A VOICE IN THE WIZENGAMOT

The successful extraction of Elias Thorne had been a jolt, a brutal awakening to the tangible realities of Grindelwald's war. The information Thorne provided to Dumbledore was, I gathered, critical, though Dumbledore remained tight-lipped about the specifics, only hinting at Grindelwald's accelerating timeline and audacious expansion plans. My time was now divided even more precariously: continued, intense training for future covert and overt missions that I know Dumbledore will ask me to do, my demanding apprenticeships, the subtle dance with Tom Riddle, and now, a more active, deliberate engagement with the political machinery of the Wizengamot.

The Ministry owl that arrived two days after my return from Klarwald bore a formal summons: an Emergency Wizengamot Session, called by Minister Fawley, to discuss "urgent legislative matters concerning public safety and security." I knew what that meant. In times of fear, governments, magical or otherwise, often sought to control their populations through increasingly draconian laws, and magical creatures often bore the brunt of such anxieties. My magical resonance sensing confirmed the agitated hum radiating from the Ministry, a palpable mix of fear, frustration, and a desperate desire for control.

I spent the intervening hours at Castle Starborn, meticulously researching past Wizengamot debates concerning magical creature legislation. I poured over records of the Goblin Rebellions, the Centaur Sanctuaries, the Werewolf Code of Conduct, and the draconian laws that had marginalized groups like Merpeople and House-Elves. I cross-referenced this with my own understanding of magical ecosystems and the interconnectedness of all sentient beings. My thoughts settled into a firm resolve: I would not stand by silently while fear led to injustice.

The morning of the session, November 15th, 1938, was cold and grey. I Floo'd directly to the Ministry, the familiar rush of green flames depositing me into a far more tense and subdued Atrium than usual. Ministry officials moved with hurried, anxious steps. Aurors, more numerous than ever, stood at every strategic point, their wands visibly clutched. The air vibrated with a palpable unease.

The Wizengamot Chamber on Level Eight was already buzzing, a cauldron of suppressed anxieties and simmering frustrations. The plum-robed Lords and Ladies filled the tiered benches, their faces etched with concern. My magical resonance sensing registered the heightened magical auras of fear, anger, and rigid conservatism emanating from many of them. My gaze swept the chamber, identifying key figures: Madam Marchbanks, her expression grim but resolute, already in the Chief Warlock's seat; Lord Fleamont Potter, looking troubled; Lord Arcturus Black, his usual aloofness hardened into a severe disdain; and Minister Hector Fawley, who appeared even more gaunt than before, his shoulders hunched with the weight of his office.

As I took my seat on the lowest tier, a hush fell over the chamber, and Madam Marchbanks rapped her gavel, the sound echoing with ominous finality.

"Order! Order, members of the Wizengamot!" her voice, though strained, commanded immediate silence. "This emergency session has been called by the Minister of Magic to address urgent legislative matters concerning the security of magical Britain in these trying times. Minister Fawley, if you would begin."

Minister Fawley rose, clutching a sheaf of parchment. His voice, when he spoke, was thin and reedy, lacking its usual oratorical flourish. "Chief Warlock Marchbanks, esteemed Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot. We gather today under the gravest of circumstances. The dark shadow of Grindelwald's forces spreads across Europe, claiming more magical lands and souls daily. The recent fall of magical Prague and significant territories in Hungary and Czechoslovakia, coupled with the rising tide of refugees, demands that we strengthen our magical defenses and ensure the absolute safety of our citizens within these borders."

He paused, glancing nervously around the room. "To that end, the Ministry has drafted several new legislative proposals, designed to streamline our response, enhance internal security, and prevent any fifth column activities within our own society."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. I felt a growing sense of dread. Fifth column activities was often a euphemism for targeting minority groups.

"The first bill," Fawley continued, his voice gaining a strained firmness, "is the Magical Creature Registration and Containment Act. This bill proposes mandatory registration for all magical creatures capable of sapient thought and independent magical action, residing within British borders. It further mandates their relocation to designated, monitored reserves, and places strict limitations on their interaction with the general wizarding public. This includes Centaurs, Merpeople, Goblins, House-Elves – yes, even House-Elves – and particularly, Werewolves, who will face stricter curfews and monitoring."

A collective gasp, then an uproar, erupted from the benches. My magical resonance sensing flared, picking up waves of outrage, but also significant currents of fearful agreement. Lord Potter looked aghast. Lord Black remained impassive, his expression unreadable, but I sensed a flicker of approval from him.

"Order!" Madam Marchbanks bellowed, rapping her gavel fiercely. "Let the Minister finish!"

Fawley waited for the clamor to subside. "We acknowledge this is a drastic measure, esteemed members. But in these uncertain times, we cannot afford vulnerabilities. We must ensure that all magical populations within our borders are accounted for and that their activities can be monitored for the protection of all."

My blood ran cold. This wasn't protection; this was blatant segregation and suppression. It was a direct echo of Grindelwald's rhetoric, just applied to different groups. My Untethered Will began to hum, a deep, resonant note of indignation. I knew I had to speak.

Before Fawley could introduce the next bill, a voice, calm but cutting, rose from the benches. "Minister Fawley, if I may inquire, what precise evidence does the Ministry possess to suggest that the magical creature communities pose a threat of 'fifth column activities'?"

It was Lady Augusta Longbottom, her formidable presence radiating an aura of unwavering principle. "Have Centaurs, for instance, known for their strict neutrality and ancient loyalties to their forest, suddenly declared allegiance to Grindelwald? Have Merpeople, who guard the depths, abandoned their ancient pacts? This bill, Minister, sounds less like 'security' and more like fear-mongering and blatant prejudice."

A new wave of murmurs, this time with a strong undercurrent of agreement, swept the chamber. Fawley blanched. "Lady Longbottom, with all due respect, it is a preventative measure. We cannot afford risks. Their loyalties are… untestable in a time of crisis."

"Untestable, or merely inconvenient?" Lady Longbottom shot back, her voice like ice. "Convenient, perhaps, to blame those who cannot speak for themselves in this chamber."

This was my opening. My hand rose, steady and deliberate. Madam Marchbanks's sharp gaze immediately found me. "Lord Starborn. Do you wish to speak?"

"I do, Chief Warlock," I stated, rising to my feet. The entire chamber turned, hundreds of eyes fixed on me. My magical resonance sensing registered the mixture of surprise, curiosity, and apprehension from various Lords and Ladies. I could feel Lord Black's sharp gaze on me, Lord Potter's expectant look, and Minister Fawley's wary tension. I knew my words would carry weight, both for my family name and my recent, unspoken actions for Dumbledore.

"Esteemed Chief Warlock, Minister Fawley, Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot," I began, my voice clear and amplified by the chamber's enchantments, carrying to every corner. I projected an aura not of aggression, but of calm, reasoned authority, tinged with a subtle, resonant note of ancestral magic.

"I stand here today deeply concerned by the proposed Magical Creature Registration and Containment Act. Minister Fawley speaks of security, of preventing 'fifth column activities.' Yet, in the very preamble of this bill, I find no evidence, no specific instances, of any magical creature community actively collaborating with Grindelwald. Instead, I see a broad, sweeping condemnation born of fear, a fear which, I submit, is being subtly manipulated by the very enemy we seek to defeat."

I paused, letting my words sink in. "Grindelwald thrives on division. He sows discord between magical nations, between pure-bloods and Muggle-borns. And now, this Ministry, in a moment of crisis, proposes to further divide our own society, to alienate ancient and powerful magical communities who have, for centuries, coexisted with us, however uneasily."

I turned my gaze to Minister Fawley, my voice deepening slightly. "Minister, you speak of vulnerabilities. I tell you, alienating the Centaurs, who are masters of divination and forest lore; disenfranchising the Merpeople, who control vast aquatic resources and possess unique magical abilities; driving the Goblins, who hold immense influence over our financial institutions and possess formidable magical craftsmanship, into active rebellion – these are not preventative measures. These are acts of self-sabotage. You do not strengthen a wall by removing its foundational stones. You weaken it."

A murmur of agreement ran through the chamber, stronger this time. I saw Lord Potter nodding emphatically, Lady Longbottom's gaze approving. Even Lord Black's impassive face seemed to hold a flicker of interest.

"Consider the practical implications," I continued, my arguments flowing, drawing on my research and my understanding of magical sociology. "How precisely does the Ministry propose to 'relocate' entire Centaur herds from their ancestral forests? Are we to launch a military offensive against them? They are warrior societies, fiercely independent. Such an action would drain precious Auror resources, resources desperately needed to combat Grindelwald. Are we to patrol the vast, uncharted depths of our oceans to 'contain' Merpeople? Are we to forcibly register every single House-Elf in every single magical household, disrupting the very fabric of our domestic magic and inviting widespread resentment?"

"And what of the werewolf population?" I pressed on, my voice hardening. "They already suffer under a prejudiced existence. Now, you propose stricter curfews, heightened monitoring, and mandatory registration. Do you honestly believe this will foster loyalty? Or will it drive desperate individuals, already ostracized, into the arms of the very Dark Lord who promises them a place in his 'new world order,' however false that promise may be?" My magical resonance sensing detected the faint but undeniable ripple of fear from some of the more conservative members, but also growing support from those with a more compassionate view.

"Minister," I concluded, my voice ringing with conviction, "fear is a powerful weapon in Grindelwald's arsenal. Do not allow him to wield it against us from within. Instead of alienating potential allies, we should be reaching out. Instead of building walls within our own society, we should be strengthening the bonds of trust and cooperation. This bill, if passed, will not make us safer. It will make us weaker, more divided, and more vulnerable to the true enemy. I urge this Wizengamot to reject the Magical Creature Registration and Containment Act."

I sat down, the chamber silent for a moment, absorbing my words. Then, a wave of heated murmurs erupted, far more impassioned than before. Minister Fawley looked utterly bewildered, caught off guard by the strength and conviction of my argument.

Madam Marchbanks rapped her gavel, bringing some semblance of order. "Lord Starborn has made a compelling case. Are there any other members who wish to speak on this proposed bill?"

Lord Fleamont Potter immediately rose. "Chief Warlock, I concur wholeheartedly with Lord Starborn. The House of Potter has always championed the rights of all magical beings. This bill is not only impractical but morally repugnant. It flies in the face of centuries of fragile, hard-won coexistence. We cannot allow fear to turn us into monsters."

Even Lord Arcturus Black, to my surprise, rose, though his expression remained a mask of severe indifference. "Chief Warlock," his voice was a low, gravelly rasp, cutting through the murmurs. "While the House of Black holds no particular affection for creatures, I must concede Lord Starborn's pragmatic point. Provoking unnecessary conflict within our borders, particularly with highly capable magical species, would be a drain on valuable resources better deployed against Grindelwald. The bill is ill-conceived from a strategic standpoint, regardless of any sentimental attachments." His words, devoid of emotion, carried immense weight due to his reputation for cold, logical calculation. My magical resonance sensing confirmed that his apparent support was purely tactical, not empathetic, but I would take what I could get.

The debate raged for hours. Several other Lords and Ladies, buoyed by my arguments and the unexpected support from Lord Black, spoke passionately against the bill. A few staunch traditionalists and fear-mongers tried to argue for its necessity, but their arguments seemed hollow in comparison to the practical and ethical objections raised. The Wizengamot, usually slow and ponderous, felt alive, truly engaged in a momentous decision.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Madam Marchbanks called for a vote. The results were clear: the Magical Creature Registration and Containment Act was struck down. A ripple of relief, mingled with faint triumph, swept through the chamber. I allowed myself a subtle nod of satisfaction. My first significant political intervention had been a success.

Minister Fawley, looking utterly deflated, moved on to the next bill. "The next proposal is the Emergency Magical Surveillance Act. This bill grants the Ministry expanded powers of surveillance over private magical residences and communications, allowing for the direct monitoring of Owl Post, Floo Network usage, and even limited scrying into private homes, without the need for prior judicial warrants, in cases deemed 'national security emergencies'."

A fresh wave of outrage erupted. This was a clear violation of privacy, a direct assault on the fundamental liberties of magical citizens. My magical resonance sensing registered intense anger and alarm from almost every member.

"Minister!" Lady Longbottom exclaimed, rising again, her voice shaking with indignation. "This is an unconscionable overreach! This strips away every right a wizard or witch possesses! Are we to live in a totalitarian state to fight a totalitarian enemy?"

"It is a temporary measure!" Fawley pleaded, clearly on the defensive. "Only for the duration of the emergency!"

I stood again, my hand already raised. "Chief Warlock, if I may speak on this as well?"

"You may, Lord Starborn," Madam Marchbanks said, her gaze indicating her own disapproval of the bill.

"Esteemed members," I began, my voice steady, projecting calm authority despite my internal outrage. "Minister Fawley speaks of this as a 'temporary measure.' But history teaches us that powers once granted to a government, even in times of crisis, are rarely, if ever, relinquished. This bill would transform our Ministry from a protector of our liberties into an omnipresent overseer, a silent spy in every home."

"This bill, the Emergency Magical Surveillance Act, fundamentally misunderstands the nature of our society and the nature of our enemy," I continued. "We are a magical community. Our homes are protected by ancient wards, by powerful fidelities, by the very essence of our magical being. A scrying spell, a monitoring charm, can be countered. Any wizard with a modicum of skill can detect such intrusions. This bill will not make us safer from Grindelwald's spies. It will only breed mistrust within our own ranks."

"Think, Minister," I urged, my gaze sweeping the chamber, "of the practical consequences. Every wizard, every witch, will know they are being watched, listened to. They will turn inwards. They will cease to communicate freely, fearing surveillance. Suspicion will fester. Families will become wary of each other. This is precisely what Grindelwald wants! He wants us to be so consumed by fear and suspicion that we turn against ourselves, that we dismantle our own freedoms in the name of a false sense of security!"

"The true strength of our society, Minister," I proclaimed, my voice ringing with conviction, "lies not in our ability to watch each other, but in our trust in one another, in our shared commitment to liberty and justice. Our defenses against Grindelwald lie in stronger Auror forces, in more effective counter-intelligence, in strategic alliances, and in maintaining the very values he seeks to extinguish. They do not lie in turning our own magic against our own people, in sacrificing our liberties on the altar of fear."

"This bill," I concluded, my voice firm and resolute, "is a direct assault on the fundamental rights of every magical citizen. It will not enhance our security; it will dismantle our society from within. I implore this Wizengamot to reject the Emergency Magical Surveillance Act with the same resolve we showed for the previous, equally ill-conceived proposal."

I sat down, the ensuing clamor even louder than before. The anger was palpable, a unified wave of outrage. My words, grounded in practicality and a defense of core magical liberties, had struck a chord. Lord Potter was on his feet again, speaking passionately. Even Lord Black, though he did not rise this time, gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, conveying his disdain for the bill. It was clear this proposal was dead on arrival.

Madam Marchbanks, her lips pressed into a thin line, called for a vote shortly thereafter. The Emergency Magical Surveillance Act was overwhelmingly rejected, a resounding defeat for the Ministry's more autocratic tendencies. Fawley looked utterly devastated, his face pale, his shoulders slumping.

The rest of the session passed in a blur of less controversial, largely administrative bills – emergency funding for Auror recruitment, increased allocations for refugee aid, and minor adjustments to existing international communication protocols. These passed with little debate, now that the contentious proposals were dismissed.

When Madam Marchbanks finally brought the gavel down, declaring the session adjourned, a sense of weary satisfaction settled over me. I had spoken my mind, and my words had carried weight. I had used my position, my intellect, and my understanding of magical politics to fight for what was right, to prevent a slide towards authoritarianism driven by fear. It was a small victory against the looming darkness, a testament to the power of a single, determined voice.

As members began to disperse, Lord Fleamont Potter approached me, his face alight with admiration. "Marcus, my boy! A truly magnificent performance! You cut through their fear-mongering like a hot knife through butter! The Wizengamot hasn't seen such spirited defense of our liberties in years!" He clapped me heartily on the shoulder. "The Starborn name still means something, lad. And you've done it proud today."

Even Lady Augusta Longbottom paused by my seat. "Lord Starborn," she said, her stern face softening slightly. "You spoke with courage and conviction. It is rare to see a new Lord, so young, command such respect and sway opinion so effectively. I look forward to your continued presence in this chamber. We will need your voice."

A few other Lords and Ladies, ones I hadn't had much interaction with, offered nods of approval or quiet words of congratulations. The atmosphere, though still tense with the threat of war, held a renewed sense of purpose, a quiet reaffirmation of their shared values.

As I made my way to the Floo network, I caught Lord Arcturus Black's eye across the chamber. His expression was as inscrutable as ever, but he gave me a single, distinct nod of acknowledgement – a rare, potent gesture from the notoriously unyielding Head of his House. It was a silent recognition of power, of strategic acumen. It told me I had earned his respect, if not his friendship.

Stepping into the emerald flames of the Floo, I allowed myself a small, private smile. The session had been a success. My voice, previously unheard in the grand chambers of the Wizengamot, had resonated. It was a single battle won in a much larger war, a war that raged on the continent, a war that simmered in the heart of a young, ambitious boy, and a war that now, for me, involved clandestine missions under the cloak of night. My influence was growing, subtly, steadily.