Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The atmosphere in the hall changed at that moment, and the division among the seats became clearly visible.

The pure-blood family representatives on the left sat up straighter, their faces solemn. Old Nott nodded slightly, while an old-looking wizard next to him looked at Crouch expressionlessly, his body slightly turned toward Orion's side.

On the right, several ministerial appointees exchanged glances, some glancing back and forth between Crouch and Orion. The large group of seats in the middle remained silent, waiting, with no obvious movement.

Crouch took another step forward, getting closer and lowering his voice, making it even more intimidating: "Orian, does the Black family know what they're doing?"

You are attempting to override the Ministry of Magic and organize a planned military operation outside its jurisdiction.

Regardless of which tradition you cite, the essence of this matter is that one family is declaring war on another, which is a challenge to the established order.

His words were not only addressed to Orion, but also to the fifty or so Wizengamo members present.

The Ministry of Magic's authority, the bottom line of order—this has shifted from discussing legal provisions to discussing power.

"The Black family abides by an ancient law that has never been repealed," Orion resumed his calm tone, unmoved. "Barty, if the Ministry of Magic deems this law inappropriate, it should push for its amendment beforehand, rather than obstructing its use when someone is using it legally. This is probably not within the scope of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's responsibilities."

He continued, "The Black family has never been above the Ministry of Magic. The Black family is an integral part of the magical world's order, and some of the rules of this order were established with the help of the Black ancestors. Everything we are doing today is within those rules."

Orion shifted his gaze from Crouch to the silent faces in the audience: "The Black family's seat in Wisengamour, like this law, was established centuries ago along with this order. We abide by it, and we uphold it, today and tomorrow."

Crouch's cheek muscles bulged.

He knew, of course, that everything Orion said made sense; the contract was indeed independent of the Ministry of Magic, had never been abolished, and was legal within the legal framework of Wizengamor.

To abolish it, you have to go through the legislative process: proposal, discussion, voting, and promulgation.

Given the efficiency of the Ministry of Magic, the bureaucrats' ability to smooth things over, and the resistance from pure-blood families, it wouldn't be enough for three days, let alone three months; three years might be too long, depending on the situation.

Moreover, he himself is a pure-blood wizard. If he dares to personally push for the abolition of the ancient law of pure-blood, then he will lose his position in the pure-blood circle.

He may disregard those outdated traditions, but he cannot disregard the political costs.

"Mr. Crouch."

A calm voice came down from the top of the stairs, carrying the composure of an old politician. Before speaking, he drew everyone's attention and continued.

"The Malfoy family has reviewed all the terms of this filing document," Abraxas's grey-blue eyes slowly swept from Crouch to the document on the clerk's desk, then back again: "Every clause is compliant, every item has a legal basis, and there are no procedural flaws."

With just that one sentence, everyone present understood that the Malfoys had endorsed the Blacks.

This was already a public statement; it was done in a formal setting at Wizengamo, in front of about fifty members, with the Malfoys and Blacks standing together.

Crouch's gaze shifted to Abraxas, who looked back at him with a faint smile playing on his lips.

Crouch's eye twitched downwards; he hadn't lost yet, he still had a trick up his sleeve.

"Three days," his voice hardened again as he turned to Orion, "The Black family is giving the Roll family three days to prepare, and then they will launch a real war on British soil."

This is the last angle from which pressure can be applied. The procedures are flawless, the qualifications are flawless, and the terms are flawless, so let's use homeland security as leverage and the Ministry of Magic's most basic responsibilities as leverage.

He wants to characterize this as a war, which would give the Ministry of Magic legal grounds to intervene afterwards.

Orion could tell, of course, that three days wasn't the point.

"The three-day public notice period is an ancient rule inherent in contract magic itself," he tilted his head slightly, his tone unchanged, "a mechanism designed hundreds of years ago to ensure that both sides fight under equal conditions. The Black family strictly adheres to every rule, including the three-day public notice period. As for the British mainland—"

The baty, declarationatio sanguinis, occurred four times in the twelfth century, twice in the thirteenth century, and once in the fourteenth century, all on British soil.

The records of Wizengamor are all there; you can look them up. None of those cases were ultimately determined to require Ministry of Magic intervention.

That's for sure; those cases happened before the British Ministry of Magic was even established—it was founded in 1692.

The contract was at least five centuries older than the Ministry of Magic. Crouch used homeland security as leverage and the Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction as a constraint, but when this set of rules began to operate, the Ministry of Magic didn't even have a desk.

Crouch stared at Orion's face and remained silent for a long time.

He ignored his words, disregarded the domestic war and any hints about the Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction, and only spoke of the rules of the contract itself and the terms established hundreds of years ago.

It was practically like pointing a finger at him and saying, "If you have a problem with these rules, go find the people who wrote them hundreds of years ago. You can't reason with me here. Your rules don't work on me."

Crouch shifted his gaze from Orion and slowly scanned the fifty or so faces on the steps: the purebloods on the left, the ministerial appointees on the right, and the silent majority in the middle.

Each face conveyed a different message: support, opposition, observation, calculation, fear, excitement—but none of them gave him enough confidence to turn the tide.

He looked away, giving Orion one last glance.

"I am well aware of the clause prohibiting third-party intervention," Crouch's voice hardened again, "but matters outside of that clause are within the jurisdiction of the Magic Law Enforcement Division."

If this... operation affects any wizard not covered by the contract, even just one, I will intervene.

After saying that, he turned and left.

Orion's voice sounded from behind: "The Black family will abide by every rule, but Buddy, you should probably inform the Roll family as well."

Crouch didn't turn his head, continued walking briskly forward, reached the side door, pushed it open and went out, the door closed behind him, and the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, gradually fading away.

Orion stared at the closed door, his face devoid of any other expression.

The chief clerk was the same; as if the scene just now was a farce, he lowered his head, picked up the document, and turned to the last page.

The Black family's magical seal pulsated with a deep blue light, next to which was Orion's signature; the ink had long since dried, but faint traces of magic remained in the strokes.

He took out the official seal of Wizengamot from the drawer. It was made of brass, heavy, and engraved with a pattern of overlapping scales and the letter W.

The moment the brass touched the paper, a faint golden light shone from the point of contact before fading. He placed the document into the official filing cabinet in Wissengamo, and the cabinet door closed with a dull metallic clang.

The contract officially took effect, and three days later, war broke out.

The last few Latin letters remaining in the air flickered briefly before going completely out.

Orion straightened the front of his robe, nodded slightly to the people above his seat, and then turned and walked toward the main entrance of the hall.

Abraxas stood up from his seat and followed Orion out.

Members of several pure-blooded, long-established families rose one after another, their crimson robes trailing behind them as they moved toward the door, all in unison.

Several ministerial appointees remained in their seats, exchanging glances. Some shook their heads slightly, while others spread out the documents in front of them.

In the middle section of the large seating area, it took quite a while before a few people slowly got up, their movements sluggish and their expressions varied.

The hall was mostly empty.

The clerk kept his head down and continued organizing the documents on the table; the matters concerning Floo Powder and Muggle Points had to be put on hold.

People were already whispering in the hallway; the news spread faster than an owl.

Several employees who were whispering to each other immediately fell silent and stepped aside to make way for Orion as he walked from the end of the corridor.

Orion walked straight past them, the hem of his crimson Wizengamo robe sweeping across the marble corridor as he disappeared into the distance.

The magical ceiling in the atrium reflected the afternoon sun, and the Magic Brothers Fountain was still spraying water, with jets of water shooting out from wands, converging in mid-air, and falling into the circular pool.

He walked out of the Ministry of Magic; it was bright outside.

In July in London, the afternoon sun at three or four o'clock shone on the dilapidated telephone booth at the entrance of the Ministry of Magic, making its red paint shine.

The golden light curtain in the direction of Diagon Alley had long since dissipated, and the sky was a clear, clean blue, leaving no trace. But something lingered in the air throughout London.

Perhaps it was the lingering scent of magic, or perhaps the news was too astonishing, but the entire building was buzzing with the same restlessness.

The entire Ministry of Magic knows, and it won't be long before the entire British wizarding community does too.

......

The editorial office of The Daily Prophet, on the top floor.

Barnabas Kaf brought Rita Skeeter through the door, clutching a roll of magic film filled with photos. His bright blue vest was still incredibly conspicuous under the office lights.

"Front page! Give me the front page! Additional issue! We absolutely need an additional issue!"

The layout editor looked up from behind his desk, a lit pipe dangling from his mouth, and several reporters who were engrossed in proofreading turned around at the same time.

Kaf slammed the film onto the typesetting and editing table. Rita followed behind him, clutching her stenography notebook, her body still trembling slightly, her eyes burning brightly.

She watched as Kraft pulled the film rolls out one by one from the reel and spread them on the table. The golden streaks flowed slowly across the black and white negatives, trapping a living sky within the still image.