidence is limited. Therefore, under authority of the Wizengamot and with due process, I offer this choice: will you, Sirius Black, submit to interrogation under Veritaserum, and repeat your testimony beneath its influence?”
The chamber stirred once again. It was common knowledge that Veritaserum—one of the most tightly restricted magics in the wizarding world—was a heavily restricted potion for any purpose. Only in extraordinary hearings such as this, and only with the defendant’s consent, could its use be sanctioned.
“I will,” Sirius said without pause.
Across the dock, Pettigrew went pale as ash. He knew exactly what that meant. In the wizarding world, truth under Veritaserum wasn’t just evidence—it was as close to being caught red-handed as one could get. He felt utterly hopeless, not even bothering to protest, silently praying to Merlin—or anyone—that he wouldn’t be handed the death sentence on the spot.
2025-09-04 17:29:19 +0000 UTC
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“Uh… Mrs Weasley, isn’t this supposed to be about Sirius Black?”
Above the grand hall of the Wizengamot, inside one of the guest auditoriums, Harry sat with his head tilted, watching the inexplicable turn of events unfold. Questions buzzed in his head faster than he could sort them, and even his Gryffindor brain could tell this had nothing to do with Sirius Black, or the trial they had all come to witness.
“I’m as confused as you are, dear,” Molly admitted, her brow furrowing. It wasn’t that she disliked what was happening—no, it was just… everything was happening so suddenly, out of nowhere.
“How many hands can you count, dear?” she asked, leaning forward.
It wasn’t just them. The same bewildered current ran through the entire gallery. This was supposed to be the trial of a notorious fugitive—yet before anyone realized what was happening, it had swerved into a vote of no confidence against the very head of their government.
Most magical communities across the globe had some form of democracy, more or less. Even so, coups were hardly a familiar concept in the wizarding world.
Then again, as the saying went, it was only a coup if it failed. And the architects behind everything that was happening had no plans on failing.
Reporters’ quills scratched furiously, never pausing, while the enchanted broadcast carried every word and gesture into homes, restaurants, and pubs across the country. Families, workers, even drunks leaning on counters were glued to the floating screens, holding their breath as hands began to rise in the chamber.
“Six… no, nine…” Harry muttered, eyes tracking each motion from below.
“That’s not even close,” Molly's lips pressed tight.
“Then what in Merlin’s name gave Barty the confidence this would work?” another witch muttered from the row beside them—only to break off mid-sentence when yet another hand shot up, followed by a wave of others.
Down on the floor, when Dumbledore first called the tally, only a small cluster of councilors had lifted their hands—mostly the ones long at odds with Cornelius Fudge.
The Minister allowed himself a smug little smile at the sight. Opposition was expected, after all—and it appeared in such pitiful numbers. He could already picture himself rubbing it in Crouch’s face.
And then he froze.
His eyes widened as the next hand shot up—for it was none other than Lord Jameson Greengrass, leader of a whole large faction within the Assembly.
His blood ran cold as a storm of doubts crashed through his head. It was Jameson who urged me to hold a public hearing… wasn’t it? So why?
No…
He realized, as a thought struck him. It was me—I was the one who went out of my way to arrange this public hearing, all because Lord Greengrass dangled the so-called chance to clear my muddy image.
Cold sweat trickled down his temples as hand after hand followed Greengrass’s lead. Ten… fourteen… twenty… The so-called neutral faction—the councilors who usually kept to the sidelines—were now in motion, and each hand that rose struck him like a hammer blow to the chest, driving home the terrifying realization that this ridiculous farce might actually succeed.
Had he been played from the very start?
He was already on his feet, hands braced against the table, eyes bulging as he counted the hands raised in the air. There were Fifty-nine seats in total, including his own and the two High Councilors, and the count had already reached twenty-seven.
Just three more votes… His mouth went dry at how close he was to losing everything. Mechanically, he turned to Crouch and saw him furrowing his brow, seemingly not satisfied.
Yes… he thought, the number had to reach thirty. Not twenty-seven, not twenty-eight, not even twenty-nine. From the looks of it, no more hands were going up. Even Dumbledore and Caesar seemed content to sit this one out. Thank Merlin.
Just as a smug smile began to curl at the corner of his lips again, a fresh ripple of gasps from the gallery above made him snap his head upward, then back down—but no one else had raised their hands.
Which meant…
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Dumbledore and Caesar—who, just moments ago, he had thought would sit this one out—had now raised their hands.
No… no… no… no… no.
“What… what is the meaning of this?” he spat, the words practically strangling their way out of him.
More gasps erupted from the gallery, and he instinctively whipped his head around once again. His eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as the full scope of what was happening slammed into him.
His legs went numb, and he slumped down, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, desperate to speak but utterly unable to find words.
In front of him was a sea of hands, easily over two-thirds of the entire assembly. Even some of his own sponsors—pureblood fanatics who had maintained a good relationship with him—had raised their hands, declaring their stance that they no longer supported him.
“How… how could this be happening?”
“This is a conspiracy. It has to be!” Fudge bellowed, his voice cracking. “I will not accept this! I have been tricked!”
He jabbed a finger toward Bartemius Crouch, who now wore a faint, almost smug smile, then frantically swung his hand to the sea of raised councilors, and finally toward Dumbledore and Maverick beside him.
“You’re all in on this! I—this is a conspiracy, I tell you! I will not accept this!”
His frantic wailing echoed off the chamber walls, mingling with the relentless clicks of cameras from the gallery above.
“Cornelius… accept the facts—” Dumbledore sought to make the maddening minister see reason, to pour some sense into him, but he was cut off.
“NO! I WILL NOT!” Fudge roared, spinning to face the hall. “I WILL NOT... ACCEPT... THIS!”
Maverick shook his head, watching the idiot lose control. The fat man’s shouting carried no weight now—the outcome was already sealed, and besides, he was far too close, and his sheer volume was grating.
Seconds crawled by, and Fudge’s frantic wailing filled the chamber, but time spared no one. At last, the period allotted for the vote came to an end. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, now sat slumped, eyes wide and hollow, like a desperate child who had just lost his most treasured toy. At least—for now—he had finally shut up.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore was on his feet, and the buzz in the hall fell into a tense, expectant silence. Before the hundreds gathered in the chamber—and the countless others watching live across the country—the old wizard lifted the ceremonial hammer with deliberate care and brought it down three times. Each resounding strike echoed through the hall, commanding attention and reverence.
“Esteemed councilors,” Dumbledore’s voice rang out, measured and solemn, “having tallied the votes in accordance with Article Nine, Clause Four of the Charter, the assembly has rendered its decision. By the super majority of the council, Cornelius Oswald Fudge is hereby removed from his position as Minister for Magic.”
He turned slightly, signaling to the security Aurors to come forward. “Kindly escort the former Minister of Magic to a Healer,” he said calmly, “It seems the burdens of office have taken too great a toll.”
Although Cornelius Fudge had been escorted from the Wizengamot chamber, it did not mean he was barred from returning. He still held his seat as a councilor; only now, he would no longer gaze down from the highest chair upon the assembly.
Once Fudge had been escorted away, Dumbledore stood, letting his presence fill the chamber. Raising a hand, his eyes traveled slowly over the councilors and the spectators above until silence settled like a soft cloak over the room.
“Today marks a turning point in the history of this council,” he said, his voice carrying clearly without force. “We have borne witness to an important moment, my esteemed councilors—yet more than that, we have affirmed a great truth... and that is no seat, no office, stands higher than the law itself. So let this serve as a reminder: power is not a prize to hoard, nor a shield to hide behind. It is a responsibility entrusted to us for the good of all, and none stand above it—not even a minister.”
He inclined his head slightly, then turned his gaze back to Bartemius on the elevated seat just below him.
“With that, I yield the remainder of today’s proceedings to Councilor Bartemius Crouch, Chief Adjudicator for this assembly, who will guide us forward in proper order.”
What followed had still nothing to do with Sirius Black. When the post of Minister of Magic became vacant—whether by resignation, death, or a vote of no confidence—wizarding law in Britain required that the position be filled as soon as possible.
And yes, it was an appointment, not a direct election by the public in the same way a Muggle prime minister or president might be chosen.
Potential candidates were selected by the councilors themselves and presented to the Wizengamot, provided at least eighty percent of councilors were in attendance. Most often, candidates came either from within the ranks of the Wizengamot or from senior positions in the Ministry. And once the names were presented, the assembly would vote for their preferred choice.
There was no required percentage to win; simply, the candidate with the highest number of votes secures the position. And if a tie ever occurred, then the two highest-voted candidates would face a revote, with the winner finally appointed as Minister of Magic.
While the public did not vote directly, their opinion remained crucial—acting as a de facto check on the Wizengamot’s power. A Minister needs public support to be effective, and without it, they risked being removed. In the original timeline also, Cornelius Fudge had eventually been forced out for precisely that reason: he lost the public’s confidence with his handling of the Voldemort crisis.
Finally, there was no fixed term for an acting Minister. One could remain in office indefinitely, so long as they retained the confidence of both the Wizengamot and the public.
For Bartemius Crouch, the process of appointing a minister seemed entirely familiar. Without any delay, he opened the floor for councilors to present their candidates, and in under an hour, with no objections from any party, the names were laid out on the table.
One name, of course, was Lord Jameson Greengrass. Another came from the pure-blood fanatic faction. And the final name—much to Maverick’s quiet amusement—was Dolores Umbridge, the Undersecretary to the former Minister of Magic.
From the start of the assembly—impeaching Fudge and selecting candidates for the next Minister—it had already been two hours. Yet, no one complained. From the guest auditoriums, the atmosphere remained lively, reporters busy capturing every detail, and attendees enthusiastically debating the potential outcome.
Next came the highlight of the day: Bartemius announcing the candidates for the next Minister of Magic. The hall buzzed when Lord Greengrass’s name was called, with plenty of applause from the auditorium signaling obvious approval. The second candidate drew far less attention, and as for Umbridge… well, it seemed no one even bothered to care.
Finally, when the vote was tallied, Lord Greengrass emerged with the most votes in an overwhelming turnout, a clear supermajority—and, coincidentally or not, his total matched exactly the number of votes that had impeached Cornelius Fudge.
And thus, on that day—28th of December, 1993—a new Minister of Magic was appointed, taking the helm of the British magical government.
2025-09-01 16:19:05 +0000 UTC
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“Let us begin,” Bartemius Crouch announced, his voice cold and clipped, magnified by the chamber’s enchantments until it rolled across the hall and pressed the gathering into silence.
“The public hearing of the twenty-eighth of December is hereby called to order.” The file cracked open in his hands, and he fixed his eyes on the parchment in rigid concentration.
“Presiding Adjudicator: Bartemius Crouch, formerly Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and formerly Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
“Chief Interrogators: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Archmage of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Maverick Caesar, Archmage of the Wizengamot, Master Alchemist, and Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; and myself, Bartemius Crouch, serving as Chief Adjudicator for this hearing.”
“Interrogators: all acting Councilors of the British Wizengamot, in full assembly.”
He let the formalities settle before continuing, his voice hardening.
“This hearing has been convened under the authority of the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, pursuant to Section XII, Clause Seven of the Wizengamot Charter of Justice, and under Article Four of the Magical Due Process Act of 1923, which grants the Minister power to petition for extraordinary review of prior convictions where—” he paused, lifted his eyes, and let them sweep the chamber before finishing, “—grave irregularities are alleged.”
“By this authority, the case of Sirius Orion Black is hereby reopened for hearing before this assembly. If there are any present who wish to raise objections as to the legality of this convocation, the jurisdiction of this chamber, or any procedural defect arising under statute, you are entitled under Article Nine, Clause Four of the Charter to voice such objection now—” he paused again, and added in a heavy tone, “even to raise a point of order, or motion of urgency, for it shall be accepted and ruled upon in due course.”
By Wizengamot tradition, any Councilor could raise a point of order before a hearing began, though in practice, no one had done so for decades. The custom had long since withered into little more than a line in the rulebook.
With Crouch’s declaration, the hush in the chamber gave way to quiet whispers drifting down from the balconies.
“Bartemius…” Fudge muttered with a crooked smile. “Always fussing over rules no one bothers with.” He looked sidelong at the two wizards beside him, as though inviting them to share in the jest, but neither Maverick nor Dumbledore so much as twitched, leaving Fudge to stew in silence, uncomfortably aware that he had been left out.
The hall buzzed softly for a full minute, yet no one spoke, and every eye was fixed on the Chief Adjudicator. The pause stretched on, and just when everyone thought he would strike the desk to move the hearing forward, they instead saw him raise his hand and turn to face the three seated behind him.
He lifted his gaze toward the dais, specifically to the center where Dumbledore sat, and in a clear, deliberate voice, he declared—
“I, Bartemius Crouch, Chief Adjudicator and acting member of this Council, raise an objection before this hearing proceeds. In accordance with Council Law, when the Chief Adjudicator himself brings an objection, the matter must be referred to the High Precedent—the presiding authority of the Council. By rank, that authority belongs to you, Speaker Dumbledore. I ask that my argument be heard.”
Sitting beside the man in question, Fudge’s brow furrowed—slowly at first, as confusion flickered across his face, then deeper, hardening into disbelief. This was not how the script was supposed to go. He parted his lips, ready to cut in, yet no words came, hanging uselessly in his throat.
“What… Bartemius, what is the meaning of this?” he finally barked, his voice echoing through the chamber. Fury and confusion laced every syllable as he leaned forward, glaring at Crouch—because he had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling that the tide of the chamber was about to change, and it would be directly against him.
But Crouch didn’t so much as glance at him; his eyes stayed locked on Dumbledore, treating the Minister’s outburst as nothing more than background noise.
A ripple of murmurs coursed through the hall. Councilors shifted in their seats, whispering rapidly to one another, while the reporters above scrambled to catch every second. The hearing hadn’t even started, yet already it was unfolding like a play too dramatic to miss.
Just as Fudge was about to bark another command, Dumbledore, seated to Maverick’s right, gave a subtle nod. With a graceful wave of his hand, a small hammer and tapping instrument materialized before him.
“Very well,” Dumbledore said softly. Though scarcely above a murmur, his voice carried with it a quiet authority that filled the hall.
The chamber fell into a tense hush once again. The temporary change of adjudication was now clear to everyone, and all eyes—curious, eager, or suspicious—fixed on Crouch. Then, amid the expectant faces of councilors and guests alike, he finally began to speak.
“Your Excellency... I, Bartemius Crouch, under Article Nine, Clause Four of the Charter, hereby raise a Point of Order in Urgency against Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic... accusing him of abusing his authority on multiple occasions during his tenure. I therefore call upon this council to consider a vote of no confidence—”
The words struck the hall like lightning, before a louder, more frantic shout thundered across the chamber.
“THIS... IS PREPOSTEROUS!”
Fudge shot to his feet, his face crimson, jowls quivering.
“How dare you, Bartemius! I dragged you out of disgrace, gave you the chance to crawl back into public life, and this—this—is how you repay me?”
He jabbed his finger wildly at Crouch, then swung it across the hall, pointing at everyone and no one at once, his voice breaking with rage. “I will not stand for this mockery!”
Spittle flew as he whirled toward his right. “Dumbledore!” he roared. “I demand—under my full authority as Minister of Magic and High Councillor of this assembly—that this farce be ended at once! And that Bartemius Crouch be thrown from this hall immediately!”
Gasps rippled through the chamber like a crashing wave. Murmurs rose in every direction, spreading like wildfire until the whole hall seemed to tremble with voices. From the press gallery above, reporters nearly leapt from their seats, quills scratching across parchment with feverish speed, eyes glittering with the thrill of scandal.
The trial of Sirius Black—the very reason this assembly had been called—seemed, in that instant, all but forgotten.
“You are but one, Cornelius,” Crouch shot back coldly, turning toward the dais. “Unless both Speakers agree with you, you cannot halt this proceeding. Furthermore, my point of order in urgency does not fall within the Minister’s prerogative to quash. You have no legal right to stop it.”
“ENOUGH!” Fudge roared again, his fists shaking as he spun to Dumbledore. “Dumbledore, I demand this nonsense be struck down now!”
“The point of order in urgency does indeed stand, Cornelius. It does not fall within ministerial discretion to dismiss it.” Dumbledore did not flinch at the Minister’s tantrum; he inclined his head ever so slightly, letting his calm, steady voice carry over the rising clamor. “You would be wise to sit down.”
"You—"
If looks could harm, both Crouch and Dumbledore would have been in serious trouble by now because Fudge’s face had turned a deep, furious red at this point.
He opened his mouth, ready to unleash a torrent of rage, but before he could, the only one at their table who had remained silent until this point—sitting like an amused observer—finally spoke.
"Minister…" Maverick glanced at the fat man and gave a slight gesture to sit. "For a vote of no confidence, doesn’t it require half the assembly plus one to pass? Why make such a fuss… or are you afraid half the assembly might not have confidence in you?"
"Caesar… you as well?" Fudge murmured, the words tasting bitter on his tongue, before Maverick’s remark finally sank in. That’s right, he thought. To remove him from office would require half the assembly plus one—an outcome so unprecedented in Wizengamot history that, probably, he was fussing over nothing.
He cleared his throat, as if rebooting his composure. His whole demeanor changed in an instant. The probability of half the councilors wanting him out was, in his view, almost impossible.
He glanced at Crouch again, and for a brief moment, rage flickered—but this time he swallowed it, seething the words internally.
"Crouch… you will regret this. Who gave you the confidence that such a ridiculous motion as impeaching me would succeed? You are a relic of the past, while I am the Minister of Magic, supported by countless factions within this assembly. You… someone long forgotten, would be a fool to think anyone would back you."
Satisfied, he finally sank back into his chair and gave a nod to Dumbledore, certain this absurd stunt would be crushed in an overwhelming victory.
On the other side, Maverick’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk. Dumbledore mirrored him with a subtle, almost imperceptible smile as well.
"Very well," Dumbledore said, his calm voice amplified across the chamber.
"Following Councilor Bartemius Crouch’s point of order in urgency, and pursuant to Article Nine, Clause Four of the Charter, I hereby call upon the assembly to vote, on whether Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic, shall be impeached from his position. Those who wish to present arguments may do so now..."
The hall buzzed with murmurs once again. Everyone speculated where this could lead. Those in the know remained silent, while the unprepared and shocked observers whispered frantically among themselves, trying to make sense of the unfolding scene.
Like Fudge, most believed the motion absurd, never imagining that a vote could actually pass against the Minister of Magic. Within the assembly, three factions vied for influence, and for the motion to succeed, it required the support of at least two factions—half the assembly present plus one. The odds of that happening were slim to none.
And perhaps it was that very belief that kept every councilor silent. Even those taken aback by the unfolding drama dismissed it as little more than a fleeting farce.
Not a single councilor challenged the motion or even questioned the evidence of Fudge’s misuse of authority—after all, in their minds, it was a foregone conclusion that the vote would end in Fudge’s favor.
Minutes stretched on, each feeling like an eternity, until Dumbledore finally spoke again.
“It appears no one has any arguments to present,” Dumbledore’s voice rang clearly across the chamber, slicing through the murmurs. “I shall now call upon you, esteemed councilors, to state your standing. Those in favor of impeaching the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, raise your hands. Those who oppose, keep your hands down.”
2025-08-29 15:50:38 +0000 UTC
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The Hall of the Wizengamot, or the official chamber where the laws of wizarding Britain were shaped, was a vast, circular room that sank in steep tiers like a giant bowl. There, rows of luxurious seats climbed sharply around the room, each angled so every member could see the floor below, making anyone standing in the center feel small and completely exposed.
There was also a continuous balcony directly above, wrapping around the chamber, reserved for guests who could watch the proceedings below with an unobstructed view.
Normally, the curtains here stayed drawn during regular assemblies, and the seats were only filled when a public audience was absolutely necessary—like when a major law was being passed or, in even rarer cases, during a public hearing.
On any other day, the Wizengamot councilors’ seats would be arranged in strict concentric rows following the curve of the chamber, with the most senior members—the patriarchs of the oldest and noblest houses—occupying the inner rings nearest the central floor, while the outer tiers were filled by everyone else. And at the same time, the very center would hold an open space, kept clear for debate and discussion, where any member could stand and be seen and heard by all.
Yet today, the chamber was not arranged for a typical assembly but for a formal hearing. The seats no longer formed a wide circle around the center of the room; even the middle of the hall was now filled with rows, all angled toward the head of the hall.
At the very front, an elevated platform had been set for the judges overseeing the case, with designated areas to their left and right for the defendants and witnesses. Coincidentally—or perhaps not—the hall of the Wizengamot today bore a striking resemblance to the general layout of a Muggle courtroom.
That is, if not for the second dais set even higher up, reserved for the most distinguished members of the gathering—figures whose rank and standing demanded they look down on the proceedings and the entire chamber below.
In the wizarding world, hierarchy carried great weight, especially when it came to a witch or wizard’s magical rank and achievements, and even in a judicial assembly, that unspoken order was built right into the very design of the chamber.
Today, nearly every Wizengamot seat was filled, and even the gallery for approved guests was packed, leaving barely an inch of space for anyone else to squeeze in.
Minister Cornelius Fudge had been among the first to arrive, taking a seat on the raised platform—not as a judge, of course, but as Minister of Magic, his importance clear from the seat set above the judges. Seeing the chamber filled with members and guests, he looked quite pleased with how things had turned out, getting exactly what he had asked for—though whether the day would end as he expected remained to be seen.
---
Clang…
When the creaking iron-bound door swung shut behind Maverick with a resounding thud, an abrupt blanket of icy silence fell over the chamber that had been buzzing with noise. The murmurs and shuffling of the gathered council members and guests instantly ceased, silence pressing in as all eyes fixed on the lone figure entering the chamber.
Before coming inside, Kingsley had told Maverick where his seat would be, so without slowing his steps or sparing the weight of the hall’s attention a glance, he walked past the front row and made his way toward the single stairway in the center that led up to the elevated platform.
Honestly, the stage could have used a few more stairways, considering the width of the hall… though maybe that was the point, a way to puff up the nobles’ sense of grandeur.
The walk gave him enough time to take in the chamber. Its walls looked like rough-hewn stone, ancient, almost excessively so if he had to be honest.
As for the lighting, Maverick had half-expected torches to line the walls—but, surprisingly, a vast alchemical array cast a steady, bright glow. Uncommon, certainly, and it would take a master alchemist to design such a structure. Not a single lamp, torch, or gadget in sight—and yet the room shone perfectly, every corner illuminated, giving the entire space an almost impossible sense of grandeur. It was impressive, to say the least.
Around fifty seats filled the chamber, meant to hold the country’s representatives. Traditionally, this body was made up entirely of pure-blood wizarding families, but over time its composition had changed to include ministry officials and recognized experts as well.
---
Meanwhile, the brief hush that followed Maverick’s entrance was suddenly broken by a soft, almost reluctant creak of a chair that echoed through the chamber. When Maverick was halfway to the central stairway, completely unfazed by the weight of every eye upon him, Lord Greengrass, seated at the front, rose and bowed his head slightly in his direction.
Then, as if sparked by an unspoken signal, one by one, more seats lifted, their occupants standing in deference. In moments, nearly half the chamber was on its feet, the shuffle of robes and murmurs swelling into a low roar that filled the vast space
Whispers rippled through the hall, rising from both the seats below and the balcony above, while cameras flashed and invited guests whispered among themselves, speculating on the meaning of the display.
This was clearly no simple gesture of respect, but a clear message.
One must know, even Dumbledore did not command such a reaction when he entered the chamber—though it was no secret that many councilors regarded the old wizard as their unofficial leader.
Yet here it was: a bold, unmistakable declaration. A clear message to everyone present that this young man, who had been making headlines without pause, had now stepped squarely into the political arena as well.
This was major news for the entire British magical political circle, and there was no doubt that countless headlines would follow this brief, unspoken declaration. Even the few who were already aware of Maverick’s unofficial actions and his connection to Jameson Greengrass were surprised, for even they hadn’t anticipated such numbers or the significant change in the council majority.
It was worth noting that Lord Greengrass had previously held only a small number of councilors under his faction. Now, however, it seemed that much had been happening behind the scenes.
Maverick showed no reaction of the stir around him, continuing his steps with casual ease, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. Of course, this was all part of the script, and Lord Greengrass, along with those under him, was merely playing his part.
As he reached the first set of stairs, his eyes landed on a face he didn’t know well—at least in person: Bartemius Crouch Sr., the former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
It was this very man who had sentenced Sirius Black to Azkaban years ago, and whether he did it because of the circumstances at the time mattered little. He was known then for his ruthless severity in pursuing Death Eaters—even authorizing the use of the Unforgivable Curses by Aurors.
To his credit, though, the wizarding world had been in a state of panic at the time, and immense public and Ministry pressure demanded swift justice against Voldemort’s followers.
And Sirius Black, a scion of one of the oldest and noblest houses, had just so happened to be caught in the chaos at the wrong moment, and Crouch Senior’s swift, harsh sentence was, for lack of a better word, deemed necessary—hailed as a morale-boosting victory.
In the immediate aftermath of Voldemort’s first downfall, Crouch was promoted to Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation—a major step up and a position that put him in line to eventually become Minister for Magic.
Unfortunately, he never had the chance to relish that success. His rise came to an abrupt halt when his own son, Bartemius Crouch Jr., was exposed among a band of Death Eaters and tried for torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity.
To demonstrate his lack of favoritism and maintain a hard line against dark magic, Crouch Sr. then personally presided over the trial and sent his own son to Azkaban. Although the act upheld his public principles, it unfortunately, completely destroyed his political career.
So why was he presiding as a judge today, after so many years out of the public eye? The answer lay with the two figures who stood to gain the most from this hearing: Cornelius Fudge himself, and Lord Jameson Greengrass, who had personally requested Crouch to chair it.
While Fudge could have taken the role, his already tarnished reputation made him cautious—he was betting everything on restoring it after all, and he wanted the proceedings to appear completely above reproach.
Because it was Fudge who had instigated the trial in the first place, and presiding over it himself would only have fueled suspicion that the whole affair was for his own benefit.
He needed someone else to lead the hearing—someone with a reputation for unimpeachable integrity. And who better than Bartemius Crouch Senior, the man who had once sentenced his own son to Azkaban without hesitation?
But the veteran had refused the Minister’s request at first.
Fudge even tried to sway him on moral grounds, insisting the trial was about correcting a past wrong. Yet Crouch was no longer a man who could be moved by such appeals. His wife had withered away into despair, and his son—well, that goes without saying.
Righting an old wrong was not enough to drag him back into the public eye it seems. That was, at least, until Jameson Greengrass, having learned of Fudge’s approach, then decided to pay Crouch a “visit” of his own.
But what Lord Greengrass laid before him went far beyond righting a wrong that had lingered for over a decade. His request was far bolder. At first, Crouch had called Jameson a madman outright. Yet as Greengrass laid out, one by one, the catalogue of Fudge’s blunders—backed by proof, and then more proof still—and pointed out that the outcome of the hearing was already all but certain, Barty finally relented.
It was a simple task as chair, entirely within the rules. More importantly, it was enough to persuade the man to step back into the spotlight—if only for one last time—and perhaps even earn a place in the history books.
And so, with both Lord Greengrass and Fudge’s insistence, Barty agreed to preside over the trial—not as a favor to them or for personal gain, but simply to right a wrong from his past and to bring about some measure of change to their decadent magical government.
Barty Crouch, though he had made some questionable decisions before, was by no means a bad wizard. After all, not every father could send their own son to Azkaban, yet Barty Sr. did exactly that, remaining true to his principles.
Maverick gave the old wizard a nod of acknowledgment, then stepped forward, circling the high table set for the judge. He climbed another flight of stairs to his seat beside Albus Percival Brian Dumbledore, who held the center, with Cornelius Fudge on the other side.
From his new vantage, he cast a quick glance at the councilors below. Many returned friendly smiles, though a handful remained cold and indifferent. He didn’t dwell on it—just pulled out his chair and settled in.
“Take your seat, Maverick… and welcome to the Hall of the Wizengamot,” Dumbledore said softly, nodding toward the chair.
“This must be your first judicial hearing at a magical court, isn’t it, Master Caesar?” Fudge chimed in from the other side.
Maverick gave a small smile and replied, “Actually, this is my first time in any court, Minister. Though calling this an actual courtroom might be stretching it a bit.”
No matter how much Maverick disliked the pompous fool, this was a high-profile gathering, and cameras were everywhere—so he played nice.
“Indeed… it’s quite different from a Muggle courtroom, though the layout may seem somewhat familiar. Our governing and judicial systems are very different, so you can’t really compare the two directly,” Dumbledore, ever the wise, added.
After the brief exchange, Maverick’s gaze drifted upward to the gallery, sweeping the rows until it settled on a certain blonde. She stood with her crew, poised to capture every twist and turn of the trial for broadcast to homes, offices, and public stations across the country. He offered a faint, knowing smile.
The whispers in the hall had grown louder now—councilors pointing and murmuring among themselves, while the reporters above went into a frenzy, cameras flashing in rapid succession.
Maverick then turned back to Dumbledore, asking a few quiet questions about the hall, the councilors, and clearing up some lingering doubts.
Minutes passed in this quiet tension, and by then the last empty seats were also taken.
Finally, Fudge cleared his throat and called down to Barty below, “Barty, let us proceed…”
2025-08-26 16:36:59 +0000 UTC
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Ding...
The phone booth—elevator, or whatever it was meant to be—shuddered to a stop. Its glass door swung open, and Harry stepped out beside Maverick, at last, into the true heart of British magic: the Ministry of Magic.
The Atrium they stepped into stretched so wide and long that Harry couldn’t make out the far end at first. It felt grand and unmistakably magical, with dark wooden floors gleaming under the glow of hundreds of torches mounted high along the walls.
“Speaker Caesar…”
He turned toward the voice and saw a witch in uniform hurrying toward them, bowing slightly as she addressed Maverick with obvious respect. Standing beside him, Harry felt out of place amid all the ceremony.
“The trial is about to begin, Mr. Speaker,” she said, motioning for them to follow. “All the seats are filled, and most of the registered guests are already inside as well...”
Maverick nodded and stepped forward, with Harry following close behind, his head swiveling in every direction. To their left, a row of tall fireplaces roared with green flames, sending witches and wizards vanishing or appearing in bursts of Floo powder. On the right, golden lifts clattered open and shut, ferrying people up and down to who knew where.
Up ahead, at the center of the hall, a fountain rose proudly, adorned with golden statues: a wizard, a witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. Water poured from their wands, arrows, and outstretched hands, cascading into the wide pool below.
The whole place was alive with sound and movement. Paper memos fluttered overhead like flocks of birds, shoes tapped across the polished floor, and voices blended into a steady, busy hum.
Harry slowed without realizing it, taking it all in. For all the magic he had seen before, this felt different. The Ministry was busy, important, and overwhelming, like he had stepped into the very heart of the wizarding world.
"It's quite the sight, isn't it?"
Harry glanced up at Maverick and, after a moment, nodded before hurrying his steps to keep pace.
"Is it always this busy, Professor?"
Maverick hummed, rubbing his chin. Honestly, the place felt much livelier than the last time he had been here—crowds everywhere, noise bouncing off the walls, and the usual solemn order completely drowned out.
One detail that caught his eye as he glanced around was the witches and wizards with cameras slung over their necks—undoubtedly journalists. They hurried along, jostling for spots near the elevators. He even spotted some international correspondents, and without a doubt, they were all here for the same reason: to witness the trial of Sirius Black.
"Not really..." Maverick said after a moment. "It’s probably so busy because everyone’s here for the same reason we are..."
"You’re right, Mr. Speaker. Most of these people are here for the trial, but we didn’t expect it to get this crowded," the witch leading them chimed in as well while guiding them through the bustling atrium toward a row of doors—likely more elevators.
Indeed. Even though the Ministry had prepared for some commotion, they weren’t expecting chaos on this scale. Even if it was a sudden public hearing born of countless conspiracies, it shouldn’t have blown up into such a spectacle, yet here it was—drawing attention even from foreign newspapers.
From every Floo Network entrance, fires flared nonstop as wave after wave of people poured in, and officials darted back and forth doing their best to wrestle the chaos into something resembling order.
The truth was, someone had quietly set it all in motion—and that someone was none other than Maverick himself. He wanted every wizarding home in Britain to know what was happening today, and he had turned the noise up as high as it could go.
And just then, a flurry of clicks and scribbles cut through the hum of the crowd, drawing their attention.
Click.
Click. Click. Click.
"Mr. Speaker..."
"Speaker Caesar..."
"Are you also here to watch the trial, Mr. Speaker? Is Sirius Black someone you know?"
Sigh... journalists, magical or Muggle-born, seemed to be the same everywhere, Maverick thought to himself, shaking his head slightly.
The moment they spotted Maverick walking through the hall, cameras lifted and pens poised, they swarmed, each eager for a word from him.
Fortunately, the line staff here were well-trained and professional, even if the very top was a moron.
"Stand back!"
"Move aside! This is no place for interviews!"
Order wasn’t lost. Three Aurors, sharp in their dark uniforms, appeared out of nowhere, pushed through the growing crowd with wands discreetly at the ready, and quickly formed a barrier between the receptionist witch, Maverick, Harry, and the frantic reporters. The journalists jostled and murmured, but the Aurors’ presence made it clear: no one was getting past.
However, that little episode had now placed them at the center of attention, with every staff member, guest, and reporter turning their heads, whispering and murmuring to one another.
For Maverick, this kind of attention was nothing new, and Harry—well, he was the Boy Who Lived. Cameras flashed, pens scratched across notepads, and amid all the commotion, they kept walking, led by the receptionist witch and the Aurors, until they stopped before an elevator that was clearly more distinguished, reserved for important figures.
"This will take you straight to the Wizengamot hall, Mr. Speaker. Apologies for the inconvenience," one of the Aurors said respectfully, while the other two swept their wands in synchronized motions. The enchantments stirred, and a silvery shimmer ran across the door before it slid open.
"Thank you, gentlemen..." Maverick said with an easy smile.
"It’s our pleasure, Mr. Speaker..."
More than a year had passed since Maverick first stepped into Amelia Bones’s office, and now he found himself once again crossing the monumental entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic in central London.
This time, though, he was not slipping in quietly to meet one official in private. He was walking openly toward what was perhaps the second most important chamber in the entire building—the Hall of the Wizengamot, the wizarding Britain’s equivalent of a Muggle parliamentary hall.
---
Maverick and Harry stepped into the lift with the receptionist, and as the doors slid shut behind them, she pressed a button, sending them into a swift descent. The Wizengamot chambers must be even deeper underground—likely hundreds of feet, Maverick thought, noting the speed.
“Here we are,” the woman said softly.
From seemingly nowhere, she produced an elaborately embroidered robe of deep blue, its fabric rich and heavy, the stitching gleaming faintly under the light.
“I’ve been instructed to provide you with the official robes,” she explained. “All members of the Wizengamot presiding over a trial are required to wear them. Of course”—her tone carried a note of deference—“yours is special, Mr. Speaker. This shade is reserved only for the Minister, Speaker Dumbledore, and yourself.”
With that, she gestured for him to let her drape it over his shoulders.
Sighing inwardly, Maverick turned, and the lady—surprisingly professional, without so much as a blush—carefully draped the robe over him, smoothing out the wrinkles with a gentle pat.
“Thank you… uh…” Maverick said, darting his eyes to see if she had a name badge or something on her... chest.
And that, for obvious reasons, earned a reaction—she flushed slightly this time, and Maverick’s brows couldn’t help but twitch.
Great. Hopefully I don’t get labeled a pervert, he thought.
“Apologies, I was just looking for a name badge, ma’am.”
“Oh… my name is Thalia, Mr. Speaker. It’s really an honor...” she said, regaining her composure.
Meanwhile, Harry: What’s happening? And don’t I get a cool robe as well?
Ding...
Fortunately, the elevator saved the atmosphere from growing more awkward as it smoothly glided to a halt with a soft chime, and a ceremonious voice crisply announced in clipped tones, ‘The Hall of the Wizengamot.’
“Please…” Thalia said, gesturing for them to follow once again.
Although the deep blue hue of the robes leaned toward an atrociously garish shade, they still carried a majestic and imposing air once properly worn. Whoever had made them clearly possessed remarkable skill, for they fit him perfectly without the aid of enchantments—a true mark of the tailor’s craft.
Adjusting the robes with a quick tug and nudging Harry to keep up, Maverick followed close at the woman’s heels as she led them swiftly down the corridor they had just entered.
This hallway was strikingly different from the upper levels above, with bare, cold stone walls stretching on with no doors or windows in sight, carrying a hollow, unsettling stillness.
“This passage is reserved for special guests,” Thalia explained, her voice echoing softly as she guided them through the maze-like turns. “That’s why you don't see anyone else around.”
True to her word, they did not pass a single soul—until a sharp bend opened onto a decently lit service staircase that spiraled farther below.
And there, the silence broke. The secluded stairwell was suddenly crowded with what looked like a small army of security personnel, stationed along the steps and landings, eyes sharp and alert, scanning every approach.
Among them, Maverick immediately recognized a few familiar figures—Kingsley Shacklebolt, tall and broad-shouldered as ever, and two Aurors he had last seen fighting desperately in the forest, moments away from being overrun by Greyback’s werewolves.
"Good morning, Mr. Speaker—" Kingsley greeted him, his voice steady but respectful before Maverick could speak.
"Director Scrimgeour informed me that you would be coming and arranged for your escort inside." He paused, then glanced at the only woman there. "Thank you, Thalia. I’ll take it from here."
She nodded, understanding it was her cue to leave. Maverick offered his thanks, and she gave one last respectful bow before slipping away without another word.
The Aurors guarding the door finally stepped aside, and it swung open, allowing them to enter.
“Mr. Harry Potter,” Kingsley said, turning to him with a gentle glance. “Please follow my colleagues. They will see you to the guest area.”
Harry shot a quick look at Maverick first, silently asking if it was okay, and Maverick gave the kid a faint smile and nodded. “I made sure your seat is right next to Mrs. Weasley.”
Harry stepped back reluctantly as the Aurors moved to guide him, while Kingsley gestured toward Maverick. “Mr. Speaker… after you.”
2025-08-22 20:44:30 +0000 UTC
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North London.
The night sky was buried under thick gray clouds, and a damp chill clung to the air as though the whole city had been smothered beneath a wet blanket. The streets were silent, and a thin layer of snow coated the roads and rooftops, catching the glow of the streetlamps and making everything sparkle just a little.
On a quiet pavement, two figures suddenly came into view, black coats swaying with each step as they walked toward a modest house wedged between others. Without a word or a knock, they slipped inside, almost like they were expected.
Inside, warmth greeted them. A fire crackled faintly in the hearth, and two men sat in the living room with steaming cups in their hands. They had been mid-conversation, but the sound of the door swinging open pulled their attention, and both rose at once when they saw who it was.
“Leader…” one of them greeted respectfully.
It was Sirius Black, and beside him sat Lord Greengrass. The newcomers were Maverick and Lupin, come to join them.
“How was your talk with Fudge, Jameson?” Maverick asked as he and Lupin settled into the empty seats.
Lord Greengrass allowed himself a thin smile. “It went well. Just like you predicted, once I nudged the conversation toward how it might polish his reputation, he agreed without a second thought... even said he’d go to the press himself.”
Maverick leaned back in his chair, a slight curve tugging at his mouth. “Naturally. The man’s brain shuts down the moment something sounds good for his reputation. Let me guess—he didn’t even bother asking why you were helping him?”
“No. Not a word.”
Chuckling, Maverick shook his head. How in Merlin’s name had that fat man ever been appointed? Of course, he knew the answer—it wasn’t hard to trace. He was only amused, recalling how the man’s character had changed after coming into power.
Cornelius Fudge was no firebrand, no visionary. He was a pure bureaucrat, and that made him the safest choice after Voldemort’s supposed downfall, when wizarding Britain craved nothing more than normalcy, comfort, and stability. Affable, genial, harmless even—with promises of quiet days ahead—he had seemed the perfect administrator. And that, weirdly enough, was how he got the job.
But the most important detail in his rise to power was Albus Dumbledore, who had been offered the post first His refusal—and quiet endorsement of Fudge—carried enormous weight with the Wizengamot. In his early years, Fudge leaned on Dumbledore constantly, almost deferential, knowing full well his authority rested on the old wizard’s support.
Ironic, Maverick thought, that the man now feared Dumbledore most, convinced the old wizard was after his seat, forgetting it was Dumbledore who put him there in the first place.
“So when’s our blundering excuse for a minister planning to show his face?” Sirius asked after a short silence.
“This week, if not sooner,” Lord Greengrass replied after a measured pause. “Cornelius is very eager to see it pushed through quickly, so it could be tomorrow even. And I would not be surprised if he fixed the trial date in the same breath.”
“That’s good,” Maverick said, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest when another thought came to him. “What about Bones and Scrimgeour?”
“They’ve been briefed on everything,” Jameson replied. Then, turning to Black, he continued, “Once Fudge makes the announcement and sets the trial, you will surrender yourself to the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. I shall mediate, of course, and together we will appear before the Wizengamot promptly.” He paused, then added, “And naturally, Pettigrew will be coming with us.”
The four of them kept talking, ironing out the details of the days ahead. When it was finally settled, Maverick rose to leave, while Lupin remained behind. This time he wasn’t heading to Hogwarts but home. It was the holidays, after all, and he was looking forward to time with his family.
The very next day, just as Greengrass had predicted, Fudge appeared before the press. He put on his usual dramatic show of bluster, first addressing the ongoing buzz about the country’s most wanted fugitive, then boldly announcing—much to everyone’s surprise—that he had personally taken the initiative to schedule a public trial for Black. “If he is truly innocent, let him appear before the Wizengamot and prove it,” Fudge declared. And in a show of false generosity, he added that Black would not be apprehended unless the court found him guilty.
Honestly, even Maverick wasn’t expecting that last part. He had prepared contingencies in case Black was taken to Azkaban the moment he turned himself in, which was why he involved Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.
With Scrimgeour on their side and Lord Greengrass—a faction leader in the Wizengamot and the Ministry’s top law enforcement official—any sudden order from Fudge to apprehend Black or cancel the trial could be stalled without anyone needing to point fingers. The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep Fudge from acting unpredictably. But after that bold announcement from Fudge himself, things should play out more smoothly than anticipated.
Anyway, whether or not that broke half the laws in the book, Fudge didn’t seem to care. The British Ministry wasn’t exactly known for clean separation of power. The Wizengamot played judge, jury, and council all at once, and the laws they had, while functional, were far from airtight. Even if half the country believed Fudge was abusing his authority, the gaps in the system left him pretty safe. Of course, that was assuming everything went according to plan.
He was hell-bent on going all in, convinced that no matter the outcome, he would come out ahead. If Black was guilty, Fudge would be hailed as the hero who brought him to justice. If he was innocent, he would still claim credit for clearing his name. His gamble was simple. Sirius Black had to show up, and whatever happened, Fudge would declare himself the winner.
He was desperate now, his reputation already dragging through the mud after all the reckless blunders he had made this year. What he needed was something big and loud enough to pull himself back up, which was exactly why Lord Greengrass was able to convince him so easily.
Poor Fudge. He couldn’t even see that he was digging the very pit that would bury him.
Time passed slowly after that. Christmas arrived with its crisp air and glittering snow, rooftops frosted white and streets lined with glowing lanterns. Maverick spent the holidays with his family and Isabella, enjoying the bit of peace before the ruckus that awaited the next day.
---
In the morning, golden sunlight strolled lazily over the city, a rare Christmas gift, making the snow sparkle on rooftops and tree branches while the crisp air shimmered with a strange kind of warmth that made everything feel almost magical. After a night of Christmas festivities, the lively youth were heading home, laughing and brushing off the cold, while the middle-aged residents left the comfort of their warm beds, straightening their clothes and getting ready for the busy holiday day.
“Is this the Ministry of Magic?”
Harry’s eyes wandered over the street, taking in the drab office buildings on either side, the long-shuttered shops, and the dilapidated taverns. He glanced at his professor beside him, frowning. Nothing here screamed “powerful government office” or “big country ministry.” If this was the Ministry of Magic, Harry thought, it had a very strange sense of style.
Maverick chuckled as he caught the surface thoughts of the kid. To be fair, there really were no imposing buildings here, at least not by ordinary standards. But, of course, this was the Ministry of Magic, and without a touch of magic, how could a building belonging to the country’s highest magical authority be visible.
“Come—”
He didn’t explain anything and just walked on, guiding Harry toward a dilapidated looking red telephone booth. The paint was peeling in large patches, most of the glass on three sides was shattered, and the only receiver inside dangled awkwardly, as if someone had yanked it half off.
“Uh… Professor?” Harry asked again, eyes fixed on the battered telephone booth. He frowned. “Don’t you own that big mobile phone company? What are we doing here… making a call from a telephone booth?”
Sigh…
“Just follow my lead, Potter. ”
Maverick said after a long breath. Honestly, he wondered and really couldn’t figure out whose bright idea it had been to put the Ministry’s general entrance here, or why this had to be the way in. Sure, there were easier ways to access the Ministry, like the Floo Network, but Maverick wanted to show Potter this route—it was the boy’s first time here, after all.
He pushed open the chipped door of the booth, and Harry followed hesitantly. Inside, the space was cramped and smelled faintly of dust.
“Let’s see… 739244.”
Maverick lifted the receiver and dialed, listening to the click and hum of the line before a woman’s voice immediately crackled through.
“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and the purpose of your visit.”
“Maverick Caesar, and Harry James Potter,” he replied. “We’re here to attend the public hearing of Sirius Black.”
For some reason, magicals seemed to have a thing for putting all their important institutions underground—whether it was the Ministry, goblin banks, or even the underworld, everything was buried deep beneath the earth. And the ways in were just as terrible.
After giving their names, there was a soft whoosh, and the booth seemed to sway slightly. Before Harry could even react, the ground beneath them gave way, and the city above vanished. Within moments, the telephone booth had vanished entirely, leaving them standing in a brightly lit, bustling atrium filled with magical portraits, busy witches and wizards, and the unmistakable hum of activity.
2025-08-19 22:48:55 +0000 UTC
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Midterms aren’t as stressful as the final exams, so professors don’t bother wracking their brains to make anything fancy and just patch together bits and pieces from past tests based on what was taught that semester.
Maverick did the same as well, and didn’t go out of his way to make anything unique for any of the five grades he taught. As for the practicals, he kept it simple too—just a repeat of an exercise they had already done in class—and the students completed it all with ease.
And just like that, with time slipping away like water through your fingers, the last week of term was gone as well before anyone even noticed. All things considered, Quidditch was probably the only thing that made the semester feel exciting—otherwise, it was just classes, hanging out, and more classes.
Sure, a few soul-sucking demons—the Dementors—still flew overhead, but even that couldn’t change the fact that this semester had been pretty uneventful. By Hogwarts’ standards, that is.
Usually, there would be some attack on a student or a professor, and this year, a certain “dangerous” fugitive was supposed to break into the castle—but nothing of the sort happened.
Basically, it was just a normal ending to a normal semester, the kind one would see at any other school.
---
Outside, the Scottish December air hovered just above freezing, and a fresh layer of snow covered the grounds. The very next morning after midterms, the castle was alive with movement—students dragging or floating their trunks toward Hogsmeade Station, their paths carving thin trails through the white.
Of course, not everyone left. Some stayed behind to spend the holidays at Hogwarts. It happens every year—usually Muggle-born first-years too enchanted by magic to part with it, even for a week or two. Then there were those with no home to return to, a quieter group who found the castle warmer than anywhere else.
For the last two years, Harry Potter had been part of that group, choosing Christmas at Hogwarts over the Dursleys’ cold welcome. But this year, and different from how the original story went, he had decided to go back to Privet Drive. Or at least… that’s what it looked like.
Knock.
Knock. Knock.
After breakfast that day, while the rest of the castle bustled with students packing their things for the holiday, Harry made his way to Maverick’s office before heading to the train.
Not long after he knocked, the door opened to reveal his professor at the desk, buried in papers, and another person across from him on the sofa, comfortably reading a book. It was an acquaintance, and it didn’t take Harry long to realise why Jean would be here today. Unlike everyone else, she would have to go to another continent, and the Hogwarts Express only had one stop.
The two Gryffindors met eyes, and she set the book down, asking, “Harry? You aren’t going back home?”
“Uh… I am…” Harry hesitated, wondering whether to say what he had come for with her there. He glanced at Maverick, who had just set down his pen and raised an eyebrow in his direction.
“What brings you here, Mr. Potter?”
Harry thought for a moment and decided to be straightforward, since he wasn’t sure he would get another chance to see Maverick before the break. “Professor, I just wanted to let you know I won’t be in the castle during the holidays…”
“Oh…” Maverick leaned back and smiled. “Did you miss Dudley or something?”
“No… Merlin, no...” Harry shook his head quickly. “It’s about… you know…” He trailed off, glancing at Jean, though Maverick had already read the surface of his thoughts.
Harry was mainly worried about missing Sirius Black’s trial, and to his credit, it was clever of him to realize that staying at school might make getting to the Wizengamot more complicated. But if he was at home, he could just go—no professors to inform, no annoying questions to answer.
And what he really wanted was to remind Maverick to pick him up—because even if he managed to get to the Ministry, what could he, a little teenager, do after that?
"Right… you don’t have to worry," Maverick said, nodding to show he understood. "Go on before the train leaves. I’ll pick you up from the Dursleys when the day comes."
Harry’s eyes lit up, and he nodded. With his purpose taken care of and after wishing Jean a good holiday, he didn’t linger any longer and left just as quickly to join his buddies.
“Professor…”
As soon as the door closed, Jean looked at him eagerly, sensing it might be something exciting, and she obviously wanted to tag along.
But Maverick raised a hand and stopped the girl before she could say anything else.
“It’s something to do with Harry’s family—a personal matter of his, Jean,” he said straightforwardly, his expression serious.
Fortunately, she was smart enough and at the mention of a family matter, she didn’t press further.
“Right… let’s get you home then.” Saying that, Maverick rose from his seat, walked around the desk, and beckoned her to follow as he headed toward the fireplace.
“Remember… no magic outside of school,” he reminded her with a smile. “I’ll pick you up again after the holidays.” Then with a flash of green, the two of them vanished from the room.
---
While Hogwarts itself had gone through the week without so much as a ripple, outside—in public and behind the scenes—the past seven days had been anything but quiet. Because of the interview Lord Greengrass had with the press, the Ministry was thrown into frenzy, with both the press and the public clamoring for answers.
Cornelius Fudge was obviously not happy, and to make things even worse for him, Lord Greengrass went around him and took the matter straight to the Wizengamot, pushing for a public trial for Sirius Black.
The Minister and the Wizengamot were basically the two main powers running Britain’s magical government. Fudge had more individual control over what happened inside the Ministry, sure, but the Wizengamot—if they got enough votes—could easily override him. In other words, anything the Minister decided could be vetoed with enough signatures, and just as easily, decisions could happen without him even knowing.
Needless to say, Fudge did everything he could to get in Jameson’s way. But before Lord Greengrass could start flexing the votes to bypass him, he got a message from Maverick with a smarter idea. So, he decided to take the gamble and meet Cornelius face to face.
He laid it all out for the fat man—proofs, moving pictures, even a memory Sirius had set up according to the script—everything showing not just that he was in contact with Black, but more importantly, that Peter Pettigrew, the supposedly dead one, was very much alive and right there with Black himself.
Fudge, naturally, argued every point and even threatened to use the law against him for withholding crucial information about a fugitive. But then Lord Greengrass hinted that a public trial might actually work in Fudge’s favor, the man finally sat up and started paying attention.
It was just as Maverick had guessed, the foolish minister was easy to manipulate—just hint that it could make him look good, and he was hooked.
Lord Greengrass painted him a beautiful picture: Sirius Black’s imprisonment without a trial wasn’t Fudge’s fault, and it was his predecessor’s mess. Fudge could step in, right the wrong, take the credit for finally bringing justice to a man who had been robbed of it for over a decade, and on top of that, get a nice little boost to his reputation.
The idea hit Fudge like a sweet dessert he didn’t have to bake himself. The man got hooked immediately and, without thinking twice, even went out of his way to make the announcement himself.
And so, the very next day after Christmas break began, breaking news spread across the country. Cornelius Fudge, looking every inch the Minister for Magic, announced that Sirius Black would finally get a public trial, making sure to point out that he had been deprived of one by the previous administration. He spoke with such fervor and self-righteous emotion that even skeptics could feel it.
The Minister for Magic looked into the camera with firm eyes and, at the end of the press conference, turned his words to Sirius Black directly, urging him to be present on the day and promising that, as the highest authority, he would do everything he could to see justice done.
To be fair, the man’s acting skills were impressive. People were swayed, and his tarnished reputation even started to recover. Fudge, of course, was more than pleased, and he even handed a few ‘good guy’ points to Lord Greengrass for the excellent opportunity.
---
Back in the present, after dropping Jean off in the United States, Maverick returned to Hogwarts the very same day and headed straight for the Headmaster’s office. Dumbledore and McGonagall were both there, and Maverick wasted no time, asking for an update on the matter they had discussed weeks ago.
The old man reassured him not to worry, promising his full support, and asked Maverick for an update from his side as well. Maverick gave a quick rundown too, adding casually that everything was falling into place, and that the press would be all over it soon enough.
The two old foxes and the young fox talked some more before Maverick left, choosing not to linger longer inside the office. He saw the mountain of paperwork Dumbledore and McGonagall were going through and didn’t want to be scammed by the scheming old things. And it was the right call, because as soon as they saw him, they thought to dump some of the work on him, but fortunately Maverick bailed in time.
With that taken care of, Maverick headed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, found Lupin, and together they left Hogwarts once more. A blink later, they were somewhere north of London, ready to meet the person who would be the center of all the chaos that week.
—————————
Author's Note:
Hey guys... Just wanted to let you know that mom and baby are doing great, and they're both healthy. Thanks a ton for all the well wishes.
2025-08-16 22:11:58 +0000 UTC
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When December arrived, the last colors of autumn were all but gone, and a thin layer of snow dusted the Hogwarts grounds. The air was sharp and biting, each breath visible in the cold, and the wind whispered through the bare branches of the Forbidden Forest—a quiet that confirmed winter had fully settled in.
Inside the castle, however, the school’s magic kept the halls pleasantly warm, and the corridors snug and alive with quiet energy. Past two o’clock was usually the hour for upper-grade classes, and at this moment, the sixth-year Muggle Science classroom was filled with low murmurs as its occupants stared intently at a magical diagram hovering beside their professor.
The focus of today’s lesson was how the smallest parts of the body function, and Maverick stood at the front, explaining while gesturing toward the magical construct he had created for emphasis—a moving diagram of a single epithelial cell, its nucleus, mitochondria, and other components slowly rotating in midair for the students to observe.
The Muggle Science class was not just about physics at work but covered all three major branches of science—physics, chemistry, and biology. Maverick’s objective for the course was to ensure the students understood how their world operated without magic, and biology was a cornerstone of that understanding, revealing the intricate systems that keep all living things alive, magical or non-magical alike.
“…they are the foundation of all living things,” Maverick explained, pointing to the diagram. “Think of them as tiny house-elves in the kitchen, each working tirelessly to make sure you never go hungry.”
Students leaned in, some raising their hands with questions, while others whispered among themselves about the invisible worlds inside their bodies.
When the bell rang to mark the end of class, it had been another enlightening session for the students, one that introduced entirely new ideas and changed the way they saw the world.
Of course, it wasn’t just the material that left them satisfied at the end of every lesson—it was also how Maverick brought the class to life. Otherwise, he was sure half of them would have been snoozing before even reaching the halfway point.
With the third class of the day finished, Maverick waited a moment as the students filed out, and soon the classroom filled again—this time with their seniors, the NEWT students of the same subject.
For this class, what Maverick taught was slightly more advanced, but still far from university level. While fifth-year Muggle Science class covered mostly middle-school material, the seventh-year class included a mix of middle-school knowledge and a bit of high-school level knowledge as well.
The purpose wasn’t to turn them into scientists, but to give them a solid understanding of the world—basically, Muggle Logic. For example, fire needs oxygen as well, and not just a flick of Incendio. In Maverick’s opinion, middle-school level science explains that perfectly, and it was enough to make the point.
“Now, I don’t want you stressing over the midterms… so I’ve prepared a little something for you.” With the lecture for this class wrapped up as well, and just before the bell, Maverick lifted the stack of papers on his desk and passed one to each student’s desk.
“These are multiple-choice questions for homework,” he added, leaning casually against the desk as the students began skimming their contents. “Get the answers right, and you’ll have no problem acing the test.”
“Professor, are these the midterm papers?”
“No, Miss Shafeeq. If they were, there’d be no point in the exams, right?” Maverick replied, glancing at the little witch at the front who looked way too excited. Then, gesturing lightly toward the paper on her hand, he added, “its just for reference. Besides the exams arnt going to be all multiple choice.”
He stepped forward, smiled at her, and then scanned the room—just in time for the bell to ring.
“Right… that’s it for today. Have a nice weekend.”
With that, the last class of the first week was over, and after answering some questions from a few students who stayed behind, he left the classroom and strode straight toward his office.
---
"Bloody hell, Harry. What the heck do you think is wrong with that greasy-haired bat today? Fifteen points—he deducted fifteen points from us just in that one class!"
The Gryffindor trio also had just finished their last class for the day and were making their way toward the common room, their conversation circling back to the disaster that was Potions.
“Isn’t that how he always treats me?” Harry muttered, eyes fixed ahead. He didn’t have to say he was annoyed—his face said it all. Snape had indeed yanked fifteen points from Gryffindor, and it was because of none other than Harry himself, who had been unable to answer his ridiculous trick questions.
"I don’t know, Harry… he seems especially not in the best mood today—like, really mad at you for some reason," Hermione said thoughtfully, keeping pace on his right.
“Forget it. I’d rather talk about something else...”
"Hmm... speaking of, have you seen yesterday’s newspaper?" asked Hermione again, glancing sideways.
"About Sirius Black? Good riddance. I think he’s already been caught, right? That’s what I heard from some of the seventh-years," Ron spoke up before Harry could answer.
Harry shook his head. “I read it. It didn’t say he’s been caught... just that they think they know where he is. The Aurors might get him soon.”
“There’s someone in our year who might know more,” Hermione said, nodding as a thought occurred to her. “Daphne Greengrass... it’s her father who gave the interview for the article. Should we ask her?”
But before Harry could answer, Hermione’s eyes lit up. Up ahead, she saw her favorite professor heading in their direction, so without a second thought, she broke into a quick jog.
He would definitely know more than Daphne Greengrass, she thought.
“Professor! Can we talk?”
The trio came to a stop in front of Maverick, unintentionally blocking his path.
He gave a long-suffering sigh.
“What is it?”
“It’s about yesterday’s newspaper—Sirius Black. We were wondering… do you know anything more about what’s going on? Have the Aurors caught him? And what does Lord Greengrass mean by this new evidence that might change everything everyone thinks they know about the criminal?”
Little Miss Know-It-All fired off three questions in one breath.
“And what does that have to do with you three?” Maverick raised an eyebrow. “You do realize your midterms are just a week away, right?”
“Professor, if you know something, please tell us. Sirius Black is the reason my parents died—”
“Your parents were murdered by the Dark Lord, Harry,” Maverick cut him off. He sighed inwardly, but then, thinking he was going to tell the kid some of the truths about Black before the trial anyway, he softened his tone and continued, “I do know something about the fugitive. Come… follow me to my office.”
The trio agreed hastily, and after a few corners and some stairs, they soon found themselves sitting in Maverick’s office.
“Tea?”
“Yes, please.” Hermione bobbed her head, and Maverick summoned three steaming cups of scented tea for them.
“Right, about Sirius Black…” Maverick went straight to the point. “First, I need you three to promise not to leak a word to anyone without my permission.” His eyes were stern as he leaned back and clasped his hands.
“We will,” the trio said in unison, their expressions turning serious too.
Maverick didn’t doubt them, even if they were only teenagers. Until now, anything he asked them not to share, they hadn’t. Especially Harry—somethings, he even kept from his own friends because he was told not to speak about them.
Letting out a sigh, Maverick began explaining the situation with Sirius Black, carefully leaving out some details: how he was caught, the interrogation, and even the true identity of a certain lost pet.
What he told them was basically that new evidence had reached the Wizengamot suggesting that Sirius Black might very well be innocent—and that someone else was the real culprit that betrayed Harry’s parents, leading to their deaths.
Needless to say, Harry was shocked—and even more confused.
“What evidence?” he blurted out the moment Maverick finished.
“Peter Pettigrew. Apparently, he was the one who betrayed your parents and has been faking his death until now. We’ll know more at the hearing.”
“Trial? So he’s really been caught?” Hermione asked.
“No. It’s more complicated. But there will indeed be a trial, and you’ll just have to read about it afterward to understand… What you need to know is that Sirius Black never received a proper trial—any trial at all—twelve years ago. He was simply caught and locked away without a word to anyone. Now, the Wizengamot wants to set things right...”
He explained, keeping everything as simple as possible. Although he had given them a watered-down version of events, he didn’t plan to reveal all the details.
If Maverick didn’t have plans for them in the future, he wouldn’t even be explaining anything, despite the case’s direct connection to Harry. But he did need to cultivate thugs—cough, future leaders—and these three—well, two and a half—were prime candidates.
A moment of silence fell over the room as the trio digested his revelations, and then—
“Professor… is—is everything you said true?” Harry asked after a while.
Hermione and Ron glanced at their friend with sympathy, each clasping a hand over Harry’s. “We’re with you,” they didn’t say aloud, but Harry knew, glancing at them, that was exactly what they meant.
What a powerful bond, Maverick thought. Teenagers or not, they truly were an iconic trio.
“Very likely. The trial should be held after Christmas. This is a secret, so again—do not speak a word about it,” Maverick warned.
“Can we also attend?” Harry asked hopefully.
Maverick nodded. In fact, he had planned to bring Harry from the start.
“What about us? Professor, we’d like to go too,” Hermione asked just as hopefully.
Maverick shook his head firmly. “As Harry said, he has a direct connection to the case, so he can attend. Plus, he’s the heir to House Potter and will inherit the lordship once he comes of age. The Wizengamot isn’t like Muggle courtrooms, so you two will have to read about it in the news—or Harry can tell you the story afterward.”
Begrudgingly, the duo could only nod.
“I’ll tell you all about it. No worries,” Harry said, glancing left and right.
“Right then… off you go. Don’t think about the case for now. Focus on your midterms, and remember—don’t tell anyone.”
Maverick dismissed them to their common rooms. Once they left, he leaned back in his chair, reflecting on everything that had happened this week.
First, Lord Greengrass had given an interview to the Daily Prophet to prepare the public for the ruckus that was coming in the following weeks. One reason was to prevent Fudge from brushing the matter under the rug, and the second was that it would make arranging a trial for Black easier.
Of course, Fudge would be all over Jameson for going to the press—but that was all he could do. He couldn’t lock him up or force him to reveal anything because Jameson was a political faction leader, and the upper echelons of British politics already knew he was backed by Maverick.
Basically, Jameson’s story would be that Sirius Black had contacted him, wanting to turn himself in—but only if he were guaranteed a fair trial. With that argument, and coupled with his influence in the Wizengamot, Jameson would then arrange a trial for Black, and he would turn himself in on the day of the trial, bringing Peter Pettigrew along as well. And then...
The plan was going smoothly according to the script, and Maverick was quite pleased with how Jameson was handling everything without needing his interference. But for now, he still had two grades’ exams to prepare.
Sigh...
And with that thought, he let out a long exhale, straightened himself, and got back to work.
2025-08-14 03:43:46 +0000 UTC
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The next day, just as Maverick expected, the world woke up to headlines that made last night’s unveiling sound like the turning point of an age. Every newspaper that had been invited to the presentation splashed it across their front pages, the Caesar One looking less like a simple Mobile Phone, and more like a cultural turning point.
“A Leap Into Tomorrow: Caesar One Shatters Mobile Boundaries” – The New York Times
“Touchscreen Revolution Ignites a New Era in Mobile Technology” – The Guardian
“From Buttons to Brilliance: Caesar One Upends the Phone Industry” – The Sydney Morning Herald
“Mobile Industry Stunned by First Ever Phone with Built-In Camera” – The Asahi Shimbun
“The Future Has Landed—And It’s Changing Everything” – Le Monde
Even papers that hadn’t been invited were quick to jump in once the news spread, each scrambling to ride the wave of attention. In just 24 hours, “Caesar One” and “Caesar Technologies” had gone from mysterious names to sensations all around the world.
Tech companies around the world were blindsided. The product hit like a punch to the gut—a wake-up call that came out of nowhere. The name “Caesar Technologies” hadn’t been on anyone’s radar before this. No leaks, no rumors, nothing. One day they didn’t exist, and the next, they were holding up a device that looked like it had fallen straight out of the next century.
At first, the disbelief was almost comical. The executives from major tech companies weren’t shocked by the individual technologies themselves—they knew all of those existed in some form already. But they were very different things. Cameras were common, and touchscreens were mostly limited to niche uses like ATM machines, airline check-in kiosks, and large-scale computer systems. Never had it occurred to them to combine those technologies and especially in to a phone.
Aren’t mobile phones supposed to be for telecommunications? If you want to take a picture of someone or something, couldn’t you just use a camera? They were bewildered by the radical approach of this mysterious company’s new product. Of course, much of their reaction was regret, because judging by the hype it was already gaining worldwide, those very radical ideas were bound to be a huge success.
And along with their envy came doubt. How on earth was it possible to pack all that technology into a single handheld device... sell it for just $999, and still turn a profit?
“That’s impossible.”
“Won’t they lose money?”
“Quick—find out everything about this Caesar technology. I want to know whose business it is…”
“Could they have found a breakthrough?”
“It’s a gimmick—it has to be.”
Within days, boardrooms of every major technology company across the world lit up with tense discussions. Some executives scoffed, others speculated, and many were already issuing orders. Every company wanted to know the same thing: who exactly was behind Caesar Technologies, and how had his company pulled this off?
Investigators, analysts, and market researchers were set to work. At the same time, every competitor shared one urgent goal—get their hands on the Caesar One. Engineers were told to buy it, strip it down, and study every circuit and screw. They needed to know how it worked… and whether it could really be sold at that price without sending the company into bankruptcy.
Maverick, of course, had predicted every reaction. Let them reverse-engineer it, he didn’t care. Even if they figured it out, they couldn’t match his production costs. They would have to compromise somewhere—either in features, quality, or price—and by then, he would already be several steps ahead.
At the same time, he didn't mind there being competition—in fact, he welcomed it. After all, without rivals, the hype would not last.
Moreover, it wasn’t only the tech companies that were scrambling. Network providers from across the globe began reaching out as well, some already betting big on the phone’s success before the product had even hit the market. The reaction from the public was just that big.
Within days, collaboration offers poured in. Of course, Maverick had anticipated this too, and his managers had standing orders to accept any deal that made sense.
And when the product finally hit the market one week after the launch, the customer base exploded. Maverick did not yet have a store in every small city of every major country, but he had at least one on every continent. In particular, the United States, the United Kingdom, Russia, and China each had several stores, as these countries had the largest populations paired with the strongest economies.
Maverick used every trick he knew, from both his previous life and this one, to market it as hype as possible, and sales poured in from the very first day. His warehouses were swamped. Fortunately, there were no issues with stock shortages, as he had made sure supply would meet demand long before the day of the presentation.
Soon, scenes from across the globe began making headlines. In New York, office workers were spotted crowding around one phone, laughing at the novelty of taking a photo and seeing it instantly in full color.
In London, a teenager recorded her first video message for a friend and nearly dropped the phone in shock when it played back with perfect sound.
In Tokyo, a businessman used the touchscreen to scroll through his contacts with a swipe of his finger, his colleagues leaning in to watch as though it were magic.
Families in Moscow passed the phone around the dinner table, marveling at the tiny moving images on its screen. In Shanghai, a young couple took a photo together in the park, holding it up to admire the vibrant colors.
The only downside was that Multimedia Messaging Service wasn’t quite ready yet. The true age of the internet was still on the horizon, so the pictures they took could only stay on their phones. To share them, people had to transfer images to a personal computer, then either print them out or save them to a floppy disk to send to someone else.
Still, for the time being, it was more than enough. Maverick recalled that in his old world, MMS—Multimedia Messaging Service—only became commercially available after the new millennium, and the first mobile internet services, like 2G and GPRS, didn’t arrive until around 2000, nearly a decade later from now. Overall, the technology available to the general public—and the timing of its availability—was not that different from his previous life, even though this world was more advanced in some aspects.
However, Maverick had a feeling it would all come much sooner now that the Caesar One was out in the world. Integrating technologies like GSM, GPRS, and MMS wouldn’t be difficult, and the hardware he had released was more than capable of supporting those features. He planned to give some of the network carriers a heads-up about it, and once a few made it possible, the rest would undoubtedly follow.
Nonetheless, it was still the early 1990s, and the general public couldn’t yet imagine such possibilities. For them, now, simply being able to capture a moment and carry it in their pocket was more than enough. That said, the next generation of the Caesar One would at least include infrared data transfer capability, allowing users to share media without needing to sit in front of a personal computer.
And now, with the release of the Caesar One, Maverick’s name became known worldwide for the first time. He was already a celebrity in the magical world, but now he was making waves in the non-magical world too—becoming a figure neither side could ignore. News outlets scrambled to tell his story, the public buzzed with excitement about his genius, and whispers spread of the mysterious innovator behind it all. Yet, just a day after the presentation, the man in question seemed to have vanished without a trace.
It was only by talking to people at his company that the media uncovered who he really was—a Brit, and not just any Brit, but a genius even in his school and university days. To top it all off, he was also the son of the current English Prime Minister. Though no one could secure a direct interview with him, the headlines kept running stories about his life, and newspapers made sure the whole world knew his name—even if he himself stayed silent.
---
Tracking back to the weekend of the product launch, after the presentation, Maverick vanished with Isabella and left everything to the capable hands of his company’s management. He was confident that his carefully chosen team could handle everything, and he didn’t need to involve himself in the day-to-day operations.
Though still the CEO, Maverick was more like a hands-off shopkeeper, and the company was practically run by COO Jackson—a marketing genius Maverick recruited long ago (Chapter 90). The man was fully capable of steering the ship, and Maverick trusted him completely to deliver on every expectation.
With that settled, Maverick spent the rest of the weekend with Isabella, and when the new week finally rolled around, he headed straight back to Hogwarts—where the real work was waiting.
It was early December now, and he had midterm exams to prepare for four grades. On top of that, the script for Sirius Black was also set to begin within the month.
It promised to be a busy, event-packed final stretch to the year.
2025-08-11 23:37:11 +0000 UTC
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The age of information technology didn’t arrive suddenly with a bang or fireworks. It all started during the late 1980s and evolved gradually, slowly at first, slipping into homes as boxy personal computers that hummed and blinked like they belonged in a lab. People weren’t quite sure what to make of them at first, fascinated by their promise but still figuring out how they fit into everyday life.
Around that time, mobile phones were creeping in too—big, clunky bricks from the mid-eighties that could turn your arm sore if you talked too long. Calls were scratchy and full of static, barely holding together. Still, back then, being able to talk without a cord was as good as magic to people.
Then the nineties arrived, and the pace picked up. Phones started shrinking, and in 1992, someone sent the very first text message—a simple “Merry Christmas” that probably didn’t seem like much at the time but would end up changing everything. By the middle of the decade, antennas had grown shorter, screens went digital, and phones slipped easily into briefcases instead of taking up an entire seat.
When the new millennium rolled around, things moved even faster. Phones could finally show colors, replacing dull green text with bright menus, and cameras were fitted onto devices—tiny lenses no bigger than a button that made film rolls and darkrooms feel ancient. Before long, color screens became standard, and people filled them with pixelated snapshots that somehow looked incredible back then.
By the mid-2000s, the first smartphones appeared. They could browse the internet, check emails, run simple apps. Clunky by future standards, but revolutionary for their day. The rest of the world was still crawling toward the future.
Of course, all of that happened somewhere else entirely—in a galaxy far, far away, on another world, in a different history altogether.
Here, it was still the early 1990s. People were only just getting used to carrying heavy brick-like phones with buttons the size of thumbnails. Most thought it was the height of convenience. They had no idea they were about to be thrown ten years ahead overnight.
---
Los Angeles in the early nineties was like a city split in two. Palm trees tried to look graceful along cracked sidewalks, but the air still smelled of exhaust and street food. The streets were noisy, restless, full of people chasing something—success, maybe, or just a better day. It wasn’t a shiny place yet, but somewhere beneath all that grit, the future was stirring, building itself piece by piece.
Inside the sprawling Convention Center—the city’s main economic engine—something extraordinary was about to unfold tonight. Big banners with Caesar Technologies in bold black letters hung everywhere, heralding the debut of Maverick’s very first product in the muggle world. He had been preparing for this moment for a while now, and with the future tucked securely in his back pocket, he knew exactly where the real opportunities waited.
Mobile phones. Truly mobile, mobile phones. While most people were still lugging around heavy, brick-like devices and calling it convenience, Maverick planned to push the technology a whole ten years ahead overnight. The tech was already there, hidden in plain sight, but for some reason, no one had thought to make it public by packing it into everyday gadgets. Maybe they figured there wasn’t much profit in it, or maybe the idea just never crossed their minds.
After all, the idea of putting a camera, color displays, and touchscreens all into one device takes an out-of-the-box thinker. Not that Maverick was some visionary or a Steve Jobs—he was simply using his knowledge of the future to back a sure bet.
The main hall of the convention center stretched vast enough to hold thousands, and tonight it was packed tight. Reporters, TV crews lugging heavy shoulder cameras, photographers ready to snap countless shots, and columnists flipping through freshly printed press kits filled the space.
Maverick didn’t hold back. He pulled every string, invited every major tech magazine, business column, and news channel he could think of for the occasion. This night—he wanted it remembered, carved into history. And he made sure the whole world saw it.
Besides unveiling the product itself, Maverick also knew the presentation had to be just as impressive if he wanted the press to eat it up. And who better to handle that than his fiancée, Isabella, who was already trained in muggle journalism.
Of course, presentations these days hadn’t quite reached the level he had seen in the keynotes from his past life, so he passed along plenty of tips and little tricks as well to help her pull it off. And wow did Isabella deliver. She owned the stage like she was born for it.
The event kicked off with a dazzling intro, spotlighting the new technologies one by one. Each feature was laid out clearly but with enough flair to keep everyone hooked—slick demos, bold claims, and just the right mix of excitement and detail.
It wasn’t just the product that surprised them—it was how Isabella brought it all to life. The crowd hung on every word, eyes wide with wonder, hearts caught up in the moment. Applause rolled through the hall like thunder, crashing again and again, carrying the excitement all the way to the very end.
The phone itself was sleek but not too futuristic—just enough to turn heads in 1993. A smooth, compact rectangle with a glossy black surface that seemed to glow under the lights. No buttons cluttered the front, only a clean, bright touchscreen bursting with vibrant colors.
On the back, the Caesar Technologies logo stood proud—a bold, stylized “C” shaped like a sharp, forward-moving spearhead, cutting through a circle of laurel leaves, a symbol of power and innovation.
The moment Isabella revealed the Caesar One—yes, that was the name Maverick had chosen for the first generation of the phone—with its full-color RGB touchscreen, the whole room buzzed like they’d just seen a miracle. After all, this was a time when phones didn’t even have color displays, let alone touchscreens.
Then she launched into a flawless demonstration, gliding through menus with effortless taps and swipes. No fumbling with buttons—just smooth, seamless control, fingers dancing over the glass like magic. The crowd was spellbound, caught up in the promise of a future they hadn’t dared to imagine yet.
Gasps and whispers rippled through the hall, followed by an explosion of applause. Maverick smiled, just as he had hoped. Journalists and onlookers rose to their feet, clapping and cheering like they were witnessing the future unfold right before their eyes.
It was everything he imagined—and then some. No doubt tomorrow, heck, the next few weeks’ headlines would be all about his new product. A phone small enough to fit in a pocket, loaded with features that felt straight out of a sci-fi novel. Maverick felt the crowd buzzing, and he had no doubt it was going to be a smash.
Finally, when Isabella announced the price, the crowd erupted—and that roar told him everything he needed to know.
A typical phone these days—the chunky cell bricks—ran over a thousand dollars and, to most people, was more of a status symbol than something you actually needed. They were heavy, awkward, and barely fit the idea of “mobile,” so most people stuck with their trusty landlines.
Maverick, however, had pegged his price at exactly 999 dollars. Not cheap, but with a design you could slip into your pocket and a lineup of downright cool features, he knew that anyone with a thousand to spare would be itching to get their hands on one the moment they saw it.
As for how he managed to price it so low while packing in so many features, well… he was a mage. Things that would be expensive headaches for muggle manufacturers were ridiculously easy with alchemy—especially for a master alchemist.
Of course, he wasn’t cranking them out in endless batches from some magical cauldron or anything. No—the phones still rolled off muggle assembly lines, with certain parts even outsourced like any other tech company.
But a few key steps weren’t handled quite the muggle way. The casing, for example—normally needing precision machining and pricey molds—came out of an alchemical press he’d built himself, cranking them out way faster and cleaner. Delivered straight to the factory, disguised as just another part from some third-party supplier, it saved him a ton on costs. That’s what really let him price the phone just under a thousand bucks and still pull in a hefty profit.
Regardless, what mattered most to him was getting this product into as many hands as possible. Everything he was doing at this point—especially why he was so hasty in introducing this product much earlier than it was supposed to be released to the world—wasn’t simply about taking advantage of his future knowledge and breaking into the muggle tech world.
Yes, that was part of it, but this phone—especially with its on-the-go camera—was a key piece in the events he had been orchestrating that would unfold in the near future. In other words, those cameras would play a crucial role in his scheme to finally shatter the long-held veil of the statute of secrecy.
Clap clap clap clap
Clap clap clap clap
When the presentation finally ended, the hall thundered with one last roar of excitement and awe. Cheers bounced off the walls, reporters exchanging knowing glances as they scrambled to craft the perfect headline, while cameras flashed nonstop, all focused on the night’s star.
Maverick stood at the front row, watching it all like any other member of the crowd, clapping along, his eyes fixed on Isabella with a proud smile. She had nailed every single part of the presentation to perfection, and Maverick wasn’t sure even he could have done it any better.
—————————
Author's Note:
Hello my dear readers,
My wife is having her C-section this week on the 14th, so I might not be able to keep up with my usual pace of 5+ chapters a week. I’ll still try my best—aiming for at least one chapter every two days, or a minimum of three chapters a week.
However, in about a month, I should be able to get back to my normal pace. For the first week, I’ll be super busy... you know, new baby and all!
This will be our third child, and we’re welcoming our second daughter into the family 😊😊
Thank you all so much for your support and kindness. My life has changed so much for the better ever since I started writing, and I owe so much of that to you.
Truly, thank you from the bottom of my heart. ❤️
2025-08-10 23:46:47 +0000 UTC
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The atmosphere in the Hogwarts Headmaster’s office was unusually quiet at this moment. The usual twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes was gone, replaced by a subtle crease of concern, and likewise, his deputy looked just as deep in thought, as if a thousand worries were running through her mind.
"...Why, Maverick?" McGonagall asked after a moment of thought, forgetting to even use the formal "Professor" as she usually did.
"You have wealth, fame, and power... so why involve yourself in the country’s politics?" Her eyes studied his face, trying to make sense of the young man she had known for over two years but who suddenly felt... like a different person.
“Because I can’t stand how backwards this country’s magical government is, Professor. Fudge needs to step down, and a more competent minister is desperately needed.”
“By competent, you mean Lord Greengrass? How are you so sure he won’t be the same… or worse?” she pressed.
Maverick let out a quiet sigh. “Look, Professor, it’s out of sincerity that I’m sharing this with you. Even if you choose not to persuade the votes in your faction to cooperate, I’m confident I can still secure the minimum support I need.”
He paused, his eyes flicking between the two of them, stopping briefly on Dumbledore, who had remained silent the entire time. Then he added, “I just don’t want you to be caught off guard when everything unfolds.”
Hearing his answer, McGonagall didn’t know what else to say and could only turn to her mentor, hoping for his take. What Maverick was asking for was simple enough—just their support when it came time to vote to impeach the Minister for Magic. His reasoning was also sound because, truth be told, she wouldn’t mind seeing the current Minister replaced as well.
But decades of working under Albus Dumbledore had shaped her thinking, and many of his principles had rubbed off on her over the years. One of them was: never meddle in public opinion.
In Dumbledore’s eyes, public opinion was as dangerous as any powerful wizard, and when such a wizard set out to shape the minds of the masses… well, he had seen firsthand what came of it half a century ago.
“Do you know why I never meddle in this country’s politics, or in any magical community's for that matter, Maverick... even with all my power?” the old man said at last.
Maverick didn’t answer. He just waited, letting the silence stretch until Dumbledore chose to fill it.
“It corrupts,” Dumbledore said simply. “Too much power concentrated in one place always leads to the same end. And absolute power—”
“—corrupts absolutely,” Maverick cut in, waving a hand in mild dismissal. “I’m familiar with the proverb, Headmaster. And forgive me for being blunt, but I am not Gellert Grindelwald.”
His gaze locked on the old man’s, unflinching, as the sudden name-drop pulled the room into an awkward silence. Even Lupin, who had been quiet for some time, visibly flinched, feeling as though the temperature had dropped a few degrees.
Who doesn't know that name was a taboo—especially in front of this old man?
“Let me be perfectly clear, Headmaster...” Maverick pressed on. “I have absolutely no interest in subverting the Muggle world, nor do I fear their technology will one day grow to a point where they have the power to subdue us.”
“If anything, I wish the two worlds could one day coexist peacefully as humans, and not as Muggles and Mages.” He paused, letting his words settle before adding,
“And that day will come, eventually. You’ve both attended enough of my Muggle science lectures to know it’s only a matter of time before we’re discovered by the Muggle public. There will be chaos, of course, but after some time—maybe years, maybe decades—the world will enter a new age. The only thing we can do is control how we get exposed and minimize the chaos that follows.”
Honestly, Maverick didn’t plan on bringing up the Statute of Secrecy tonight and had only intended to talk about Sirius Black’s case and impeaching Cornelius Fudge.
However, now that the conversation had drifted in this direction, he thought it was not a bad idea to at least give them a vague heads-up before eventually revealing his plan to break the Statute in the coming year. Only vaguely, though, as he did not want to go into details just yet. For that, he would bring in his strongest backer to persuade the old man… and if that did not work, make him either fall in line or stay out of the way.
Cough.
“I believe we’ve strayed from the matter at hand, haven’t we?” McGonagall said suddenly, clearing her throat, looking a little nervous. After all, Maverick was getting dangerously close to the biggest taboo in the magical world—and she didn’t want to have that conversation. Not now. Not ever.
“You’re right, Professor,” Maverick said with a sigh, pretending he had only brought it up on a whim. “I only came to talk about Sirius Black’s case and impeaching the Minister of Magic… so—”
He turned back to Dumbledore again, and, softening his tone, asked, “—tell me, Headmaster… will you cooperate?”
Upon hearing Maverick address him directly, Dumbledore’s expression flickered once more. Since the name of his old lover had been mentioned, he had remained silent—not out of anger, but deep in thought, weighing the young man’s words, especially the comparison to Grindelwald. Maybe he was reading too much into it. They were similar in many ways, yet very different in others.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Maverick carried a dangerous motive for taking charge of the Ministry of Magic—even if it wasn’t him personally who would sit in the seat.
Alas, perhaps I am indeed overthinking it. With that thought, he finally brushed the thoughts aside.
Then, as if a quiet decision had settled in his mind, he leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table.
“You shall have my full support in clearing Sirius Black’s name,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Provided, of course, that all you have shared today proves true. And as for the matter of impeaching Cornelius…” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, “for the sake of a brighter future for magical Britain, I find myself inclined to lend my support to that cause as well.”
Maverick clad a smile at that. “Thank you, Headmaster. Though you might as well say it’s for the greater good…”
“Professor Caesar!” McGonagall cut in, a twitch in her brows.
“Right… right… sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Maverick chuckled, glancing at the old man who, instead of taking offense, just smiled back, amused.
“When shall you take us to see Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, then?” he asked, leaning back a little relaxed in his chair.
“I can bring them both here now, if you like,” Maverick replied, glancing between the two. “Or you can come with me to where I’m keeping them…”
Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged a glance and silently agreed it would be better to bring them here directly. And so, Maverick left with Lupin, taking the Floo Network—first to where Black was, then to Greengrass Manor to pick up the rat—and returned to the office in less than half an hour.
---
“And who might this be, then?” McGonagall asked, her sharp eyes fixed on the unfamiliar figure who stood beside Lupin, nervously rubbing the back of his head.
“Right... I forgot,” The man in question glanced down and said as he slipped a ring from his finger. Instantly, his features changed, revealing a face they all knew—wearing that all-too-familiar grin.
Seeing his true appearance, a flicker of surprise crossed the two deans’ faces, and McGonagall stood from her chair and approached him.
“Uh… Professor, I hope I’m not in any trouble,” Black said, swallowing nervously. Despite having graduated long ago, he still feared the stern professor. But to his surprise, she suddenly pulled him into a motherly hug and patted his back gently.
“You poor thing. I apologize for allowing you to suffer in that wretched place all these years.”
Sirius flinched at the sudden embrace but then sighed and relaxed into it. “I chose to stay silent, Professor. It’s nobody’s fault,” he said, voice more emotional than he let on.
McGonagall stepped back, then finally turned her gaze to the other man—the true culprit behind it all—locked in a small cage, chained up. “Why is he unconscious?” she asked.
“It’s better if he doesn’t see you both otherwise it could get complicated during the hearing.” Maverick said. “But if you need to interrogate him, feel free to use Veritaserum after changing your appearance. Or I have a memory of our interrogation that you can watch.”
“The memory will do…” Dumbledore said, rising from his chair. He walked over to Sirius, resting a hand on his shoulder and offering the same apology for neglecting him. Then, taking the vial Maverick had handed over, Dumbledore and McGonagall both leaned in to examine its contents without another word.
---
Half an hour later.
“Professor Caesar. And you two!”
As soon as she raised her head from the Pensieve, the stern headmistress glared sharply at the three men, eyes blazing with all the words she chose not to say aloud.
“Did you give them the wrong memory?” Sirius nudged Maverick, whispering.
“No, of course not. Probably…” Maverick mumbled, tilting his head toward the fuming lioness.
“Do you call that interrogation? Merlin… that was downright barbaric!”
Dumbledore walked back to his chair and sat down, making no move to stop his deputy’s outburst. To be honest, he wasn’t fond of the brutality either—the endless cycle of beating Peter Pettigrew and then healing him, repeated for over an hour, so much so they had to skip most of it.
Finally, after sizing up the two culprits—Lupin and Sirius—to her heart’s content, McGonagall sank back into her seat. But not before casting a sharp glare at Maverick, clearly knowing he had allowed it to happen.
The brief episode ended quickly, and Dumbledore and McGonagall now fully grasped the clear proof and truth behind the whole incident. They talked a bit more, with the portrait of the dead headmaster joining in—rambling on at Sirius about marrying a few wives—before finally calling it a night.
With the meeting finally over, and after returning the rat and Sirius Black to where they had been picked up, Maverick and Lupin made their way back to their offices.
Settling into his chair in his own office, Maverick reflected quietly on the night’s events, thinking, things had gone about as well as they could have.
The old man was on board—though not entirely convinced—but that was enough for now. The next few months until the end of the semester would hopefully pass quietly at Hogwarts. Yet beyond the school’s walls, before the holidays, Maverick still had a pressing matter looming on his schedule—something not quite tied to the magical world, but destined to play a crucial part in his plans for the coming year.
Smartphones. Well, not quite smart—at least, not yet—but the world’s first truly mobile phone with a color touchscreen and a built-in camera. Maverick’s company on the Muggle side had been working tirelessly to bring this vision to life, pouring countless hours into research and development. Now, after months of trials, they were finally in the testing phase, with a planned launch set for late November. This wasn’t just another gadget; it would be a game changer.
Though the world’s technological evolution had, in some ways, raced ahead faster than Maverick remembered from his previous life, everyday inventions like public computers and cell phones followed a familiar path—a steady, predictable climb.
Therefore, he didn’t need to be a Tony Stark-level genius to make a name for himself in the Muggle world. With knowledge of the future twenty years ahead, he was confident he could build a technological empire on the Muggle side just as well.
2025-08-09 21:36:26 +0000 UTC
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When October drew to an end, the weather had turned properly cold. The trees along the edge of the Forbidden Forest glowed with gold and orange leaves, most of which had already fallen, forming a crisp, rustling carpet across the grounds.
Despite the Dementors circling the skies above the castle, the first three weeks of the month passed by without incident. The mood around school stayed calm, and nothing unusual disrupted the routine.
But nothing ever stays quiet for too long in this castle. As the final week crept in, that calm was quickly replaced by excitement—not just because Halloween was around the corner, but because it was also the time for the school’s All-Star Quidditch team to be heading to Germany to participate in the first round of this year’s inter-school tournament.
Thus, on Saturday, the school’s deputy headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, along with flying instructor Rolanda Hooch and the Hogwarts team coach, Steven, all left for Germany, accompanying this year’s fourteen students to show the world what they were made of.
And speaking of the team, a few changes had shown up compared to last year. Three new players came in to replace those who’d graduated, Harry Potter stepped in as the first team Seeker after Marcus Flint left, and Fred Weasley snagged a spot as a Beater.
It was a solid lineup. Everyone was feeling optimistic—and some were downright confident they could outdo last season’s performance. Fortunately, no one jinxed it by running their mouth, and by the time the week rolled around, the team was still in the competition.
When Halloween finally arrived, the Great Hall was once again fully transformed for the occasion, with giant carved pumpkins floating above the tables, cobwebs stretched across the rafters, and bats drifting lazily beneath the enchanted ceiling. However, this year, hardly anyone paid attention to the eerily vivid decorations.
Instead, all eyes were glued to the four large screens floating around the Hall, broadcasting live the last match of the first round of this year’s tournament.
And as it happened, it was Hogwarts on the pitch tonight—so naturally, the whole school was on edge. With one win and one loss behind them, this final match would decide whether they moved on to the next stage, so it goes without saying why the tension in the Hall was so thick.
Every time the Quaffle neared either set of goalposts, the Hall would erupt with sharp gasps or groans. Some had their faces buried in their hands as if they were watching a horror film, while others were on their feet, yelling at the screens as if the players could somehow hear them through it.
Over at the staff table, the scene was much the same. All eyes were glued to the screens, and some—like Hagrid—could barely stay in their seats, behaving just like any other hot blooded student. No one said a word about the noise or lack of table manners tonight. Heck, even Snape had his eyes fixed on the screens for the entire match.
The game ran over three hours, but no one cared. Even with the tables cleared and dinner long gone, the Hall stayed electric. In the end, Hogwarts claimed the win by reaching the maximum goal limit first. And at that moment, the Great Hall turned festive all over again as everyone burst into celebration.
"A most spirited game, wouldn’t you say?" the school’s Headmaster asked the staff table after letting out a long breath he didn’t even realise he was holding until the final whistle.
Everyone else had been the same, sighing in unison with relieved exhaustion, glad that the team had won.
"The kids gave their best, and luck was on our side too," Maverick said. He, too, had been swept up in the match and could see just how close it had been. In his opinion, they would need more than luck to make it past the next stage.
Dumbledore chuckled lightly at the serious remark, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "Ah, but is luck not its own peculiar form of strength?" He paused, then, glancing at the clock, shook his head. "Much as I would like the evening to continue, curfew is nearly upon us..."
"Give them a bit more time, Headmaster. It’s a celebration..." Maverick cut in smoothly.
"Professor Caesar is right, Headmaster. Besides, it’s Halloween..."
The other professors also chimed in, suggesting they allow the kids to celebrate a bit longer. The old man could only accept since everyone had spoken, and the thunderous atmosphere in the Great Hall continued until midnight before the students were finally asked to head to their common rooms.
"Headmaster—" Maverick stopped Dumbledore before he headed to his office once the hall cleared. "When Professor McGonagall comes back, I’d like to have a chat with the two of you..."
"Something urgent?" Dumbledore asked thoughtfully.
"Yes... it has to do with Sirius Black..."
The twinkle in the old man’s eyes faded upon hearing that name and he nodded solemnly. "I shall speak to Minerva the moment she returns. Let us meet in my office tomorrow evening then..."
With that, the old man departed, and Maverick also retired for the evening to have a good night's sleep.
---
The next evening, after dinner, Maverick climbed the spiraling staircase toward the Headmaster’s office, the stone walls flickering with torchlight, until he reached the familiar griffin-shaped gargoyle guarding the entrance.
“Sugar quill,” he said, and the statue leapt aside with a scrape of stone, revealing the moving staircase beyond.
He wasn’t alone. Remus was beside him as well, brought along because it would be easier to explain some aspects of Black’s situation with him there to fill in the details.
The door creaked open, and they found the Headmaster and his deputy already there, waiting for them—both seated with tea and some snacks already prepared.
What’s this? A gossip table prepared? Maverick chuckled inwardly, just as he heard McGonagall ask inquiringly, her gaze fixed on Lupin.
“Remus?” she asked, brows drawn.
“It’s a long story, Professor,” Maverick said as they stepped inside. “Professor Lupin is here because he can explain some things better... he has a history with tonight’s subject, after all...”
They all settled in, and Dumbledore, ever the hospitable host, offered tea and snacks just as quickly.
“First off,” Maverick said, dumping the cup back on the saucer after one disgusted sip—too damn sweet. “I need you to listen and think very carefully about what I’m about to reveal. The Sirius Black case isn’t as simple as you’ve been led to believe…”
For the next hour and a half, Maverick laid everything out from start to finish. He began with how he had found Black, and how questioning him had finally revealed the full truth.
The truth about the Potters’ deaths. The secret switch of the Secret Keeper. Pettigrew’s betrayal. How the rat had framed Black for the murders and destruction he himself had caused—and that Peter Pettigrew had never truly died back then.
Lupin chimed in every so often, filling in details as Maverick continued—explaining how he had captured Pettigrew afterward, and that the audacious rat had been living in plain sight with the Weasleys for twelve years, even staying at Hogwarts with Ronald Weasley during the past two.
“...since Lupin had a history with both of them, I took him along with Black to finally interrogate the rat. He confessed everything... the man was a pure coward."
Dumbledore leaned back, fingers steepled, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and contemplation over the turn of events. His deputy shared a similar look—bewildered that the two men she had once taught, long believed to be a brave hero and a coward, had somehow swapped roles.
“I had a feeling something was off back then,” McGonagall said quietly. “I knew that boy, Sirius Black, very well… mischievous, yes. A troublemaker, most definitely. But unlike other purebloods, he never cared about blood status, so I found it hard to believe he’d be a spy for a blood supremacist madman. His family, especially his mother, I was told, placed that above all else. I even heard he was disowned by her for—”
“Nonsense!” A heavy, aged voice, sharp with anger, suddenly cut in, interrupting McGonagall. “A mere woman who married into my house possesses no authority to disinherit a scion of the Blacks. No matter how wayward that boy’s opinions may be, blood and birthright are not—and shall never be—so lightly cast aside.”
“Phineas,” Dumbledore said with a faint smile, “I almost forgot you are a Black as well.”
“Dumbledore,” said the man inside the portrait, “I have heard many ridiculous tales tonight, but this one I firmly believe to be true. You must help that boy clear his name.”
Then he turned his gaze to Maverick. “And you, boy—please help him. As a favor, I will allow you to choose any treasure from the Black family vault, anything you desire...”
Maverick chuckled at the portrait’s ridiculous remark. “Headmaster, with all due respect, you’re dead...”
Not to be outdone, the former Headmaster replied firmly, “I will speak to the boy if you bring him here to me. He will listen to me...”
“Okay, forget it,” Maverick waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll be helping Sirius Black clear his name anyway. Besides, even if you don’t ask him, I’m pretty sure he’ll hand over whatever I want from the vault...”
“Have you thought about how to get his case started? What about handing over Peter Pettigrew to the Ministry?” McGonagall asked again once the blunt, old portrait had finished speaking its mind.
Maverick nodded. “I’ve shared the full story with the Ministry’s law enforcement director and several of his colleagues. They’ve promised to help—and to reopen the case as soon as Black and Pettigrew are handed over together.”
“You have handled these matters remarkably well, Professor Caesar. I doubt even I could have done it so deftly,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye, leaning back in his chair. “But I can’t help but wonder... surely there’s more to this tale, yes?”
“As sharp as ever, Headmaster… which is why I’m sharing this with the two of you in the first place. Because really, clearing Black’s name and putting Pettigrew behind bars isn’t a challenge for me...”
The old man smiled, gesturing for him to continue, while McGonagall raised an eyebrow, also curious about what he had to say next.
2025-08-08 16:37:21 +0000 UTC
View Post
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The steady sound had been echoing through the room for who knows how long, until a low groan stirred, overlapping it and breaking the rhythm.
"Uh..."
Lupin’s consciousness stirred, and he let out a hoarse groan. His mind felt like a complete wreck when a flood of white light overwhelmed his eyes, making him squint.
He struggled to focus and forcibly opened his eyelids, but everywhere was just… brightness.
He sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness in his limbs. The room was still too bright, but eventually, shapes had begun to sharpen.
First, he was in a narrow bed. It looked clean, with crisp white sheets and pillows. Beside him were unfamiliar machines with blinking lights and glowing green screens, all flashing symbols and numbers he didn’t understand.
"Where… am I?" he muttered, speaking to no one in particular.
Unexpectedly, a voice answered him, “North America…”
Instinctively, his head snapped toward the sound, and there he spotted a man seated not too far away, calmly flipping through what appeared to be a newspaper.
“Mr… Ali?” he asked uncertainly, then winced again and lowered his head as the dull throb in his skull slammed against his temples.
"Here..."
When he glanced up again, he found Ali now beside the bed, offering him a glass filled with something he didn’t recognize.
"It'll help with the headaches," Ali said to him. "I know the feeling... I've been through it too."
Lupin hummed softly as he took the glass and emptied it in a single gulp. His head was still pounding, but his thoughts were clearer now, and he now had a rough grasp of his current situation.
Last night—or was it the night before?—was supposed to be just another cruel routine in the long, miserable history of his cursed existence. Another full moon, another transformation, and another night spent losing himself to the beast within.
But never did he imagine that night would mark the end of that miserable chapter. That the curse he had carried for so long might finally be something he could control, even wield.
He remembered the offer as if it had just happened. Two paths laid bare before him: be rid of the curse forever, at the cost of something vital... or keep it, conquer it, and turn it into power.
He had thought about it, truly thought about it, before he made the decision. First, he thought about the man who had presented him with those options, and then about what accepting either would mean for him and his future.
The name Maverick Caesar had started appearing everywhere not long ago—first whispered with awe as the youngest master alchemist in history, then announced with even greater noise when he became the personal apprentice of one of the most powerful wizards alive.
And before the magical world had even processed those feats, the headlines changed again. That very same young man, barely past his teens, had risen to the peak of power and influence, shaping the magical world like no one else in recent memory.
It was that same young man who had come to him with the offer, inviting him to be part of something greater. A new order of things—or to turn the world upside down, in his own words.
Now, did he see Maverick Caesar as the next Albus Dumbledore? Not a chance. From the handful of interactions they had had over the past month, he knew Maverick wasn’t the type to linger quietly in the background, offering wise counsel like some great sage.
No, the young man was already something else entirely. He wasn’t evil—Lupin could tell that much—but he wasn’t the kind to play by anyone’s rules, either. And certainly not a saint.
But then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Because the truth was, Lupin had spent all his life trying to follow the rules of a world that had no place for him, one that labeled him a monster and cast him out. And when someone came along who offered to tear down that world and build a new one in its place, why wouldn’t he be tempted?
In the end, the choice hadn’t been difficult. He had taken the offer. He wanted to help build something better—not just for himself, but for everyone who had been cast aside and forgotten.
“How long was I unconscious?” Lupin asked, setting those thoughts aside. He wasn’t the same man anymore. He wasn’t the cursed creature scraping by with nothing to lose. For the first time in years, he felt like a man who might actually have something ahead of him.
“Two days,” Ali replied. “You should stay in bed a while longer. Let everything settle in. How do you feel now?”
“It’s getting better,” Lupin murmured, lowering his head back to the pillow. A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. “You know... I can feel it. The beast. It’s right there. Like... like I could turn any time I wanted to.”
“Don’t,” Ali said firmly. “Not yet. Rest first. Take the potions Ms. Sarah Walker left for you. Then we can begin the tests. Oh—and the leader said to tell you that he’ll handle Hogwarts. Said something about arranging a leave of absence for you with the Headmaster.”
“Mm. I see...” Lupin said, making no objection. There was nothing to argue with, and more than anything, he wanted to test the changes he was feeling before going anywhere.
The rest of the day went by in a blur, and he barely left the bed. People came in and out of the room with food, potions, even injections meant to help his body adjust. And in the afternoon, he finally met the woman behind the miracle—the brilliant mind who created the potion.
Sarah Walker.
She wasn’t at all what he had pictured—not the cold, emotionless type most potioneers tended to be, at least in his experience. In fact, she was downright charming, warm, and expressive—not at all like a certain other master potioneer he knew who dressed like a bat.
And under her supervision, the next day, he finally got to test the results for himself.
Merlin be damned, it felt good, was the first thought that crossed Lupin’s mind.
The power that coursed through him, the ease of transformation—as though he were merely stepping into a different form rather than unleashing some terrible inner monster—it was everything that had been promised and all he had hoped for. He felt no pain, nor any madness. The transformation, for lack of a better term, was like putting on and taking off a mask.
Then came even more astonishing news. Apparently, his magic had reached the critical level commonly known as the bottleneck point—meaning he was now only a single step away from becoming a Greatmage, something he had never even dared to dream of.
All that was left was the final spark, the sudden clarity or awakening that would push him across the threshold.
A Greatmage. Even now, it sounded absurd to him. For most of his life, he had been treated like a liability. And yet now, he stood on the edge of becoming something only a handful of wizards ever achieved.
True, he was still technically a mage, but it was only a matter of time. He knew he had the intellect. He always had—no one had ever denied his brilliance, only ignored it because of what he was.
Sooner or later, he would get there.
---
The days passed. A full week went by as he trained under Ali’s supervision, slowly adjusting to his new abilities. Sarah oversaw the more technical parts of his recovery, running tests and noting down observations, and when she finally signed off on his discharge, Ali took over fully.
Finally, at the end of the week, he saw Maverick again—for the first time since he had willingly agreed to become his subordinate.
“Leader…”
“Just address me as you used to, Remus…” Maverick waved a hand at him. “How are you coping with the changes?”
“Never felt better in all my life…” Lupin said with a grin.
“That’s good…” Then, turning to Ali, Maverick asked, “Has the teacher finished running all the tests?”
“Yes. She finished a couple of days ago and has already left.”
"Right…" With that, Maverick finally took a proper look at the man, who now exuded some confidence—a sharp contrast to the hollow shell he used to be.
Interesting.
“Your magic’s grown a lot too, I see. Won’t be long before we’ve got another Greatmage in our ranks.”
From the feedback he was getting, Maverick could sense that Lupin’s magic was now at the edge. Unfortunately, he hadn’t taken that step like Ali, but that wasn’t a problem. Lupin was only a single step away, and Maverick would soon have another Greatmage on his side.
“Yes… I can feel it too,” Lupin said, glancing down at his hand and gripping his wand. “My magic has become much stronger.”
“I’ve got a few methods in mind to help you push through,” Maverick said, tapping a finger to his chin. “We’ll try them next week. For now, just focus on getting used to the power-up you have now.”
“I understand…” Lupin also agreed thinking it was best not to rush the process.
“Right then. Show me your transformation.”
“Alright.” With that, Lupin took a breath and, tapping into the instinct he had honed with Ali all week, transformed into a massive werewolf nearly three meters tall—radiating power, nothing like the thin, wiry creature he used to become.
“Okay, that’s enough. Change back.” Maverick gave a few nods, made some observations, and told him.
The massive creature gave an intelligent nod, then reverted just as quickly—his clothes and all, all intact. But that had nothing to do with natural transformation; it was all thanks to the ring now on his finger. With a bit of clever alchemy, it wasn’t much of a problem.
“Let’s head back to Hogwarts then… That old man has been grinding me the entire week, making me cover your classes…”
Today was the last day of the weekend, and tomorrow classes would start again.
“By the way, where’s Black?” he asked Ali before leaving.
“At home. Going over the Christmas plan.”
Hearing that, Maverick couldn’t help but chuckle, imagining Black buried under a ton of papers. The Christmas plan was actually the script Sirius had to follow after turning himself in to the Ministry and during the trial, so it was for his own good anyway.
With that thought, he made a circular motion with his hand and conjured a portal straight to Scotland.
“Come, Remus, let’s go back.”
---
A few minutes later, the two of them walked side by side along the winding, sloped path lined with trees and fences on either side, leading from Hogsmeade toward the school gates.
“By the way…” Lupin asked as they made their way, “what are we going to tell the headmaster about me not needing to take time off during full moons anymore?”
“You don’t have to worry. I’ve reported your situation to that old man already. Sooner or later he’d find out, and I figured it’s better to get it over with.”
“Everything?”
“More or less… He knows now that my teacher has developed a potion to cure lycanthropy and is planning on mass producing it. I didn’t go into details about your version, but… yeah, he knows you don’t need Wolfsbane anymore, or the full moon.”
“I see…” Lupin nodded thoughtfully as they passed through the front gate.
No dementors guarded the entrance anymore—not after the incident during the Quidditch trials—but several of those cursed things still circled high above the school.
2025-08-06 00:01:32 +0000 UTC
View Post
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed through the warped hallways of what could only be described as a long-forgotten house. The walls were peeling, the ceiling sagged like it had given up trying to stay upright, and the whole place gave off the kind of vibe that suggested it had seen some seriously messed-up stuff in its time.
This was the Shrieking Shack, an abandoned house on the edge of Hogsmeade.
Inside, the floorboards groaned with every step, as though the house itself disapproved of visitors. The air was thick with the stench of rot, tinged with something sharp and metallic—like old blood, long dried but not quite forgotten.
Dust curled in the torchlight as a heavy wooden door swung open with a long, reluctant creak. The room beyond looked more like a dungeon than anything else.
It was cold inside. The floor seemed damp and uneven, with cracked beams overhead and cobwebs so thick they could’ve snared an owl. It felt part prison, part tomb. And it wasn’t empty.
At the far end of the room, behind a set of thick iron bars, sat a man. Chains bound his wrists and ankles, and judging by his hollow expression and slumped posture, he looked far too used to his miserable situation—or perhaps he had simply been there too long.
The cage offered nothing in the way of comfort—just enough room to curl up or take a few short steps. But he didn’t look like he had the strength for either. His back rested heavily against the bars, and a half-healed gash ran across his collarbone.
“Looks like you’ve had better days, Professor Lupin…” a lazy voice echoed from the shadows, filling the room.
The man in question was indeed Remus Lupin, the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. But beneath the quiet dignity of a teacher lay a much darker truth—he was also a werewolf.
And tonight, the moon would rise at its fullest—which, for a werewolf, could only mean one thing: pain, madness, and an unbearable hunger that refused to be reasoned with.
Hearing that familiar voice, the miserable-looking man stiffened at first, then slowly emerged from the fog of his thoughts. He squinted toward the sound as slow, unhurried footsteps approached through the gloom.
Slowly, the speaker emerged into the flickering glow of the lone torch, hands buried in the pockets of his long coat. The light caught his face just enough to reveal angular features—and a smile as unreadable as the dark behind him.
“Mr… Master Caesar?” With some effort, Lupin pushed himself upright and managed a croaky, uncertain voice. “What are… did the Headmaster send you?”
“Not really,” Maverick shrugged one shoulder. “Just thought I’d drop in, offer you a... toast. You look like you could use one.”
He didn’t sound particularly concerned—or serious.
Why would he be? Lupin thought bitterly, just before he saw the young man make a casual wave of his hand, vanishing the metal bars between them. A chair appeared behind him, and he sat down lazily, crossing one leg over the other.
Is he really here to share a drink with me? he wondered, noting the casualness of his expression.
“Get up,” he heard him say all of a sudden, then saw him snap his fingers.
Lupin opened his mouth, wanting to speak. He had plenty on his mind—starting with why in Merlin’s name Maverick was even here—but the young man kept flicking his fingers, casually working one bit of magic after another, leaving him no chance to get a word in.
The chains binding his limbs and the collar around his neck vanished next, before a chair appeared beside him, followed by a small table between them.
What is this? Old friends settling in for a quiet drink? More inexplicable thoughts crossed Lupin’s already muddled mind.
“Well…”
He glanced at Maverick, who was gesturing to the chair. What else could he do, except, with a helpless sigh, do as he was told?
And just as he settled into the seat, he saw Maverick made yet another hand gesture—this time a slow, circular motion to his side.
Subsequently, a portal just big enough for an adult to step through appeared out of thin air next to him.
He had seen the same magic done by him before, so he wasn’t too taken aback. He had been wanting to ask about it but shrugged the thought aside when another man walked through the portal into the dilapidated room. The newcomer was also familiar—someone he had met just a few days ago.
Now Lupin was more confused than curious. He had no idea what was happening. Tonight, he was supposed to go through the usual transformation—in other words, suffer miserably through the excruciating pain of bones and flesh reshaping and breaking. He was more or less used to it. Not the suffering, of course, but the experience of it.
"Sit, my friend..." Maverick made another chair materialize, and now the two of them sat in front of a very confused Remus Lupin, who looked like he had far too many questions.
"Now... Mr. Lupin, I don't think you and my friend Ali here have been properly acquainted, right? You two only met briefly that evening when we went to see Black."
Lupin nodded absentmindedly. The itch was already creeping through his body, a warning that the beast would soon take over.
Was this really the right time or place to get acquainted with someone? He didn’t say it out loud. Instead, he gave a polite nod to the stern-looking man from the Middle East.
“Ali here is actually the one overseeing all my projects. Whether it’s business or something else, he takes a lot off my plate. And, most importantly, he’s my closest friend.”
“Then… you, Mr. Ali, are a lucky man to be so valued by Master Caesar,” Lupin said, still confused. He still had no idea what's going on and why he was being told all this.
“He’s also a werewolf, just like you…”
“I see…”
“…”
“Wait, what?”
Lupin’s already juggling mind became even more confused by the sudden bombshell.
“But how? Why? Aren’t you worried or taking any precautions? Don’t you know what tonight represents—”
His first thought after hearing the shocking revelation was why, then, they were being so casual about it. Shouldn't Ali be locking himself up as well?
But Maverick cut him off, and what he said next almost made his brain short-circuit.
“Ah, that should be past tense... apologies, Mr. Lupin. I meant he used to be like you—once infected with lycanthropy, forced to suffer that gruesome transformation every full moon...”
“Once?”
“Indeed,” Maverick nodded approvingly, glad Lupin was following despite the shocking news. “Yes. He was like you. Until one of my teachers, a master potioneer, by blending cutting-edge Muggle biology with her incredible potion-making talent, found a…” He paused, searching for the right word, then added, “a way around it.”
Lupin didn’t say a word, but the look on his face said everything. First there was confusion, then shock, and finally wide-eyed disbelief. His mouth hung half open, as if wanting to say something, but no words came out.
His head then slowly turned to Ali, who looked at him expressionlessly, sitting with arms crossed over his chest like nothing could faze him, then to Maverick, who was giving him an amused smile. Many, many thoughts were racing through his mind now, and he didn’t know where to start.
Maverick gave him a moment to digest everything, then just started casually chatting with Ali about something else, leaving Lupin to stew in his thoughts.
“Are you… are you making some sick joke, Master Caesar?” he asked at last, after a moment’s silence. He had heard too many unbelievable things—too good to be true—and his first thought was that Maverick was trying to humiliate him.
“Hmm… thought you’d think like that…” Maverick turned to him, showing no sign of offense. He wasn’t bothered that Lupin had assumed he might be playing some kind of cruel prank.
To Lupin’s credit, there was nothing wrong with that. After all, many had tried to find a cure for lycanthropy, and throughout history, none had succeeded. It sounded so good that his subconscious simply refused to believe it right away.
So the quickest way to make Lupin believe was simply to show him.
With that in mind, Maverick turned to Ali and gave a small nod. In response, Ali stood up—and right before Lupin's wide, disbelieving eyes—turned into the very beast he knew far too well.
Familiar, yes… but isn't that a bit too massive?
He wanted to ask how, but the sight in front of him—the towering werewolf whose head nearly touched the ceiling—was just a little too intimidating to question out loud.
Thankfully, Ali changed back a moment later to his human self—somehow, weirdly, with his clothes still perfectly in place. He calmly sat back down, and the room fell quiet again, save for the soft crackle of the lone torch on the wall.
"Right then... ask your questions," Maverick said, gesturing with his hand, and Lupin finally managed to pull his thoughts together and return to the present.
"How?" was the first word he managed.
"Like I said, my teacher developed a serum to counter lycanthropy. What you just witnessed was the result—an effortless, painless transformation, just like that of an Animagus. Instantaneous. Now, my friend here doesn’t have to worry about the full moon; it has absolutely no effect on him. In his transformed state, he maintains full control over the beast within him."
He continued, "And as you saw, the creature he becomes is significantly larger than a typical werewolf. That means he’s stronger—in every sense of the word—than any werewolf alive. Not even Lucian, the leader of the Lycans, can match him. And that’s not just because of the transformation. Ali is also a Great Mage-rank wizard."
Maverick didn’t bother with embellishments or metaphors. He explained it plainly and truthfully.
Once again, Lupin was left gaping at what he was hearing. But this time, he snapped out of it more quickly. Rational thought returned.
First of all, this couldn’t possibly be a joke. Why would someone like Maverick Caesar—an accomplished Archmage—go through all this trouble just to humiliate him? There was no gain in it. So, this had to be real. Someone had finally found a way out for werewolves like him.
Yes. A way out. Even if it wasn’t a “cure,” it was something infinitely better.
The worst thing about being a werewolf wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the loss of control. The agony of bones breaking and flesh reshaping each full moon was horrible, but what haunted him most was knowing he would lose his mind, become something feral, something monstrous.
Many good people he had known were driven to the dark side by that helplessness. They had no choice but to adapt. And adapting meant giving in—surrendering to the beast, becoming killers once a month just to survive.
Only a few—like himself—who were well-educated, mentally disciplined, and connected to powerful figures, could endure that existence without eventually being labeled a threat or a criminal.
But if what he just heard was true, that entire horror could be left behind. They could live normal lives again... and more.
Yet, after a storm of thoughts passed through his head, Lupin knew better than to believe that something this miraculous would come without a price.
"Why... are you telling me this, Master Caesar?"
Maverick gave him a pleased smile.
"Good. You're still thinking clearly, even after hearing all that. That’s why I like you, Remus Lupin."
With a casual wave of his hand, two small glass vials appeared on the table in front of Lupin, each filled with a different colored liquid.
"My teacher actually created two potions," Maverick said. He pointed to the vial on the right.
"This is the one Ali took. It allows for transformation at will, painless and controlled—exactly as you saw. He retains his magic, and gains immense power in his beast form. It’s not a cure, but a complete solution."
Lupin listened in silence, absorbing every word.
Then, Maverick pointed to the other vial.
"This one, however, is different. It’s a true cure. A complete and permanent removal of lycanthropy. But... it comes at a cost."
His voice darkened slightly as he added,
"Along with the beast, it takes your magic too. You’d be rid of lycanthropy, yes—but you’d also become like a Squib."
Just like with the other, Maverick explained the full properties of the second potion—both benefits and consequences—in thorough detail.
Once everything was laid out, Maverick then got straight to the heart of the matter, without any further detours or riddles.
"Mr. Remus Lupin, you have two options."
He pointed to the vial on the left.
"Take this, and free yourself of the beast forever. You’ll lose your magic, yes—but there are no catches. I offer this to you freely and without expectation. Because, frankly, after taking it, you’ll be of no use to me."
"In fact, my teacher and his team are working on mass-producing this formula. It will be made public to the magical world soon enough. Whether you take it from me or not, you’ll eventually have access to it."
Lupin wasn’t a fool. He may have begun this bizarre encounter dazed and confused, but now he was starting to understand exactly what this young man wanted.
This wasn’t just a visit. It was a proposal. What could possibly interest a powerful Archmage like Maverick Caesar in him—other than he himself?
The realization landed in his chest like a stone, and he knew—this, right now, was the moment of truth.
"Or," Maverick continued, "you choose the potion here," gesturing to the right,
"the one Ali took. It’s extremely rare, and cannot be mass-produced. Which means it’s incredibly valuable to me. I only offer it to those I trust. My own people."
He looked at Lupin with a gaze as firm as steel.
Then, with a flick of his hand, he gently pushed both vials across the table using magic until they stopped just in front of Lupin.
"Make up your mind."
"Live out your days as a powerless Squib… cast aside by the very world that broke you. Or—" he leaned closer, eyes gleaming with purpose, "become something more, Remus Lupin. Embrace what you are. Become my subordinate—and help me… help me turn this decadent magical world upside down."
2025-08-04 22:10:11 +0000 UTC
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“We’ll only be learning two spells today. Two, very basic ones. First, Expelliarmus—the most common charm used to disarm someone. And then Stupefy—a stunning spell that knocks your opponent out or freezes them in place.”
Maverick glanced over the crowd of students and gave his wand a lazy wave. The floating text that had formed from the chair earlier drifted down to the stage, then reshaped itself once more into something resembling an armoured soldier wielding a longsword.
Clang! Clang!
The construct slammed its heavy sword twice onto the concrete platform, each strike echoing through the hall. The students stared, wide-eyed, clearly impressed by the seamless Transfiguration and even more curious about how it would tie into the lesson.
"Observe!"
Saying that, he turned to the transfigured soldier. On cue, the armored figure lifted its longsword over one shoulder and stomped forward, each heavy step shaking the floor of the hall as it charged straight at him.
"Expelliarmus!"
Maverick thrust his wand forward, slow enough for the demonstration but still with enough force behind it.
Crackle!
A flash of red, crackling light shot out and hit the charging armored knight square in the chest.
Boom!
The students couldn’t help but widen their eyes at the result.
They saw the knight’s longsword fly from its hand, slicing through the air with a sharp hiss as it spun toward Maverick—who simply stepped aside, letting it crash into the floor beside him and sink halfway in.
“Key points: clear target, firm intention,” he explained. “Just think, you don’t want them to have it. Really hold that in your mind. Then focus your magic and blast it away. You don’t even need to aim right at the weapon or wand.”
“Oh, and by the way—when you disarm someone, you’re basically confiscating their weapon. So unless it’s a wand or something light and easy to catch… don’t try grabbing it.”
He shot a look at the sword still stuck in the floor and gave a small nod toward it.
“Whoa! It’s still moving!” someone gasped.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. It seems the armored knight, despite being disarmed, wasn’t done yet.
Thud... Thud... Thud... Thud...
It lunged again with heavy steps, and even without a weapon, it still had its arms and legs—more than enough to attack.
Seeing this, Maverick was in no hurry and moved on to demonstrate the next spell at the same, leasure pace.
“Remember... the key to any spell lies in the strength of your intent,” he said evenly. “For the stunner hex, you just need to want your opponent to stop. That’s it. Don't think too complicatedly, and just want your enemy to freeze... or not move at all. Whatever feels right to you...”
Stupefy!
With a crisp, decisive downward slash, a bright orange bolt shot from his wand and struck the transfigured soldier cleanly in the chest.
Crrrr...
The knight skidded to a halt mid-step, then froze completely—locked in place like someone had hit its pause button.
“...whether it’s a him, her, or some charging beast, just mean it, and the spell will do the rest.”
With that, he gave the transfigured knight one last lazy wave, and both it and the sword melted down, reforming into the simple chair it had once been.
In the time that followed, Maverick carefully broke down both spells as thoroughly as he could, pointing out everything from the tiny changes in how the lips moved to the exact angle each wrist should turn using the illusion spell to project each detail clearly, so the students could follow along with ease.
By now, every student at Hogwarts had experienced his unusual way of teaching, so it didn’t cause much of a fuss. And yet, none of them ever seemed to grow tired of the spectacle. It had always been a fascinating way to learn, and no one had ever raised a single complaint.
…And half an hour later—
"Alright, thats enough talking, and let's begin with the practicals."
With a clap of his hands, he dispelled the illusion and spread his arms wide.
And at the mention of practicals, the students watched eagerly, knowing full well that with this professor, something interesting was always bound to happen.
And Maverick didn’t disappoint. Maybe a little dramatic, sure.
He clapped his hands, then slowly raised them, drawing out the moment. The students gasped as the heavy oak chairs and tables stacked along the edge of the Great Hall began to transform—just like in his earlier demonstration.
Only this time, it wasn’t just a single chair undergoing a seamless transfiguration, but hundreds of them. They all rocked and twisted before transforming into armored knights holding small wooden sticks. As for why not longswords… well, that went without saying.
"Now, I want you all to split into groups—three per group, preferably with each member from a different year. I know some of you have already learned the spell, but still, cooperate. You can always improve your proficiency, so don’t think this is a waste of time..."
Once again, no one noticed how quickly the time passed. The students were too caught up in practicing their spells—freezing, disarming, and occasionally setting off a few unintended sparks.
The entire Hall echoed with a jumble of wobbly incantations. Those who had already mastered the spells were quick to help their classmates, while Maverick made his way from group to group, offering guidance, adjusting stances, and occasionally tossing in a bit of praise.
“Potter,” Maverick called out, his eyes landing on an unusual trio nearby. “Tell me—what’s she doing wrong?”
"Her wrist angle needs to be raised, Professor," Harry replied without missing a beat.
Maverick turned to the second-year and asked, “Did you hear that, Miss Lovegood?”
"I did, Professor," Luna said with a dreamy nod. "Mr. Harry Potter has been a wonderful teacher… almost like a nargle-whisperer, if they were spells instead of invisible creatures." She adjusted her posture, and sure enough, the red beam of light from her wand looked far steadier than before.
"And what about Mr. Wolpert’s?"
The boy in question was a first-year Gryffindor, a little stiff and hesitant. Maverick recognized him from alchemy class—Nigel Wolpert, shy but earnest, and apparently a big fan of Potter.
"Uh… Nigel’s still getting the hang of the incantation, Professor," Harry said. "But he’s improving brilliantly."
"Good..."
Moving forward, weaving past a few more groups, Maverick paused again when he noticed two third-year witches flanking a much smaller first-year girl, trying to coach her through the spell.
“Hold your arm higher, Astoria, like this…” Tracy Davis instructed, demonstrating the movement with a confident flick of her wand.
On the other side, Daphne Greengrass—Astoria’s older sister—chimed in as well, her voice equally firm. But from the way Astoria’s brows furrowed and her grip on the wand tightened, Maverick couldn’t quite tell if the two were helping or overwhelming her.
He watched as the tip of Astoria’s wand strained to release a faint red thread of light, but it fizzled out barely three meters in.
“Your wand movement isn’t the problem,” Maverick’s voice cut in smoothly at the right moment, drawing quick, startled gasps from all three girls. Astoria’s expression morphed quickly from surprise to a pink-cheeked fluster once she realized who it was.
“That… uh… then what is?” she asked hesitantly.
Rather than answering immediately, Maverick turned to the two older girls and raised a brow. “Well?”
“She’s… too nervous?” Tracy offered after a short pause.
Daphne nodded in agreement.
Maverick finally looked back at Astoria. “They’re not wrong. Now, what did I say is the single most important factor when casting a spell?”
Astoria blinked, then her eyes lit up with understanding. She was quick—clearly her sister’s equal in intellect.
“Intent, Professor. Intent!”
“That’s right,” he said, nodding with a small smile. “While casting a spell, your will must always be firm.”
With that, he offered her an encouraging look, then continued his quiet patrol through the crowd while a faint smile of satisfaction played at his lips.
---
When it comes to learning—whether theory or practice—it always clicks better when your heart and mind are fully in the moment. Simply put, when you enjoy the process, it becomes easier. By the end of the class, even the first years had grasped the basics of the two spells at a beginner’s level.
That was no small feat, considering it was just one class and only lasted two hours.
Two hours of class seemed to pass in an instant. When Maverick finally announced the end of the lesson, a chorus of low groans echoed around the room.
It wasn’t just the students who had been present. Under Disillusionment Charms, a few professors had also been quietly observing the entire class from start to finish.
Of course, Maverick had noticed them from the very beginning, but he pretended not to. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence during his lessons.
Most notably, during his Muggle Science classes, he would occasionally sense the presence of other professors—there under Disillusionment Charms so as not to disrupt the rhythm of the lesson.
They were simply there to observe and learn, as much of the content proved enlightening even to them. It had been happening ever since he joined Hogwarts, and by now, he had long grown used to it.
Today, the school’s Headmaster and his deputy were present, along with the Charms professor, and all three were clearly astonished by the students’ reaction when Maverick announced the end of class. After all, whenever they ended their own lessons, no one groaned in disappointment—students usually rushed to get out.
With Maverick, however—whether it was Alchemy or Muggle Science—scenes like this were common. It wasn’t unusual for a few students to linger behind just to ask questions. And now, even in a subject that mainly involved charms, it seemed to be no different.
He really was good at teaching anything, they all thought at once, each with a faint trace of envy in their eyes.
“Class dismissed. We’ll continue with the same tomorrow. Now off you go... back to your common rooms or wherever. I need to return the hall to its original state.”
---
As soon as the last students filed out through the large oak doors, Maverick let out a quiet breath and turned around while making two counter-clockwise circles with his hand above his head.
The hall wouldn’t return to its original state on its own, after all. So, as he climbed the short set of steps up to the stage, he casually set the whole thing in motion.
The hundreds of animated training dummies—most of them now slumped in awkward positions after being blasted, stunned, frozen, or otherwise humiliated by a bunch of teenagers—began twitching back to life. Chairs scraped, tables shifted, and everything that had been transfigured or shoved aside during the lesson started moving back into place like a well-drilled army packing up camp.
It might sounded like a lot was happening—well, it was—but for him, it really wasn’t a big deal. His Transfiguration was already at an advanced level, and when coupled with his overpowered-af magical energy manipulation, the whole process barely took any time at all.
By the time he reached the chair at the center of the stage and dropped into it with all the energy of someone who would rather be doing anything but this, the Great Hall had already returned to looking… well, exactly like the Great Hall.
Not a training arena. Just a massive room with four long tables neatly arranged, plates stacked, benches polished, and not a single dummy in sight.
“What? You three need a lesson on the Stunning and Disarming Hex too?” he asked lazily, one brow raised.
Three chukles echoed the room and three figures materialized next to him, smiling and completely disregarding his rather unimpressed look.
“Headmaster, you cheated! How in Merlin’s name can combining three grades count as a single class?”
The old man just laughed, and honestly, what else could Maverick expect? He was pretty sure Dumbledore wasn’t going to apologize for scamming him in the first place.
“Are you sure there’s no way to convince Professor Caesar to take the permanent Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Albus?” McGonagall suddenly asked, completely ignoring his presence.
Birds of a feather flock together.
“Hey... hey, I’m still here. And don’t even try, Headmaster. Even if you plucked that bird naked and handed its feathers to me, I still wouldn’t agree.”
“Speaking of,” came Flitwick’s cheerful voice, “Maverick, I’ve been needing a phoenix feather myself. And Headmaster just mentioned that you recently came into possession of a good number…”
“Absolutely not,” Maverick cut him off flatly. “Those were hard-earned. Go beg a certain bearded conman if you’re desperate.”
The group chuckled and shared a few more jokes. But eventually, Dumbledore brought the conversation back to the reason they were there in the first place.
“Remus is expected to have his first transformation tonight,” he said calmly. “What are your thoughts, Professor?”
“What does it matter what I think, Headmaster?” Maverick replied with a sigh. “It’s an unavoidable misery he has to endure every month.”
He paused, then asked, “By the way, where exactly is he going to be locking himself in during the transformation?”
“Curious, are you?” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling with that infuriating sparkle.
Maverick’s brow twitched. He was just about to tell the old man to forget he ever asked—then Dumbledore answered anyway.
As expected, it was the same as in the original story. Lupin would be staying in the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade, connected to the castle by a hidden tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.
“Have you never seen a werewolf transformation and are thinking of observing one, Professor?” McGonagall asked.
“Hmm… perhaps.” Maverick didn’t exactly say yes, and just shrugged.
“Well,” she said, “telling you to be careful would be redundant. But if you could… consider easing the poor man’s pain, will you? I’ve heard you’re quite the healer as well...”
Fantastic. More labour.
“Right, right… if I do end up going, I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a lazy wave as he stood up. “Anyway, I’m off for... whatever...”
Without another word, he turned and walked off. He had a feeling if he stayed any longer, these sly old foxes would drag him into another one of their pyramid schemes.
As for Lupin—yes, he was definitely going to visit him tonight.
They were already pretty familiar with each other thanks to the whole mess with Peter Pettigrew, but Lupin hadn’t officially agreed to join him yet.
And there was no way Maverick was about to pass up the chance to recruit this perfectly good thug—ahem—ally—who, if he agreed to take the alternative cure, could be used to terrify the living daylights out of his enemies.
2025-08-03 11:04:45 +0000 UTC
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Bam!
The slam of glass barely registered amid the hum of clinking mugs and off-key singing. In the shadowed corner, three individuals sat cloaked in drink and muttered deliberation.
Having left the Greengrass manor, the three Ministry hardliners had only one thing in mind for the rest of the night: to drench their guts in alcohol until they forgot the whole day ever happened.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t just walk into any wizarding pub to get wasted. If the press caught wind of three well-known officials getting hammered together, it wouldn’t just make headlines. It would destroy their reputations completely.
So, in the end, they settled for a quiet Muggle bar and some good old-fashioned Muggle liquor. Sure, the stuff wouldn’t get them properly drunk—because, well, they weren’t Muggles—but they could pretend. And pretend they did.
"Haaah..."
Amelia Bones let out an exasperated, dramatic sigh.
"Honestly," she muttered while swirling the last of the liquid in her shot glass, "I’m starting to wonder if we were under some kind of Confundus... Otherwise, I’m sure we’d have reprimanded that mad kid for spouting half that madness."
"Come now, Madam Bones. You can’t honestly pretend you weren’t convinced by the young man’s presentation. I saw that look in your eyes at the end, lady—"
"Shut it, Kingsley. At least I didn’t call out Merlin’s genitals after learning that lunatic is still not dead..."
Despite the head-throbbing predicament they found themselves in, the three of them still managed to share a laugh.
A silence here, a complaint there—a groan, a laugh—and glass after glass emptied into their stomachs as they failed to do what they had come here for.
After all, how do you pretend to forget something? No matter how many drinks they had, the Muggle alcohol wasn’t even as comforting as a warm butterbeer. It barely took the edge off.
After a moment, Scrimgeour finally decided to address the elephant in the room. "Do you know what Gellert Grindelwald’s most terrifying ability was?"
“Grindelwald?” Amelia chuckled, and poured herself another glass. “Are you officially classifying the kid as a Dark Lord now, Director?”
“No.” The older man shook his head, slowly but firmly. “The kid’s no Dark Lord. But they do have something in common... Grindelwald’s most terrifying ability wasn’t his magic—it was his tongue. They say anyone who listened to his speeches had no choice but to be seduced by them... to believe in his cause. And, well... I think I know that feeling now.”
"Here’s to us—two grown men and a woman—being seduced by a kid who’s just crossed his teens, then..." Auror Shacklebolt said, unceremoniously raising his glass with a grin that showed all his teeth.
“Not get off, Kingsley...” Amelia said, but she was smiling anyway, and her glass still clinked against his.
Then, “Director…” she added, turning to Scrimgeour with a more serious look. “Tell me honestly... how much of it do you believe?”
“All of it, to be honest. The boy—like I said—did a fine job in convincing... mapped everything out and laid it all bare for us. Dates, names, locations… even the finer details, like manpower and placement during the main operation, were accounted for. His grand plan, if everything falls into place, will be…” He paused, then chuckled in spite of himself. “…for the greater good of the magical world.”
“Dear Merlin… and his majestic beard.” Amelia seems to have finally lost the last bit of fight in her after hearing her superior say it. She slumped her head down onto the table—once, twice, then a third time—before finally making up her mind.
Then, glancing between her two colleagues, the two people she’d trust with her life, she spoke seriously.
“For our children… our cousins, nieces, little brothers and sisters—I’ll trust him then. But only after he convinces Albus Dumbledore. Until then, we pretend we never heard any of that madness in the first place. What do you think?”
“Until he convinces Albus Dumbledore, then…”
Clink.
Three glasses clinked together amidst the bustle inside the bar, and somehow, the three of them heard it clearly.
What they didn’t know was that, at that very moment, a young man sitting at the table right next to them had heard their entire conversation from beginning to end.
With a satisfied smile, seeing that everything had worked out for the better, Maverick didn’t linger there any longer. It had been a long night, and he had basically used every brain cell in his head trying to convince the three hardliners of his main objective. Fortunately, he succeeded.
Of course, he was not dumb enough to simply leave things as they were. He had set up safeguards on all three of them—a kind of blood oath, but without the nasty pain if someone were to break it. Just in case any of them got cold feet and tried to leak his plans, he would know immediately. Even if it was only a thought in their minds.
He got up, gave his coat a quick brush as if there was dust on it, dropped some coins on the table, and casually walked past the trio toward the door. Outside, the nearly full moon shone brilliantly over the city. Without looking back, he stepped out and disappeared into the night, jumping straight back to Hogwarts.
---
October rolled around, and while the calendar said it was autumn, the sky over Hogwarts had barely noticed. Still grey. Still miserable, thanks to the Dementors hovering over the castle. It had been a month since school started, and throughout all of September, the castle had barely seen any sunlight.
The wind had picked though, carrying that unmistakable bite of early autumn. The grounds were littered with fallen leaves, making a satisfying crunch every time someone walked over them. Rain came and went like it was on a random schedule, and by now, most students had ditched their lighter cloaks for the thick, heavy ones. Inside, the fireplaces were working overtime, crackling in almost every corridor and common room just to keep the chill away.
On a regular Monday during the first week of the month, Maverick stood at the front of his class, facing a sea of noisy, excitable teenagers. He should have been used to this by now, but today, his expression was as black as the bottom of a pot.
I should’ve just suggested letting the old bat handle it, like in the original story, he complained inwardly, letting out a resigned sigh.
Yesterday, he had finally carved out a bit of leisure time for himself after all the juggling between Hogwarts matters and his own business. He had his tea ready, a book in hand, and was just about to settle in for some light reading… when Dumbledore’s glorified chicken burst into his office like it owned the place.
Without even giving him time to groan, the bird dropped a summons from its master, asking him to come to the office immediately.
Sighing, Maverick gave in, thinking it might actually be something urgent, so he let the bird flash him straight into Dumbledore’s office. After all, the old man usually sends a Patronus for messages, and he doesn’t send his phoenix to pick people up unless it’s serious.
It wasn’t serious. He saw Lupin was already there and didn’t need to ask anything else. He knew exactly what this was about. So before Dumbledore could even motion to a chair, he shut the old man down.
“No!”
Unfortunately, that was not the end of it.
Fast forward to today, and here he was, standing in front of nearly four hundred students, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for the first time… while Remus Lupin was off doing his thing.
Why the change of heart?
Well, let’s just say Dumbledore dangled quite the reward—access to some of his personal collection of rare texts. That, and a certain bird was now missing half its tail feathers, and only then did he agree. And that too for a maximum of two classes.
“Quiet!”
Maverick had to magically amplify his voice to cut through the loud chatter. This wasn’t a normal classroom—it was the Great Hall, cleared of all tables and chairs to make space.
Why? Because the old man was a scammer. Even though Maverick had agreed to teach only two classes until Lupin got better, those two classes were actually multiple grades combined—Years 1–3 in one class, and Years 4–7 in the other.
In other words, he was teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to all seven grades for the time being. And today was the first group—First to Third Years.
About three hundred and seventy-something in total. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to use as class material, because he clearly couldn’t use Lupin’s notes to continue where he left off—after all, all three grades were lumped together now.
Maverick raised his hand to quiet the few remaining frenzied teenagers, and when the hall finally settled, his voice, devoid of the usual cheer he has in his other classes, reached the students' ears.
"Very good... I think we can skip the self-introductions. But since this isn't your usual kind of class, I won’t be referring to any of your textbooks... so you might as well put them away."
As he said that, his eyes scanned the room for something he could use for Transfiguration and landed on a single chair near the staff entrance. With a casual flick of his wand, he summoned it beside him and began the lesson.
As for why he was using a wand—well, it was purely for demonstration. This was Defense Against the Dark Arts, after all. Unlike his official courses, this subject required students to learn actual spellwork. Simply waving his hand would only make things harder for them to follow, so it was better to let them clearly see the wand movements.
And since this would only be a temporary class, he didn’t intend to overthink what to teach. Of course, he wasn’t about to half-bake the responsibility either. He already had the perfect idea—two basic spells that were relatively safe, with immediate effects, making them ideal starting points for beginners.
It might be a little challenging for the younger students, but even so, it would still serve as a solid foundation for their grades ahead.
“Today, I plan to teach you two spells which I like to call as... the basics. In my opinion, they’re two of the most important charms any witch or wizard should learn early on.”
Everyone was paying attention intently, so he gave a small nod and continued.
“The first is Expelliarmus—the Disarming Charm. The second is Stupefy—the Stunning Spell.”
The chair beside him seemed to melt into a silvery liquid, then rose into the air and shaped itself into the names of the spells he had just mentioned, floating clearly above his head for all the students to see.
“Once I’ve demonstrated them, you’ll have the rest of the two-hour session to practice. If you need help, don’t hesitate to come up and ask. And if you already know the spells I’m about to show, I’d appreciate it if you helped your classmates who don’t.”
“Alright. Let’s begin.”
2025-08-01 21:13:49 +0000 UTC
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For a moment, the three Ministry veterans said nothing as they emerged from the Pensieve. They looked at one another, each searching for the right words—but nothing came.
If what they’d seen was true—and they had no reason to doubt it—then the Ministry of Magic had condemned an innocent man to the darkest corner of the wizarding world for over ten years.
Morally, it was no better than handing someone a death sentence—ten years locked away in that place without a fair trial, without even a chance to speak for himself. Especially for these three, who were known for their integrity and sense of right and wrong, this wasn’t something they could simply shrug off just because it was an old, buried case.
And politically, for those responsible, it was a disaster waiting to explode—not just for them individually, but a stain that would affect the entire Ministry. A failure so profound, it could shatter public trust and bring down entire careers in a single stroke.
Finally, after a long pause, as if a silent understanding had passed between them, the three then turned to the one who had brought them here.
And almost in unison, they asked the same question—
“Where are they? Where are Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew?”
"Peter Pettigrew is alive and being held captive in the dungeons of this very manor. As for Sirius Black, I have him secured in another location."
Now that they seemed to understand—or at least realize that everything they had believed about the case was likely false—Maverick decided to show them Pettigrew as well. It would be the final nail in the coffin to fully convince them.
Moreover, their reactions were more or less what he had expected, so the plan could move forward—and showing them Pettigrew after the memories had always been part of it.
Then, glancing at Jameson, Maverick gave a slight nod, signaling him to proceed.
Lord Greengrass caught the signal, stepped forward, and motioned for the others to follow. Without another word, the group was led through the manor’s halls and down into the dungeons—where the rat who had started it all was waiting.
---
Some time later…
“You must have some incredible Healers at your disposal—or was the violence we saw in the memories all staged, Lord Greengrass?”
Amelia Bones narrowed her eyes at Peter Pettigrew, who, despite what she had just witnessed in the Pensieve, appeared uninjured and quite intact. After all, she and her colleagues had seen the brutal beating he had taken from Sirius and Lupin, enough to leave any man barely clinging to life.
“I healed him,” Maverick said cutting in before Lord Greengrass. “If you don’t believe me, feel free to beat him to death again... I can patch him up just fine.”
And right when Maverick was speaking, it just so happened that Peter, who had been sleeping in the cage, also woke up from his miserable nap—and heard every word that was said.
A chill ran down his spine, and the color drained from his already pale face as memories of that day—the beating, the healing, and the pain again and again—crashed back into his mind.
“No! No, no, no, please, don’t!” he screamed, trembling as he scrambled against his chains. “I already told you! It was me—I betrayed James! I’m the one who killed the Muggles! Please, don’t hurt me again... I’ll tell you everything... the Death Eaters... I’ll give you all their names—even the ones you don’t know about! Please... just get me out of here... please—”
“Really lives up to his Animagus moniker, doesn’t he?” Maverick muttered, then flicked his finger and fired a Stunning Hex, shutting up his annoying rant.
He really has had enough of the miserable thing’s wailing for a lifetime, having listened to Sirius and Lupin beat him up for nearly an hour the other day.
Looking back at the trio, he said, “If you need to clarify anything else, go ahead—use Veritaserum, torture... I honestly don’t care.”
“I think we’ve heard enough for now,” Rufus Scrimgeour said, eyeing the fat man chained in the cage with a scrutinizing glare.
Kingsley and Amelia both nodded in agreement, having reached the same conclusion. They didn’t linger much longer. After confirming that Pettigrew was indeed alive and well, the three of them returned upstairs to the dining room.
---
“I want to see Sirius Black!”
Back in the dining room, no sooner had everyone settled than Amelia Bones spoke up with a firm demand.
“Soon. But on my terms, Madam Bones,” Maverick locked eyes with her.
“What terms? I thought you wanted to clear his name. Hand over Pettigrew and Sirius Black, and we’ll take it from there. There’s nothing complicated about this...”
“You’re right… but I don’t want to hand either of them over to the Ministry. Not yet.”
Bam!
It seemed the woman could no longer hold her patience—Bones slammed her hand hard on the table.
“What nonsense are you talking about, kid? Aren’t we here to help clear Sirius Black’s name and lock up the real criminal?”
“Amelia…” Rufus quickly reached over and placed his palm over her hand before she went too far and ended up pissing off the seemingly harmless young man. Did she forget who this man was? he wondered, cold sweat forming on his brow.
A moment of tense silence settled over the room before Maverick finally let out a quiet sigh.
“Madam Bones, if you’ll allow me to finish speaking first...”
"Mr. Speaker, please. Tell us what’s on your mind..." Kingsley also chimed in as gently as possible, trying to cool the air.
He hadn’t forgotten how, not too long ago, that this kid effortlessly massacred Greyback’s werewolf pack like they were nothing.
Fortunately, the boy was quite civil—and not easily agitated. Otherwise… tsk, tsk, he thought, glancing at his female colleague, who now, thankfully, looked a lot calmer.
"My apologies, Mr. Speaker..."
Maverick waved it off. He really didn't mind, and besides, if he lashed out now, it would only make it harder to get them to fall in line later.
“As I was saying, I do not want this case brought to the Ministry just yet…” — he stressed the final words — “because while Sirius Black gets his long-overdue trial, I also want it to be the hearing where Cornelius Fudge serves his final day as Minister for Magic.”
Bones, Kingsley, and Scrimgeour exchanged glances. They were well aware that Maverick was backing Lord Greengrass’s so-called neutral faction in the Wizengamot, and no one believed he was doing it out of idle interest.
It wasn’t unusual, really. In many countries, powerful mages often stood behind political parties—or factions, whatever one preferred to call them. So the fact that he was pushing his own candidate for the top seat didn’t come as much of a surprise.
What did surprise them, though, was how quickly it was all happening. Maverick was only in his early twenties, and it couldn’t have been long since he started involving himself in the country’s politics. They all had the same thought.
And then there was the other matter. It was true that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban during Fudge’s term—but he had been imprisoned long before Fudge ever took office. Technically, the blame for that wrongful conviction couldn’t be laid at his feet.
So how, then, was Maverick planning to tie Fudge’s removal to Sirius Black’s trial? Doubts lingered in their minds, but none of them voiced it, and waited listening as Maverick continued.
“On the day of the trial,” he said, turning to the noble Lord seated to his right, “Jameson here will put forth a motion under Article 42B of the Magical Governance Charter, citing gross dereliction of duty and endangerment of the public. Specifically, he will move for a vote of no confidence in Minister Fudge.”
“He will argue that Fudge authorized Dementors to patrol the entire country... most notably, a school full of children... based purely on blind faith that they could be controlled. Jameson will also present evidence that the Ministry holds no formal or legally binding contract with the Dementors. Only a loose agreement with absolutely no accountability. No oversight. Nothing in writing.”
Maverick leaned forward slightly.
“That alone would be enough, of course, to put forward the motion I mentioned earlier... but when you factor in the multiple documented cases of Dementors attacking children over the past month, it stops being just incompetence. It becomes recklessness.”
“The impeachment proposal,” he went on, “will be filed in full accordance with Section 14 of the Wizengamot Disciplinary Code, which permits the assembly to dismiss a sitting Minister if one-third of the members support the motion and half agree to the vote following public hearing and evidence submission.”
He gave them a small, confident smile.
“As of today, Jameson and his allies already hold a third of the seats. I have influence over others whose support I won’t name just yet, and more are joining with each passing month. By the time of the trial, I am confident the votes will be there.”
“And when that vote passes, a new Minister will be elected.”
He let that hang in the air for a moment, then added,
“And that person, Madam Bones, gentlemen… I don’t think I need to spell it out. He’s sitting right in front of you.”
The three looked as though they were about to speak, but Maverick raised a hand firmly.
“Let me finish.”
"The hearing’s main goal is to clear Sirius Black’s name... but once it begins—after the opening statements and formalities—there’ll be a motion put forward to impeach Cornelius. Grounds: gross negligence and endangerment."
He paused, then added, “Because the two things are directly connected. Fudge isn’t just some bystander in Black’s case—he’s the one who gave the Dementors free rein. They attacked students on the train, and again during the Quidditch trials. These weren’t minor slip-ups. A lot of noble families are furious—it was their children who got caught in the middle, after all.”
"It will hit him fast... before he even gets a chance to breathe."
“Then, once the Wizengamot votes him out and the new Minister’s in place, the hearing for Sirius will go ahead like planned. And if everything goes the way it should… we’ll have one less idiot in charge, and an innocent man will finally get the justice he deserves.”
Maverick finished speaking and gave them a small nod, inviting their thoughts. “Go on then... say what you’re thinking.”
Rufus, being the most senior, was the first to speak once a brief silence had passed.
“Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Speaker—I’m not exactly a fan of Cornelius either. But what you said has a lot of ifs... How sure are you that you’ll get the votes you need in the next few months?”
"I know I can secure at least half the Wizengamot," Maverick said confidently. "Jameson’s faction already makes up a bit over a third, and like I said before—without naming names—I can pull in a few votes from the pure-blood hardliners. That just leaves Dumbledore’s side. And believe it or not, I already have something in motion to sway most of them."
He then added with a small smirk, "And if I’m not mistaken, the three of you fall under that camp..."
"If it means booting out the fat man and giving an innocent bloke his justice..." Kingsley shrugged, "you’ve got my vote, Mr. Speaker."
Maverick nodded once, then turned to the woman across from him.
"Madam Bones?" he asked, raising a brow. She hadn’t said a word yet, but she looked like she had a lot on her mind.
Then finally—
"Why?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "You’re moving too fast, Mr. Speaker... If you want my support, you’ll have to be honest with me. Why are you so desperate to install your puppet in the Ministry?"
She paused briefly, turning her gaze to Lord Greengrass without a shred of apology.
"No offense, my lord," she added dryly, then returned her stare to Maverick.
"But if I’m backing this, I need to know the truth."
The room grew heavy for a moment after her blunt words. Lord Greengrass's jaw tensed, but he held back, waiting for his leader to speak first.
Maverick met her stare calmly for a moment, then slowly broke into a grin.
"You really do live up to your nickname, Madam Bones. The Stone Lady."
Having said that, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Time for a proper presentation.
The sharp snap echoed through the room. The lights flickered briefly, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and for a moment, the air seemed charged with something. Then... everything appeared to settle back to normal.
"My Lady. Gentlemen," Maverick said, drawing their attention back. "You’re not wrong. I am indeed in a rush..."
He leaned forward slightly as his expression turned a shade serious.
“I don’t mind telling you why. But once you hear the reasons… there’s no turning back...”
“That sounds like you’re about to do something very dangerous and very illegal.”
Maverick smiled faintly.
"I’ll neither confirm nor deny that, Madam Bones."
He glanced at all three. "Now. Make your choice."
The three exchanged looks once more, silently weighing their options, and Maverick gave them space. If they chose not to dig deeper, fine. Though he would still have their help with Fudge’s removal and Sirius’s exoneration. But beyond that? They wouldn’t be part of his inner circle.
Moments later, Rufus, the senior man, spoke up once again on their behalf.
"Alright. Tell us, Mr. Speaker. What’s got you so desperate to seize control of the Ministry?"
Maverick smiled, deciding to go all out from here on. The spell he had triggered earlier took hold the moment Scrimgeour asked his question.
With plenty of reasons, heaps of evidence, and plenty of convincing—showing them things they never realized were happening all around them, slowly, they came to understand exactly why he needed the Ministry in order and under his leadership.
And the benefits to the magical world he laid out clearly appealed to them. But breaking apart something the entire magical world had clung to for as long as anyone could remember wasn’t going to be easy. And when he finally explained how he planned to do it, the three of them exchanged looks, and quietly marked him as a madman.
Unfortunately, by then, they were already aboard the very madman’s ship.
2025-07-31 22:23:09 +0000 UTC
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