"Sirius!"
Harry finally spotted his anchor, his godfather, through the chaos of bodies and raised wands, and cried out in desperate, overwhelming relief.
He instinctively lurched forward toward that familiar face but the wand pressed harder against his temple in brutal response, digging in with a sharp, painful jab made stars explode across his vision and forced a gasp from his lips.
"Don't move, boy, unless you fancy losing your life right here and now!"
Dawlish's low hiss was filled with menace.
THUD
"When I ran this department, I never—never—allowed my officers to behave so despicably, so cowardly!"
Mad-Eye Moody limped forward shouldering between Remus and Sirius who stood side by side with wands raised and ready to cast.
His face—carved with savage scars from a lifetime of battles, missing a chunk of his nose from some long-ago fight with a dark wizard, his skin battered like old leather twisted with absolute fury as his magical eye rolled and spun wildly in its socket, sweeping over the Aurors who were rapidly closing ranks in a defensive formation before Dawlish and Harry.
He struck his staff hard against the floor with a crack and roared with full force.
"Since when do the Ministry's Aurors take a page straight from dark wizards' tactics—using an innocent child as a human shield?!"
The legendary Auror's authority, his reputation earned through decades of service and countless arrests, made the younger officers stop. Their expressions flickered with hesitation and uncertainty.
"I'm sorry, Alastor," Dawlish said flatly.
He was completely unmoved by his former superior's rage. He stood there breathing hard, his chest heaving with adrenaline, his voice was cold and clipped.
"I don't see a child here in this house. The Auror Office is present to apprehend a dangerous suspect in a murder investigation."
"What?!" Harry exclaimed in complete shock.
He had only just begun to process the relief of realizing this was the real Mad-Eye Moody standing before him—not Cliodna's counterfeit from earlier in the year—when Dawlish's words hit him like a Bludger to the chest, driving all the air from his lungs and leaving him gasping.
"That's—that's wrong, you've made a terrible mistake!" Harry's voice came as panic began creeping in. "I didn't murder anyone! I didn't do anything!"
"Oh, that's not for you to decide, Mr. Potter,"
Dawlish's smile turned hard and dangerous, showing teeth like a wolf. He glanced toward Sirius whose face was murderous with rage and the others who had come with him.
"As for you lot—you came through this Muggle family's fireplace. Very clever, Black. I trust you're aware that's a serious violation of wizarding law. Though I suppose, compared to the far more serious charge of openly organizing to obstruct Aurors in the lawful execution of an arrest—that's rather small fry, isn't it?"
Sirius's expression contorted with rage. He was clearly ready to launch himself forward regardless of consequences, but Remus stopped him just in time.
"Wait—Sirius, wait," Remus said urgently, his voice was tight with forced control.
Remus gave Dawlish a cold, sharp stare, his eyes were blazing with suppressed ferocity.
"You're right that obstructing a lawful arrest is a crime, Dawlish. But that only holds true if the arrest itself is lawful—and right now, all I see is the Ministry shamelessly conspiring to persecute an innocent child."
Harry stared at Remus, barely recognizing him. He had never seen him like this before in all their time together—the wildness contained beneath his normally gentle composure, something feral and ferociousness was flickering in his eyes.
For a fleeting moment Harry thought he was about to transform right here.
"You all heard what Minister Fudge told the press this morning in his official statement," Dawlish pressed on, clearly enjoying himself now, his grip on Harry's wrenched-back wrists were tightening.
"The Ministry has obtained key evidence linking Harry James Potter to a murder. The Auror Office is acting on direct orders from the Minister himself. We are fully within the law, operating under proper authority granted by the Wizengamot." He looked at Sirius with naked contempt dripping from every word.
"As for you, Black—you're an Auror who is openly defying the Ministry, defying your oath of service. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts. You'll be back in your 'old home' before the week is out."
"Oh, gone up in the world since you started following Fudge around like a lapdog, have you, Dawlish?" Sirius snarled. "I'd love to see you try to—"
"Shut your mouth, Sirius!" Moody turned on him savagely.
"Have you forgotten what Dumbledore said about keeping a cool head?!"
"Dumbledore knows about this?! What did he say?!"
Harry shouted the question, his voice was cracking with urgency but the moment the words left his mouth, a strange, nagging feeling crept over him like cold water spreading across his skin.
'Wait.
Was there something—someone—he'd forgotten?'
"Tell me what your evidence is. Tell me who the supposed victim is,"
Moody turned back and roared, cutting through the chaos and rising voices.
"Potter has a right to know all of it under wizarding law! Otherwise, this is an unlawful assault on a minor, and none of you are leaving this house! I'll see to it personally!"
Harry had never technically met the real Mad-Eye Moody before today—all his previous interactions had been with an imposter but in that moment, a wave of genuine gratitude surged through him for this man fighting for him without hesitation.
He could think more clearly now with Moody's forceful intervention.
The panic was receding slightly.
Remus was right—this was a Ministry conspiracy orchestrated by Fudge to distract from the Azkaban disaster, not a real crime with real evidence. He remembered what Professor Watson had said to the Dursleys the last night. He had nothing to truly fear in the long term. Sirius and Remus were here. The Order was here. There was no way they were taking him to Azkaban.
"This is a matter of serious ongoing investigation," Dawlish said, still giving nothing away.
"Until all evidence has been properly examined by qualified personnel and certified by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, we are authorized to maintain complete confidentiality. Harry James Potter must accompany us to the Ministry for formal questioning." He swept an icy look across Sirius and the others.
"Stand down immediately. Right now. Or every single one of you will be arrested for obstruction."
"Oh!" Moody's temper finally snapped completely. He bared his teeth at Dawlish.
"You going to throw me in Azkaban too, are you, boy? Me? That ought to be interesting. Go on, then—try it, you little bastard!!"
The tension in the room was a bowstring pulled to absolute breaking point. The slightest twitch, the smallest movement or incantation, and it would snap violently. Harry's breath came short and fast, his body was coiled tight as a compressed spring—a duel felt inevitable.
TAP—TAP—TAP
And then, just as everyone was tensing to move, to cast the first spell that would ignite everything—there were footsteps on the stairs.
Soft, slow footsteps descending one step at a time. Yet every single person in that crowded room heard them as clearly as a bell tolling through silence.
The figure descending the staircase looked as though he had only just woken up moments ago from a deep sleep. He wore a dark navy silk dressing gown that looked expensive and elegant, a towel was draped casually over one forearm, a ceramic cup for rinsing his teeth was held loosely in his other hand.
His silver hair, ordinarily so smooth and perfectly styled that it looked like spun metal was slightly messy from sleep.
Something shifted in the faces of both opposing sides the moment they saw him come down the stairs.
Bryan reached the ground floor, stifled a yawn behind his hand, and without so much as a glance at the two groups facing off against each other, ambled serenely past them all into the washroom as though they didn't exist. He pulled the frosted glass door shut behind him with a soft click.
Then, from inside that small room, came the sounds of an ordinary morning routine.
Water running from the tap, splashing into the sink. A toothbrush working carefully, back and forth. The soft slap of a towel soaking up water, then being wrung out over the basin.
Time passed. Seconds stretched into minutes. No one moved. No one spoke.
Everyone seemed frozen in place.
Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance. Both of their mouths twitched. Quietly, silently, moving in perfect synchronization, they lowered their wands to their sides in unspoken agreement.
Dawlish, however—Dawlish looked as if he had suffered a profound and deeply personal insult that struck at his very core. His broad face had gone a deep, mottled red like raw meat, his neck was darkening. His breathing grew ragged and uneven. The thick hand pinning Harry's wrists together clamped tighter but the wand pointed at Harry's temple had begun faintly to tremble.
CLICK—
A long, satisfied exhale came from behind the frosted glass. Then the door handle turned, and Bryan stepped out.
"Let him go,"
For the first time since descending the stairs, Bryan's pale violet eyes settled on Dawlish's furious, humiliated face. His voice was extremely calm and gentle.
"Watson, this is a direct order from the Minister of Magic—" Dawlish began.
BOOM.
The word never finished leaving Dawlish's mouth.
Bryan's calm gaze shattered like a pane of glass struck by lightning. A gale-force wind erupted from somewhere around him fiercer and more violent than the blast that had blown out the Dursleys' fireplace moments ago. Several Aurors were hurled clean off their feet like ragdolls, crashing into walls and furniture with sickening thuds.
CRACK
The wooden floorboards beneath Bryan's feet splintered and sank several inches under some invisible, crushing pressure.
Harry's green eyes caught only a streak of blue-grey movement and then—
SLAM
The impact shook the entire house to its very foundations like an earthquake.
Every window rattled violently in its frame. Dust and plaster fell from the ceiling in a white rain. Harry felt the painful grip on his wrists release. The wand disappeared from his temple.
He spun around, gasping for breath. One look, and his breath stopped becoming trapped in his throat.
Professor Watson had his back to him. Harry couldn't see his face. But what he could see was this:
Bryan's open right hand was pressed over Dawlish's face and Dawlish's head, unconscious or perhaps simply dead, was buried halfway into the wooden wall like something had punched him through it.
A thin trickle of blood seeped from between the shattered planks and spread slowly across the floor in an expanding dark pool.
Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Harry Potter. Alastor Moody.
And every single Auror that Dawlish had brought with him to make the arrest.
All of them stood frozen, rooted to the spot like statues, staring at Bryan Watson—at the hand holding Dawlish pinned to the wall like an insect in a display case.
The silence was suffocating.
This moment, this image would be carved into each of their memories, never to be forgotten for as long as they lived.
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