Chapter 14

December 7th, 1941

Hogwarts Library

He kissed him.

Hadrian had kissed him.

It had been no more than a close-mouthed kiss—innocent, warm, and perfect—so, so perfect.

It had been different from the snogging his classmates always bragged about and enjoyed describing in such explicit detail. It had been different than he'd envisioned it would be—better than he'd envisioned—so much more enjoyable and satisfying.

As Hadrian's lips had moved against his, he'd felt cherished—cared for—protected.

It had meant everything to him.

He'd felt...something so strong that even now, hours later, it still painfully echoed within himself, serving as a harsh reminder of something that wasn't his—something that might never belong to him.

Hadrian had kissed him. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it ended.

He'd been so close—so, so, close. Close to something he'd thought that he'd never feel and experience—something he thought himself incapable of—perhaps even undeserving of.

And now he didn't know if he'd ever get that chance again—the chance to feel something other than hollow or angry.

He could still feel Harry's lips brushing against his—could still feel his hands on him. And the way he'd looked at him as if there was no one more important to him than Tom….

He'd called him beautiful and then proceeded to inform him that he wanted to kiss him.

Hadrian had done just that, and then it was simply over, unfairly taking that wondrous and unexpected feeling away from Tom.

He felt robbed—bereaved of something he couldn't even name.

He felt angry, abandoned—jilted.

Then there was the bitter jealousy that bubbled beneath his skin, causing what he feared might be a permanent stinging itch all over his body. He felt jealousy for the person responsible for keeping them apart—deep envy that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried. Because what did they have that Tom didn't? What memories had Hadrian regained that could possibly come between them?

Why had Hadrian stopped? Why had he pulled away from him?

Was it because he was a mudblood? Was he not handsome enough for him? Had Tom kissed him wrong?

He'd wondered so many times what it would feel like to kiss him. It had essentially been all he could think of since Hadrian had beaten Abraxas and Avery into submission with his powerful display of wandless magic.

Well, he needn't wonder anymore because now he knew—knew intimately what it felt like to have Hadrian's sweet lips pressed against his own. Knew what it felt like to touch him and be touched by him in return. Knew what it felt like to have his fingers running oh so tenderly through his hair—blunt nails scraping urgently down his skull.

He knew that now. But he now also knew what it felt like to be pushed away by him—knew what it felt like to be rejected and walked away from.

What had he done wrong?

He couldn't help but wonder—couldn't do anything but wonder and think and agonise over every moment between them last night.

He wanted to stop because it hurt—

No, not hurt. Hurt is what he'd felt when the priest had come to exorcise the demon from him—it's what he felt as a child when the other orphans excluded him and pushed him around before his magic stared protecting him—or when Mrs Cole decided he'd done something to earn himself a caning.

Now he felt...broken—crushed.

It stung him something fierce to think that he wasn't good enough—that Hadrian, for whatever reason, didn't want him.

Tom wanted it to stop, but he simply didn't know how to.

Lips, hands, words exchanged...that's all he could think about—and he couldn't stop. For the life of him, he couldn't make these thoughts and feelings recede to whence they came.

He'd never wanted anything as bad as he wanted them to just...go away.

If he were strong enough he might even wish that Hadrian Peverell had never come to Hogwarts at all. But he didn't. As pathetic as it was, he couldn't wish Hadrian gone from his life. It made no sense to him, but then again, emotions had never made much sense to Tom at all.

Tom grit his teeth and looked down at the old, dusty book that he'd picked up from the library.

His goal this year had been to find his ancestry—his roots to the magical world. For it was entirely impossible that a wizard such as him didn't have ties to the magical world.

That is what he should be doing—that is what he should be spending his time and energy on—not feeling love-sick over another boy that didn't even want him.

How does he stop feeling...lost?

How does he stop...caring?

How does he stop thinking….

Salazar, please. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

His breathing was coming out heavy and in short burst.

He hadn't even noticed that he'd started crying until he saw the tears stain his opened page.

Pathetic. He was utterly pathetic.

He felt cold.

He felt devoid of almost anything besides the irrational longing he felt for him—devoid of anything but excruciating pain.

And the kiss he still felt on his lips burned—it burned, burned, burned. Scorched itself to his memory when he wanted so badly to forget.

Salazar, please. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

He snapped the book shut and left the library, glad that he'd disillusioned himself before he'd left the common room.

He left the library.

But where would he go?

Tom is learning the hard way that there was no running away from a discarded and fractured heart.

Emotions were absolutely vile. But he'd give anything to feel those lips upon him once more. To feel cherished—cared for—protected.

December 9th, 1941

Number 12 Grimmauld Place,

London

Harry gracefully stepped out of the fireplace and into Grimmauld, mindlessly brushing away the soot from his shoulders, only to look up and be greeted by a stern-faced Arcturus Black who had his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Harry's avoidance of certain issues has now come to an abrupt end.

They locked eyes for a few seconds before Arcturus abruptly turned around and wordlessly started making his way towards his study, obviously wanting Harry to follow him.

Harry took a deep breath and followed after him, dreading the oncoming confrontation.

He'd thought about what he wanted to disclose to Arcturus and had formulated a solid, believable half-truth at the ready, but that didn't make the situation any less nerve-wracking.

Would he believe him? How would he react? Would he lose the wizard's friendship?

Once Harry entered the study, the large ebony door swung silently shut behind him, and once safely encased in the room he felt some very powerful barriers go up around them.

Paranoia was a well known Black trait, but Arcturus really pushed it to the next extreme—not that Harry could fault him—circumstances being what they were.

Arcturus gestured towards the cushy, green sofa with a no-nonsense expression plastered across his handsomely aged face. Were Harry not the immortal wizard that he was, he'd have definitely felt intimidated by Lord Black. But as it stood, he felt rather sorry for Orion. Being disciplined by the man couldn't possibly be a fun experience.

Was this what Sirius would have grown to look like? If he'd ever had the chance to? If they had been given the opportunity to adopt as Sirius had dreamed of? If he'd not gone to Azkaban? If he'd lived past his mid-twenties?

Harry would make sure that this time around Sirius would get every opportunity to do so. He'd make sure that he would grow up loved and accepted. He'd make sure that he'd find the happiness and love he'd always deserved—that he'd live a long and happy life with his chosen partner and fill his house full of children.

Sirius Orion Black would get to live—this Harry swore.

Harry took a seat and looked up at Arcturus, waiting for him to gather the thoughts he saw racing across his much too familiar eyes.

Arcturus stared him down for a few minutes, as if to gauge Harry's thoughts and body language, then he sighed almost inaudibly and cleared his throat.

"I think it's time for us to discuss some very important matters, Harry."

Harry stopped himself from wincing at the man's curt tone and respectfully nodded his head.

Arcturus' eyes darted shiftily towards his desk and then swiftly back to Harry's eyes, his brows creasing determinedly.

"Before your friendship and alliance with my House can proceed in the manner that it has, I expect some explanations and reassurances from you, Lord Peverell," he said, sounding just as formal as his words suggested.

"Of course, Lord Black," Harry immediately agreed. "I appreciate that you need to keep your family safe. Ask me what you wish to know and I shall endeavour to answer you as best as I can."

Arcturus cracked his first, genuine smile and bowed his head. He then crossed the room and reached for the large tome that was on his desk. It was a tome that Harry immediately recognised.

Let it not be said that Lord Arcturus Black didn't know how to get straight to the point.

Harry shifted uneasily in his seat and looked away from the book, back to Arcturus who was carefully watching his every movement and mentally noting down Harry's every micro-minuscule eye-twitch and wince.

Harry held his breath and stared up at the Lord, making sure that his green eyes shone extra-extra innocently. He spied a twitch in Arcturus' lips but didn't let it break his concentration.

Arcturus rolled his eyes at Harry and took a seat across from him in his ostentatious chair.

"Harry, that day of the battle, when I saw the extent of your injuries, I almost gave up on saving you," Arcturus revealed solemnly. "I couldn't get past your impressive Occlumency shields and I could feel you slowly fading. But then I heard a whisper advising me that the only way I could save you was by using my Family Magic. As impossible as it was to even contemplate, I intuitively knew that it would work."

As he said this, Arcturus flicked his wand and carefully levitated the Black genealogy tome to hover between them.

"I have looked for any connection between our families, but as I am sure you're aware, I found none to speak of. But I did find something else, something that should have been impossible," he said while magically flipping the pages of the book to the last entry.

With another gentle flick of Arcturus's wand, the book zoomed directly into Harry's line of sight.

Harry stared down at the elegant script for a few moments before waving the tome away. At his command, the book shut and flew back to Arcturus's desk.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and slumped back into the sofa. "I don't blame you for immediately suspecting me," he told him with a weary grin.

"Are you suggesting that it's not?" Arcturus asked him dubiously.

"No, your suspicions are accurate," Harry admitted without any more preamble.

Even if he had been expecting it, Arcturus was still somewhat startled to hear the confirmation from the boy's own mouth.

"How?" he demanded, his eyes trying to spear into Harry's very soul.

"Well, you see, my name is Harry Black and I'm a time-traveller. I'm your grandson's bonded husband from the year 1981. Oh, and I'm kinda stuck here forever."

Silence.

More silence.

Minutes passed by without any reaction whatsoever from Arcturus.

And just when Harry thought he'd broken the wizard beyond repair came the exclamation, "Excuse me? You're who from what year?"

Harry sagely nodded his head, expression full of understanding as if to say 'I know right? The things I get myself into sometimes'.

"Quite the pickle, I know," Harry sighed resignedly.

Arcturus Black just stared at the boy in front of him, eyes wide and mouth slack. Surely the menace was having him on?

"Bonded…? 1981?" Arcturus sputtered—understandably so.

"Indeed," Harry confirmed amiably with a small shrug of his broad shoulders.

"And you've no way back?"

"That's what I said," Harry replied cheekily, enjoying this moment far too much.

"Kreacher! Bring out the firewhiskey!"

Harry smiled amusedly at Arcturus's ruffled state.

"You spoil me so well, Lord Black," he told him playfully when the house-elf popped in and poured them two glasses of some very expensive firewhisky.

Fine crystal decanter placed back on the extravagant bar cart, Kreacher popped away with a low bow.

"Start talking, Harry," Arcturus demanded after a healthy gulp of firewhisky.

After indulging in a sip himself, Harry rolled his shoulders and scratched his chin.

"See, in my time there was a war as well, and somehow I found myself in the ministry—in the Department of Mysteries to be precise. Did you know they had a time-chamber? I definitely didn't. Would have given it a wide berth if I did. But yeah, spells went flying—I really don't recommend ever having a duel in there—and here I am, forty years in the past. Was a bit of a culture shock at first, I'll admit. But I think I've done an alright job blending in."

Arcturus could do nothing but blink, and blink, and then blink some more.

To say that he was overwhelmed would be an unjust understatement.

He was confused. Baffled. Bewildered. Shell-shocked. But he also felt so very intrigued.

"Alright," Arcturus managed to say. "What can you tell me about this grandson of mine? He must have been something special to grab your attention long enough to bond with."

Harry's smile couldn't have been any more radiant.

It seemed like all was going to be well between him and House Black.

December 10th, 1941

Ministry of Magic

London, England

The day Harry had been equal parts anticipating and dreading had finally arrived, so it wasn't very surprising that behind his cool and composed exterior Harry was having a small and private, anxious meltdown.

It would be most precise to state that this Wizengamot session would be his official debut into Britain's Wizarding Elite, meaning that his entire plan to reshape Britain's Wizarding Community hinged on him making a good first impression on these pompous, self-involved people.

So yes, Harry was feeling somewhat nervous, if not slightly nauseous.

It wasn't as if his task would be easily accomplished. Saving the world from humans was much more complicated than it sounded.

Dumbledore had not been wrong when he'd said that the Purebloods weren't going to just fall in line with his ideals. Despite what Harry had said, and how confident he'd acted that day with Dumbledore, the truth of the matter was that he simply didn't know how his bill was going to be met, regardless of the concrete proof he'd assembled for their viewing.

If there was to be any hope at all for the Pureblood elitists to consider his bill, he was going to have to make them want to listen to him, which will be a battle in and of itself, and in the end, charm and charisma would only get him so far.

He foresaw bloodshed. And debate. Unending hours of tedious debate where he has to soundly defend his ideals while maintaining his stance as politely as possible—in other words, pandering to their over-inflated egos.

Merlin, how he abhorred politics.

Harry and Arcturus had arrived early at Harry's insistence that he wanted to get 'a feel for the crowd's vibe before diving into the shit-storm'. Those exact words had earned him a wrinkled nose and quite the puzzled look from Arcturus, which he'd pointedly ignored in favour of mentally going over his speech for the umpteenth time.

In the past fifteen minutes or so, several severe-looking Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot Council started arriving and convened outside of the chamber, splitting into their respective groups to discuss- well, to discuss Harry, he supposed, given all the furtive glances he'd been receiving.

Thankfully, no one had been bold enough to approach him.

"You needn't be so nervous, Harry. We went over everything last night and again this morning. I dare say that you're more than ready for anything they decided to throw at you today," Arcturus reassured him with an amused smirk.

"I'm not nervous," Harry bit out, more aggressively than he'd intended.

"Of course," Arcturus hummed. "Sickly-green in your natural complexion. Pardon my mistake."

Harry groaned, not in the least bit amused. "This is really not the time for clever jests, Arcturus."

"Maybe not," he conceded, trying to suppress his growing smirk. "But you agree that it was rather clever, yes?"

Harry gave him an unimpressed look, eliciting a small chuckle from Lord Black.

Before Harry could comment on his friend's enormous ego, he noticed Arcturus's gaze locking onto something over his shoulder and saw him hastily slip on his society smile.

"Lord Potter is approaching us," he warned Harry through a painfully polite smile.

It was no secret that the two wizards didn't exactly see eye-to-eye.

A few seconds later, Lord Potter came to a stop next to them with an affable smile on his face, seeming wholly unbothered by Arcturus's presence, for which Harry was eternally grateful for. He was entirely certain that Lord Potter's cordial demeanour could be attributed to Fleamont's efforts, who had restlessly talked Harry up to his father over the past few months.

"Lord Black," Henry Potter greeted politely with a respectful tilt of his head.

"Lord Potter," came Arcturus answering greeting, slightly more stilted than Lord Potter's, but the other wizard remained unaffected and barely spared him another glance, immediately turning all his attention onto Harry.

"And you must be Lord Peverell," he said, hazel eyes taking in Harry's immaculate appearance.

"That I am," Harry smiled. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Potter."

"Pleasure is all mine, Lord Peverell. I've heard much about you since the start of term and I'm pleased to finally be able to put a face to the name my son has repeatedly mentioned in every one of his letters to us," he chuckled lightly.

Harry grinned, easily imagining Fleamon't excitable ramblings.

"So you've heard how Fleamont has finally found himself a worthy quidditch rival?" he asked him, causing hazel eyes to immediately light up, and Harry instantly knew that any shred of reservations Henry Potter might have had towards him melted away with that one well-placed remark.

Quidditch was, after all, the way to a Potter's heart.

Henry Potter matched Harry's amused grin. "I've read a rant or two about the new Slytherin chaser giving my boy a run for his galleons. I believe he now fears that Gryffindor will lose the House Cup and it appears he's not quite sure whether to be excited about the challenge or bemoan his luck."

"My constantly aching limbs are a testament to his excitement," Harry groused charmingly while theatrically rubbing his forearm. "When we're not in a class, studying, or at meals, Fleamont is dragging me out to the quidditch pitch to practice with him. He's determined to catch the snitch before me, completely overlooking the fact that I'm the chaser for my team and not the seeker."

Henry laughed and nodded his head in sympathetic understanding. "Yes, that sounds like my Fleamont. Competitive to a fault. Although, as I understand it, he's more vexed that you're beating him in Transfiguration. I, for one, am highly grateful that he's found someone to challenge him."

"I'm glad to be of service, Lord Potter. But I'm sure that Fleamont would manage excellently on his own. He's a very talented and bright wizard and I'm most fortunate to call him my friend. I must commend you and your wife on raising such a fine wizard," Harry complimented sincerely.

Henry gave him an appreciative nod, his expression turning a touch more benign.

"Thank you, Lord Peverell. That's very kind of you to say. I'll be sure to pass your compliments to my wife. I'm sure she'll appreciate the acknowledgement of all the hard work we've put into that boy," he said, sending Harry a playful wink.

"Please, Lord Potter. There's no need for such formalities amongst friends. I insist you call me Hadrian, or Harry if you prefer."

"Only if you accept to call me Henry, Harry. I'd give you leave to call me Harry, but that may cause us some confusion," Henry smirked a startlingly familiar smirk.

"Henry it is," Harry agreed with a small chuckle, positively delighted to have started his acquaintance with his great-grandfather on such a good note.

"I must admit, Harry. I'm rather curious to hear what you have planned for the Wizengamot today. All we've been told is that you wished to push forward a new bill and not much else. Fleamont seems to know some of your plans, but he wasn't very forthcoming with the details. All he would reveal was that this meeting would be…revolutionary, I believe were his exact words," he disclosed, sounding fondly amused by his son's exuberance.

Coming from anyone else that might have sounded like a jibe, but Henry wasn't mocking Harry or his son, he was simply trying to subtly prod for some information. Suffice it to say that subtle was not a Potter's strong suit.

"Well, I don't know about revolutionary, but I do have some crucial changes in mind that I hope the Wizengamot will be generous enough to hear out," he hedged diplomatically.

But Henry wasn't one to easily let things go. "Crucial you say? Oh my, how very intriguing. And what changes would those be exactly?" he asked him, trying, and failing, to sound aloof.

Harry smirked charmingly and most mischievously.

"Those would be changes regarding a subject that incites much controversy in our community."

"How ambiguously vague," Henry chortled, sounding only slightly dismayed. "You've managed to further pique my interest, but I believe you knew that already," he smirked, raising his right brow in much the same fashion Harry does when catching someone out on their trickery.

"My apologies, Henry. I simply don't want to ruin the suspense for you," he told him cheekily, earning himself a surprised laugh from his great-grandfather.

"I see now why you get along so famously with my son. I was beginning to wonder how such a polite young wizard was so well acquainted with my somewhat brash son. But I see now that you possess his same brazenness," he commented good-naturedly.

"Now now, Henry. There is no need for such flattery," Harry quipped openly, uncaring of the mortification on Arcturus's face at their improperly casual interaction.

Henry, on the other hand, looked positively charmed by their banter.

"I like you, lad," he said. "My son warned me that I would find it impossible not to, and I am pleasantly surprised that he was right."

"Thank you, Henry," Harry smiled shyly. "And thank you for approaching me. Our small conversation has greatly helped my frazzled nerves."

Henry looked startled by his admission.

"You've been hiding any discomfort very well," he reassured him. "Is there anything specific that has you nervous, my boy?"

Harry sighed. "You mean, besides this whole political endeavour in itself? I suppose that I'm mostly afraid that the Wizengamot will not take me seriously because of my age," he confessed, voicing his most pressing concern.

"I can see how that might be troubling you, and it's not unfounded, but you seem like a very well-spoken young man, Harry, and if it's any reassurance at all, our esteemed Minister had nothing but good things to say about you. Not to mention that your recent heroic deeds in Hogsmeade have very much endeared you to many of the council members, seeing as many of them have their own children or grandchildren currently attending Hogwarts."

Harry sputtered, wide-eyed. "Heroic?" he squawked. "But I didn't do anything heroic at all. I simply helped my peers defend the village," he insisted rather forcefully.

"That's not the way my son told it," he scolded accusingly in a way that told Harry not to sell himself short. "Fleamont said that you took command of the situation and formed a solid defensive strategy amidst a surprise attack. You got them organised and kept them alive. More experienced wizards would have done much worse than you did in such circumstances. In fact, they did do worse. There were no casualties in Hogsmeade, which unfortunately cannot be said for the four other locations that were hit that day. Not to forget that you managed to apprehend and capture several of Grindelwald's followers, and at grave risk to your own life."

Harry grimaced and looked away from Henry.

When put that way it sounded pretty heroic, but he was never going to feel comfortable with the hero label. Old habits and all.

"I do believe that the Ministry owes you a great debt for your services," Henry added, causing Harry to blush uncomfortably at the praise.

He'd never been very good at accepting sincere compliments either. Again, old habits and all.

"I uh- Thank you, Henry," he mumbled humbly while nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

Henry's eyes then flickered towards Arcturus who had remained respectfully silent while watching the exchange between the two Lords. Then he turned his gaze back to Harry.

"And if I may be so bold to add, you seem to already have built some strong support. While I admit that Lord Black and I are not always in agreement, I will be the first to acknowledge that he's no fool. I don't believe that he would concern himself with frivolous ideals and neither do the other members of the Wizengamot."

"I certainly hope not," Arcturus couldn't help but grumble and Harry spied Henry biting back a grin.

"Your reassurance is much appreciated, Henry," he told him, completely ignoring Arcturus's comment. "I look forward to hearing your opinion on my appeal."

"And I look forward to offering it, Harry. I don't wish to take up any more of your time and will now leave you to your preparations. I wish you the best of luck today."

"Thank you, Henry," he said earnestly, tilting his head respectfully.

Instead of leaving, Henry unexpectedly turned his attention towards Arcturus, his demeanour no less friendly.

"Lord Black, shall I save you a seat next to me? I'll be most grateful for your company during this session. I have a feeling that there will be much excitement."

Both Harry and Arcturus were stunned speechless by the offer.

That was a declaration of support, however small it was, and Henry hadn't even heard anything yet. Two prominent members of opposing factions sitting together sent a very clear message.

Harry owed Fleamont a lifetime supply of Quidditch goods.

"I'd appreciate that, Lord Potter," Arcturus barely managed to get out through his shock.

"Marvelous. I'll see you both inside," he said, and then he was gone.

"Have I recently mentioned what a remarkable wizard you are?" Arcturus asked him, sounding as dumbfounded as Harry felt.

"It's always nice to hear again," Harry preened, suddenly feeling very good about himself.

Arcturus snorted and rolled his eyes. "It's painful to admit, but that was impressive even for you, Harry. The session hasn't even started yet and the leader of the light faction already likes you."

"I'm simply a likeable person," Harry shrugged, full of false modesty.

"Yes, and oh so very humble," Arcturus deadpanned.

"My best quality," Harry quipped back, his smirk turning into an ear-splitting grin.

Arcturus just rolled his eyes and shook his head in response.

The Wizengamot had been called into session a few minutes ago, ushering the remaining Lords and Ladies into the Council Chamber. Once everyone had settled into their place, the Minister hadn't wasted any time and started updating the council on the recent changes that have been made in light of their altered position in the war, which served Harry's purpose rather well.

Harry needed the herd to be afraid—needed them afraid for their lives. He needed them to feel that instinctual self-preservation that fear arouses within a person when faced with the possibility of their death.

He needed them to be able to empathize.

So it would be quite honest to say that the recent attacks that led to Magical Britain's official standing against Grindelwald were timed rather conveniently for Harry, however guilty he felt for even thinking about it.

He'd be a fool not to use the fear and caution that war inspires in people to get the council to listen to him. And Harry really needed to use every trick in his arsenal if he ever hoped to sway the council to vote in his bill.

He did have to convince a bunch of blood-purists that they needed muggle-borns, so really, everything was game.

Merlin, what had he been thinking? He was never going to pull this off. He'd spent the past centuries practically living like a recluse! How did he manage to convince himself that this was a good idea?

He should have taken on an older or more mature persona, regardless of Death's insistence that he needed to attend Hogwarts for at least a year. If he had, then maybe he wouldn't feel so damn nervous.

Actually, he should have stayed at Hogwarts and made Arcturus lead this battle. Harry could have stayed in the shadows where he was most comfortable and let the mortals deal with their own messes.

No, what he should have done was cast a global Imperius that would prevent anyone from being prejudiced, racists, murderous, or in any way inclined towards the destruction of the world and its occupants, and his job would have been done.

He was sure that he could manage it, some way, after a few years of research.

Or he could have simply let the world burn, that had also been an option. Who was he to decide that the world deserved a second chance anyway?

Maybe taking a simple calming draught before attending the Wizengamot session would have also done the trick. He was being rather dramatic.

Harry wasn't sitting very far from the podium where Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon stood addressing the council. He had a good view of the entire chamber, which unfortunately also meant that they had a good view of him, and the Council Chamber was packed.

Each and every last seat was occupied. They had all shown up.

Logically, Harry knew that this was a mandatory session. None of them had a choice but to attend, yet he was still surprised, and slightly overwhelmed, by the sheer number of his audience.

He tried his best not to fidget as he anxiously waited for the Minister to call him to the podium, but it became increasingly difficult to do so under the intense scrutiny of everyone's gazes.

At that moment he truly felt Death's absence from his side.

If he were there he would be making some aggravating comments just to get Harry's mind off the impending show. Harry would have acted angry while secretly thanking Death for being such an awesome friend.

But Death wasn't there, and these days he was a far cry from being an awesome friend. That didn't mean that Harry didn't desperately miss his reassuring presence, however infuriating that was to accept.

He missed him—plain and simple. No amount of wishing it wasn't so would make the aching hole Death's absence left in his chest go away.

Harry quickly shoved these thoughts to the back of his mind and turned his focus back to the Minister, just in time as well, because in the next moment he was being called onto the stage.

"We now welcome to the podium the newest member of the Wizengamot Council. Lord Hadrian James Peverell."

And that was Harry's cue. The moment of truth. The moment he'd been slaving away in preparation for.

Merlin, how he abhorred politics.

Pushing back any doubts and fears he had behind his strong mental barriers, Harry slipped on his most charming smile and stood from his seat, striding confidently up to the podium where he would stand at the centre of the entire room's attention.

Once he took his place, Harry's emerald eyes immediately focused on the crowd, his confidence never faltering.

This wasn't the time to show any uncertainty. If nothing else, the council members had to be fully convinced that he was, at the very least, sure of himself and what he was saying. If they detected even a hint of uncertainty in him they would never deign to give him the time of day.

So Harry stared them down and began, his voice inviting, drawing them in with its soothing timbre. He might—or he might not have—added the tiniest spec of persuasive magic into the sound waves he released from his vocal cords. Just enough to be mildly effective and make them listen, but not enough to be detected or influence their opinions.

"Esteemed Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot Council," he addressed courteously, piercing emerald eyes roaming over the whole crowd. "I understand that the way you have been summoned to this session is somewhat unorthodox, so I would like to thank you all for being here today. Especially since I am sure that you have other pressing matters to attend to in these dangerous and sorrowful times that we, unfortunately, find ourselves in."

Having sufficiently humbled himself in front of the council, Harry only gave a small pause before he plunged back in, a tad more forceful this time.

"But it is precisely these perilous times that have brought me to stand in front of you here today. I don't need to remind anyone in this chamber that as of the 27th November, Wizarding Britain has officially entered into war against Germany, or more accurately, against the Dark Lord Grindelwald as his mad regime to obliterate the Statute of Secrecy."

Some grumbled murmurs could be heard around the chamber at being reminded of their plight, but it quickly died down when Harry resumed his rehearsed speech.

"As we've all gathered from our Minister's brief update, the Ministry is performing admirably in its defence of our community, having, over the duration of the past week, set in place numerous new security measures to deal with both the muggle war and the war that we now, regrettably, face in our own world. A shelter has been opened for those misfortunate families that lose their homes due to the ongoing war. Towns and Alleys with the highest influx of people have been reinforced, and more wards are still being put in place. The Ministry is also giving out licences for direct floo travel into the ministry to those citizens without an apparition licence, to be activated in the event of an emergency," he listed, his approval clear for all to hear.

"These are only some of the measures set in place in efforts to ensure the safety of Wizarding Britain, and they are all commendable efforts with the aim to give each and every one of our citizens a fighting chance in this war that's been forced upon us."

The council was listening, waiting—curious.

"Indeed, with these contingencies in place, the Ministry has lowered many risks." Harry paused, his face twisting into a more grave expression. "But I am sure that we can all agree that in spite of these new measures, there will still be many repercussions that we will have to deal with—are, in fact, already dealing with—not the least of which will be the tragic number of losses we will inevitably face, as it always is in the way of war."

Many council members were nodding their head in troubled agreement, though they looked slightly confused as to where Hadrian was going with all this. Up until then, he hadn't said anything the Wizengamot wasn't already painstakingly aware of.

"We'll lose Aurors, ministry officials, field healers, unsuspecting civilians, parents, children. This, as horrible it is to think about, is an indisputable fact. And that is what I am here to discuss with you today. I am here to address the inevitable and disabling losses we are about to face and to propose a way to reduce that number."

Excited whispering and disbelieving murmurs could be heard around the council. Harry waited for them to settle down, giving him a moment to sort his own thoughts, before he continued his speech.

"The number I speak of may not be immediately felt in our community, but I assure you that it will make a profound difference in the coming years. Especially in the years after the war, when we begin to rebuild."

It was now or never.

Harry took a deep breath and fought the urge to nervously gnaw on his bottom lip.

"Esteemed Lords and Ladies, I am not speaking to you regarding the protection of our recognised citizens, citizens which we are already doing our duty to best protect. I am here to address the glaring concern regarding the protection of all those children, muggle-born children, from defenceless newborn babes to the young, ten-year-old children who have not yet been given the privilege of being inducted into our society."

Silence. Loud, tension-filled silence followed Harry's statement.

Shocked outrage was plastered on several faces. Speechless outrage that in any other circumstances would have made for some comic relief.

Harry quickly pushed on before someone decided to voice his outrage and disrupt his speech.

"When searching for the updated recordings of our population, these muggle-born children aren't taken into account. But they live, hidden away from us until their eleventh birthday. Many of you may not want to acknowledge this, but these children make up a considerable percentage of our population—a considerable percentage that may be lost to us forever due to our own negligence."

"These poor children are denied their right to the same safety and protection we offer each and every witch and wizard in our community. These poor children who are stuck in the chaos and barbarity of the muggle war, who have no one but their own powerless muggle parents to look out for them. And even then, most of those children's fathers are deported to war, their mothers perished to the bombs, starvation, or disease, leaving their children to follow suit."

Murmurs and grumbles could be heard throughout the chamber, causing Harry to almost stumble over his words. To fortify himself, he managed to find Arcturus in the crowd, who gave Harry an encouraging nod.

"I ask you now, Lords and Ladies. How do we justify leaving them to such pitiable conditions when we are able to offer them so much more? When we can offer them a real chance at life? These children who could grow to be our future healers, researchers, ministry officials. How do we justify depriving them of that option? How do we justify depriving ourselves of these members of our community?"

"Of course, you would all be quick to point out that even if we wished to bring them into our world, we've yet to invent a method that would allow us to locate those children. But what if I were to tell you that such an invention now exists? What if I were to tell you that by the end of the next week we will be able to locate all these children?"

Harry felt like rolling his eyes at the grimaces that twisted on some of the council member's faces, looking none too pleased by what Harry was saying. Others looked intrigued, Lord Potter being one of them.

"I see some of you now wear grim faces and I can deduce the next line of inquiries that you have for me. To start with, where would we relocate them? What about their muggle families? Who will be doing the locating in the first place? Aurors are, after all, diligently occupied with the protection of our people. But what if I told you that all these matters could be taken care of? What if there was a party that is willing to fund the manpower and resources to make all this happen?"

The dark faction looked even less impressed by this.

Harry had known that it wouldn't be easy to convince these people of his ideals, but that foreknowledge didn't stop his heart from racing uncomfortably in his chest.

This had to work. It just had to, or everything would have been for nought.

So, despite his nerves and fears, Harry plunged onwards.

"Then there will be those to outright refuse muggle-borns this opportunity simply because they believe them to be of lesser importance. Maybe some of you even mistakenly believe that this muggle war is an effortless way to root out those they think undeserving of our shared gifts. But what if I told you I had irrefutable proof to the contrary? What if I had proof that muggle-borns are, in fact, invaluable to us?"

Harry snapped his finger together and suddenly a manuscript hovered in front of every member of the Wizengamot, causing some eyebrows to raise at the display of wandless and silent magic. Some even gasped and shuffled back in their seats, wary of the floating expensive parchment.

"In front of you will find all my research compiled for your viewing. You will find within those pages irrefutable proof that muggle-born children have the potential to grow as powerful as any pureblood witch and wizard. You will find that unions between muggle-borns and purebloods have an even higher probability of producing above-average offspring and a lesser possibility of producing squibs."

There it was, the uproar Harry had been waiting for. Several Lords and Ladies mutinously raised their voices, calling hogwash. But that was to be expected.

The Minister stood and called the chamber to quiet down, but it took a few moments for the unrest to settle, sensitive purebloods that they were.

"Dear Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, I do not blame you for your wariness. I am aware of the concerns most of you have in regards to the muggle-borns. I understand that you fear that to accommodate these individuals we are changing core traditions that make us who we are—that keep us connected to Mother Magic. Yule replaced by Christmas, All Hallows Eve replaced by Halloween. Our rituals, traditions, and feast are being eviscerated because muggle-borns fear going against what they have been thought to be blasphemous and evil. They push their beliefs on us and call it progress."

Shouts of agreement could be heard and Harry prudently nodded his head.

"I understand these concerns and I feel much the same way. But what have we done to change this? How can these muggle-born children know what they are destroying when we don't deign to teach and explain to them just how necessary these traditions are? Is it such a wonder that they behave in such a way when we never really fully accept them into our world? Is it such a wonder that they cling to some semblance of familiarity when suddenly flung in a world they couldn't even have dreamt of a few days prior to receiving their Hogwarts letter?"

"Would our community not be better off if these children were given the opportunity to grow up with our beliefs and traditions? These children who have been handpicked and blessed by Mother Magic herself, do we not have a duty to them? Do we not have a duty to Mother Magic to ensure that her precious children are well cared for?"

No grumbling could be heard now, and Harry observed startled looks upon their faces, not having expected to be called out in such a way.

"I do not ask you to trust in my word alone, all I ask of you is to read my manuscript and compare it to your own research. To consider that what I am saying is indeed the truth. I ask you to keep an open mind and to leave any and all prejudice at the door—to not let yourselves be blinded by false beliefs that have been passed down for generations. Not for me, but for the betterment of our world, so that we may once again rise to the very top. So that we may allow our community to grow and flourish once more."

Harry once again paused in his speech, allowing his words to sink into their thick skulls.

"I am here today to appeal to you, let us change our ways in this one regard. Let us welcome these children into our world with open arms. Let us teach them to be better—to be worthy of the gifts bestowed to them. I appeal to you to vote for a change to the age of admission of muggle-born children, to be revised from the age eleven to a week after their birth. If such a vote were to pass, we could root out abuse incited by fear of the unknown. We could stamp out wrong beliefs and any trepidation muggle-borns feel to fully converge into our world. We could become stronger than ever before."

The Lords and Ladies looked at their allies, searching for their reactions and asking with their eyes if they trusted this wizard they barely knew anything about. But Harry could see the doubt settling into them, wondering silently 'what if he's right?'. And for now, that's all Harry needed from them. The seed of doubt had been planted and all he had to do was wait for it to take root and grow.

"In the second part of my manuscript, you will find all the precautionary measures that need to be taken in order for such an endeavour to be successful. You will find a draft of a new secrecy contract for the parents or guardians of these muggle-born children. You will find monitoring spells of my own creation to ensure the safety of these children and the safety our world, as well as a detailed account of the whole process—from locating these children to relocating them to a safer environment if such actions are needed, as well as plans for their integration into our world."

Everyone looked at the still hovering manuscripts, all probably thinking that it was more of a manifesto than anything else—and they would be right, of course. But to call it a manifesto would be ill-advised at this stage. He didn't need them to think that he was a threat to their political allegiances.

"I have given you much to think about, so I would like to rest my case here and leave you with these last parting words. Muggle-borns are not our enemies. They are children in need of our guidance. Children that will grow to be our students, neighbours, spouses. Children that will father the next generations of witches and wizards. I beseech you, let us not be known as the country that shuns their own. I thank you all for your consideration."

And it was over. Finally.

Harry respectfully bowed his head before taking his previous seat next to the minister.

Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon shot him a weary smile and replaced him on the podium.

"Thank you, Lord Peverell," he started, seeming unsure of what to think of his speech. "In order for this bill to be taken into consideration, we require three members of our esteemed council to step forward in support."

Barely having gotten those words out, Arcturus immediately stood up, inciting another round of shocked murmurs.

"I, Lord Black of the noble and most ancient House Black, hereby announce my approval and full support for Lord Peverell's bill to be pushed forward."

The next to stand was Lord Potter.

"I, Lord Potter of the noble House Potter, hereby announce my approval and full support for Lord Peverell's bill to be pushed forward."

Then, to everyone's surprise—including Harry's—Lord Malfoy was the next to stand.

"I, Lord Malfoy of the noble and most ancient House Malfoy, hereby announce my approval and full support for Lord Peverell's bill to be pushed forward."

Success! It was the only word resonating in Harry's mind.

And so the Minister's gravel was slammed down.

"So mote it be. This session is to be convened on the 20th December 1941, wherein the council will be called upon to vote for the change of the age of admission of muggle-borns. To be revised from their eleventh birthday to a week after their birth. Council dismissed."

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