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Minister's Office - Ministry of Magic
Minister Cornelius Fudge sat behind his imposing desk, the Daily Prophet crumpled in his white-knuckled fist. His bowler hat lay forgotten on the side table, and his usually carefully maintained composure had cracked completely. The morning light streaming through his office windows illuminated a face flushed with fury and something approaching panic.
"Forty thousand Galleons," he seethed, his voice barely controlled. "The boy is twelve years old, and he's conducting foreign policy worth more than some Ministry departments' annual budgets!"
Dolores Umbridge sat primly in the chair across from his desk, her pink cardigan and bow-adorned hair at odds with the venomous expression on her toad-like face. "The humiliation was deliberate, Cornelius. That Italian witch made a fool of me—of us—in front of international observers."
"Minister Lombardi's comments were particularly... pointed," Fudge said through gritted teeth, smoothing the newspaper to reread the offending passage. "'One hopes that such qualities continue to be valued and supported by his own government.' She might as well have called us incompetent directly."
"Potter has made us look like amateurs," Umbridge hissed, her voice taking on its characteristic simpering tone mixed with pure malice. "A child negotiating circles around seasoned Ministry officials. The damage to our authority is incalculable."
Fudge began pacing behind his desk, his hands clasped behind his back. "The precedent is what terrifies me, Dolores. If Potter can operate independently of Ministry oversight, what stops every talented young wizard from doing the same? We'll have dozens of twelve-year-olds conducting their own foreign policy!"
"More than that," Umbridge said, her eyes glittering with spite, "Potter is accumulating real power. Wealth, international relationships, public adoration... He's becoming a rival center of authority, and he doesn't even realize it yet."
"Oh, I think he realizes it perfectly well," Fudge replied grimly. "Did you read his quote about magic uniting people across borders? That's not childish idealism—that's political messaging. He's positioning himself as an alternative to traditional governmental approaches."
Umbridge's smile was pure poison. "Then perhaps it's time we reminded young Mr. Potter that his innovations exist at the sufferance of his own government. There are ways to constrain independent operators, if one is sufficiently... creative."
Fudge paused in his pacing, his expression thoughtful and dangerous. "Indeed there are, Dolores. Indeed there are."
Malfoy Manor - Private Study
Lucius Malfoy sat in his elegantly appointed study, the Daily Prophet spread before him on his polished ebony desk. His long fingers drummed against the wood as he read, his pale eyes cold with calculation and displeasure.
"The Potter boy," he murmured to himself, his voice carrying the aristocratic drawl that had intimidated lesser wizards for decades. "Following in his father's footsteps, it seems. Gathering influence and attention like a magnet attracts iron filings, well much better than that fool ever did, James Potter was only good at making pranks that benefited no one, and dying like a fool."
He picked up his serpent-headed walking stick, running his thumb along its silver surface as he contemplated the implications. James Potter had been a thorn in the side of pureblood traditionalists, and now his son was proving even more problematic.
"International recognition, substantial wealth, political independence..." Lucius listed quietly. "The boy is accumulating power at an alarming rate, and doing so outside traditional channels of control."
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," he called, and Narcissa appeared in the doorway, her own copy of the Prophet in her hands.
"You've seen the headlines, I assume?" she said, settling gracefully into the chair across from his desk.
"Indeed." Lucius's expression darkened further. "The boy is becoming a problem, Narcissa. His success threatens the natural order of things."
Narcissa's face showed a complex mix of emotions as she glanced at the newspaper. "He's living with my...sister," she said quietly.
"Your blood traitor sister," Lucius corrected harshly. "Who chose to abandon her family and heritage for Muggle-loving sentiment."
"Yes," Narcissa agreed. "And yet... Andromeda has raised Potter to achieve things that even established pureblood families struggle to accomplish."
Lucius's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you suggesting that blood traitors and their adopted strays are superior to proper wizarding families?"
"I'm suggesting," Narcissa said carefully, "that Potter's success reflects well on... certain approaches to raising talented children. Regardless of one's feelings about blood purity."
"The boy's blood is adequate," Lucius conceded grudgingly, "but his upbringing among blood traitors has clearly infected him with dangerous ideas about equality and cooperation. His quoted words about magic uniting people are precisely the sort of sentiment that undermines proper hierarchies."
Narcissa was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing the newspaper's edge. "Draco came home for the holidays speaking about Potter with... considerable emotion. Jealousy, primarily, but also a grudging respect that he seemed to resent."
"As he should," Lucius said sharply. "Potter's prominence makes our son appear inadequate by comparison, despite Draco's superior breeding and education."
"Perhaps," Narcissa suggested delicately, "we should consider whether our approaches to Draco's development might benefit from... adjustment."
Lucius's face went cold. "I will not have my son's education corrupted by admiration for blood traitors and their pet projects. Potter's success is temporary—a flash of unusual circumstance that will fade when reality reasserts itself."
But even as he spoke the words, Lucius couldn't entirely convince himself they were true.
Draco Malfoy
Draco Malfoy lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling with an expression of pure fury. The Daily Prophet lay crumpled on the floor where he'd thrown it after reading the headline for the third time.
"Potter," he snarled to the empty room, his voice cracking with adolescent rage and humiliation. "Perfect Potter with his perfect talismans and his perfect international fame."
He rolled over and grabbed the newspaper again, his gray eyes scanning the article with masochistic intensity. Every word seemed designed to highlight his own inadequacy compared to his Slytherin housemate's achievements.
"Forty thousand Galleons," he muttered bitterly. "I couldn't earn forty Galleons on my own, and he's negotiating international contracts like some sort of... of diplomatic prodigy."
The worst part wasn't the money or even the fame—it was the respect. Draco had grown up expecting deference based on his family name and blood status, but Potter commanded respect through his own achievements. The difference was galling.
"Phoenix Crown ranking," he read aloud, his voice dripping with resentment. "What does that even mean? Some made-up classification system to make his little trinkets sound impressive."
But even as he spoke, Draco knew he was being dishonest. The technical details in the article were clearly beyond his understanding, and the international recognition was undeniably genuine. Potter had accomplished something remarkable, and everyone knew it.
"He's living with blood traitors," Draco reminded himself desperately. "Father says that corrupts everything else he might achieve."
Yet the argument felt hollow. Potter's 'corruption' seemed to be producing results that pure blood and proper breeding couldn't match.
Draco buried his face in his pillow and screamed his frustration into the expensive silk, wishing desperately that he could find some way to diminish Potter's achievements or enhance his own.
The Quill and Ink - Rita Skeeter's Office
Rita Skeeter sat at her cluttered desk, her jeweled spectacles reflecting the light from her Quick-Quotes Quill as it hovered nearby, ready to capture her thoughts. The Daily Prophet lay open before her, and her painted fingernails drummed against the desk with obvious agitation.
"Two hours," she muttered, her voice sharp with professional frustration. "The biggest magical commerce story of the year happens two hours before I learn about it. Two hours!"
She glared at the front page, her eyes scanning the byline with obvious distaste. "Barnabas Cuffe. That pompous old fool stumbled into the scoop of the decade while I was investigating a completely fabricated scandal about Quidditch match-fixing."
Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill began scratching automatically as she spoke, capturing her irritation for potential future use.
"International intrigue, diplomatic tensions, a twelve-year-old wizard operating independently of Ministry oversight..." she listed, her voice growing more frustrated with each item. "The story has everything—youth, wealth, political implications, international drama. And I missed it completely."
She stood and began pacing around her office, her acid-green robes swishing dramatically. "There has to be more to this story. Children don't achieve this level of success and independence without secrets, and secrets are my specialty."
Rita paused, her eyes gleaming with sudden speculation. "Potter's living situation, his rapid advancement in magical craftsmanship... There are gaps in the narrative that need filling."
She returned to her desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, her quill poised eagerly. "If I can't have the first story, I'll make sure I have the best follow-up. And if Potter thinks his international fame protects him from proper journalistic scrutiny, he's about to learn otherwise."
The Quick-Quotes Quill began writing rapidly as Rita started planning her investigative approach, her expression shifting from frustration to predatory anticipation.
Twilfitt and Tattings - Talisman Workshop
In a cramped workshop behind the fashionable wizarding clothing store, Master Artificer Cornelius Blackthorne read the Daily Prophet with growing dismay. His workspace, filled with half-finished protective amulets and traditional magical implements, suddenly felt inadequate compared to the innovations described in the article.
"Phoenix Crown ranking," he muttered, adjusting his spectacles as he studied the technical details. "Basilisk materials, international contracts, revolutionary protective capabilities..."
He set down the newspaper and looked at his own work—competent, traditional, but suddenly seeming pedestrian by comparison. Blackthorne had spent forty years perfecting his craft, achieving modest success and professional respect within established circles.
"The boy is twelve years old," he said to his workshop assistant, a nervous young man who had been listening with obvious concern. "Twelve! I've been crafting protective talismans since before he was born, and he's already surpassed anything I've ever created."
"Your work is excellent, Master Blackthorne," the assistant offered weakly. "Your amulets have protected countless wizards over the years."
"Protected them adequately," Blackthorne replied bitterly. "But Potter's innovations don't just protect—they revolutionize. Phoenix Crown ranking suggests mastery that I may never achieve."
He picked up one of his own talismans, examining it with new critical eyes. The craftsmanship was solid, the enchantments reliable, but compared to the advanced features described in the article, his work seemed almost primitive.
"What happens to traditional artificers when twelve-year-old prodigies begin redefining the entire field?" he asked rhetorically. "Our clients will start expecting innovations we can't provide, techniques we haven't mastered."
The assistant remained diplomatically silent, recognizing that no response would improve his master's mood.
"Mark my words," Blackthorne concluded grimly, "Potter's success will drive every other talisman maker out of business within a decade. Revolutionary innovations have a way of making traditional approaches obsolete."
Ministry of Magic - Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes
Senior Undersecretary Percival Thicknesse sat in his office, reading the Daily Prophet with the sort of bureaucratic displeasure that came from seeing established procedures bypassed by unexpected success. His office walls were lined with regulation manuals and procedural guidelines, representing decades of careful administrative structure.
"Independent international contracts," he said to his deputy, a thin wizard with prematurely gray hair. "Bypassing established oversight mechanisms, ignoring traditional approval processes..."
"The boy's achievements are impressive," his deputy offered carefully.
"Impressive, yes," Thicknesse agreed, "but dangerous from a regulatory perspective. If talented individuals begin operating outside Ministry oversight, how do we maintain coherent magical policy?"
He gestured at the newspaper with obvious distaste. "Potter's success encourages others to ignore established procedures. Before long, we'll have dozens of independent operators conducting their own foreign policy, and chaos will follow."
"What do you suggest, sir?"
Thicknesse steepled his fingers, his expression calculating. "New regulations. Mandatory oversight for any British citizen engaging in international magical commerce above a certain threshold. Licensing requirements for magical artifact creation and export."
"That might be seen as targeting Potter specifically," his deputy warned.
"Then we'll craft the regulations broadly enough to appear generally applicable," Thicknesse replied with a cold smile. "The key is reasserting Ministry authority over independent operators before they become too powerful to control."
As the afternoon wore on, the negative reactions to Harry Potter's success continued to simmer throughout various circles of magical society. From government offices to private workshops, from manor houses to bureaucratic departments, those who felt threatened by his achievements began planning their responses.
Tomorrow
Department of Magical Law Enforcement - Director's Office
Amelia Bones sat in her office as she arranged a stack of reports on her desk. Two days had passed since Harry Potter's meeting with the Italian delegation, and one day since the Daily Prophet had spread the news across magical Britain like wildfire. Now it was time for careful strategic planning.
Amelia wore her usual severe black robes, her graying hair pulled back in a tight bun that emphasized the sharp intelligence in her eyes. Before her lay statistical reports, casualty analyses, and budget projections—the cold, hard data that would form the foundation of her argument.
A sharp knock interrupted her preparations. "Enter," she called, and Mad-Eye Moody stumped into the room, his wooden leg clicking against the stone floor. Behind him came Kingsley Shacklebolt, Senior Auror Dawlish, and three other senior Aurors whose faces bore the scars and weathered expressions of veterans who had seen too much action.
"Morning, Amelia," Moody growled, his magical eye swiveling to examine the reports spread across her desk while his normal eye focused on her face. "I assume this is about Potter's latest achievement and our continuing equipment deficiencies?"
"Indeed it is, Alastor." Amelia gestured to the chairs arranged around her desk. "Gentlemen, please be seated. We have considerable ground to cover, and I suspect our time for discussion may be limited."
As the Aurors settled themselves, Amelia picked up the first report from her stack. "Let's begin with the statistical reality of our current situation. Since implementing Potter's original talisman design thirteen months ago, our casualty rates have improved dramatically."
She opened the report, her voice taking on the crisp tone of professional presentation. "In the twelve months preceding talisman implementation, we lost nine Aurors to fatal injuries during operations. Forty-seven required extended hospitalization for serious injuries, and one hundred fifty-six suffered minor injuries requiring treatment."
The younger Aurors shifted uncomfortably at these numbers, while the veterans nodded grimly—they remembered colleagues who hadn't come home.
"In the thirteen months since talisman implementation," Amelia continued, "we have suffered zero fatal casualties. Three Aurors required extended hospitalization, and only twelve suffered minor injuries requiring treatment."
Auror Thompson, one of the newer recruits, raised his hand tentatively. "Director Bones, those numbers seem almost impossible to believe."
"They're not only believable, they're documented fact," Dawlish interjected, unconsciously touching the talisman at his chest. "Mine made a sound three weeks ago when a curse was heading towards my head, it would have cracked my skull to pieces."
"And mine," added Senior Auror Williams, "protected me from a structural collapse in Surrey."
Moody's scarred face creased into what might have been a smile. "Potter's innovations have kept more Aurors alive than any piece of equipment in Ministry history. The only question is why we're not equipping everyone with the enhanced versions."
Amelia set down the first report and picked up another. "Which brings us to the current situation. Potter's new enhanced talismans offer significant improvements over the original design. Protection against ancient curses, enhanced coordination capabilities, improved environmental adaptation..."
She paused, studying the faces around her desk. "The Italian Ministry ordered one hundred units at four hundred Galleons each. They consider this a bargain for equipment that protects their personnel against lethal magical threats."
Auror Peterson, another veteran, leaned forward with obvious interest. "Four hundred Galleons? That's double the cost of the standard version."
"But consider the capabilities," Kingsley observed thoughtfully. "Ancient curse protection alone could save lives in archaeological investigations, dark wizard lairs, and artifact recovery operations."
"Exactly," Amelia agreed. "The enhanced features address specific threats that our current equipment cannot handle. The question is whether Ministry leadership will approve procurement of the improved versions."
The room fell quiet, and several of the younger Aurors looked confused. Auror Thompson finally voiced what they were all thinking: "Director Bones, surely Minister Fudge would approve equipment that saves Auror lives? The benefits seem obvious."
The veterans exchanged knowing looks, and Moody let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Tell him, Amelia. The boy needs to understand how politics really work in this building."
Amelia's expression grew grim. "The reality, Thompson, is that Minister Fudge has refused to purchase additional standard talismans for the past eight months. His stated reason is cost concerns, but the underlying issue is more complex."
"More complex how?" Peterson asked.
"Minister Fudge is uncomfortable with Potter's growing independence and influence," Amelia explained bluntly. "A twelve-year-old accumulating wealth, international recognition, and political leverage outside traditional governmental channels makes certain people... nervous."
Thompson's face showed genuine confusion. "But Potter is helping us. His innovations are saving lives and making us more effective."
"Politics isn't always about what makes sense, lad," Moody said gruffly. "Sometimes it's about who controls what, and Potter can't be controlled. That makes him dangerous to people like Fudge, regardless of how many lives his work saves."
Dawlish nodded grimly. "The Minister would rather we use inferior equipment than admit that a twelve-year-old's innovations are essential to our operations."
"Which brings us to the purpose of this meeting," Amelia said, her voice taking on a strategic edge. "If we want to equip our Aurors with the enhanced talismans, we need to build political support within the Ministry that Fudge cannot ignore."
She pulled out a different set of documents. "I've been analyzing the political landscape, and there are several department heads who might support our position. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has expressed interest in Potter's protective innovations for their emergency response teams."
"And the International Magical Cooperation office should be interested in maintaining our technological parity with foreign magical governments," Kingsley added. "If Italy has enhanced talismans and we don't, it reflects poorly on British magical security."
Moody's magical eye fixed on Amelia with laser-like intensity. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"A coordinated campaign to demonstrate the necessity of enhanced talisman procurement," Amelia replied. "Department heads presenting unified arguments about operational requirements, cost-benefit analyses, and international competitiveness."
She spread several documents across her desk. "I need testimonials from each of you about how talismans have affected your field operations. Specific incidents, quantifiable improvements, situations where enhanced features might have prevented injuries or deaths."
"Easy enough," Williams said immediately. "I can provide half a dozen examples from the past month alone."
"Same here," Dawlish agreed. "The coordination features have prevented more accidents than I can count."
Thompson raised his hand again. "Director Bones, what if Minister Fudge simply refuses regardless of our arguments? What's our backup plan?"
The room fell silent, and Amelia's expression grew carefully neutral. "That, Thompson, would depend on how essential we consider enhanced protective equipment for Auror safety."
"Are you suggesting we might need to circumvent official procurement procedures?" Kingsley asked carefully.
"I'm suggesting," Amelia replied with diplomatic precision, "that we exhaust all official channels first. But I'm also suggesting that we should be prepared for various contingencies."
Moody's scarred face split into a genuine grin. "Now you're talking sense, Amelia. Sometimes doing the right thing requires creative interpretation of regulations."
"Let's focus on building legitimate political support first," Amelia said firmly. "I want documented requests from every department that could benefit from enhanced protective equipment. Cost-benefit analyses that demonstrate long-term savings through injury prevention. Comparative studies showing how British magical security measures stack up against international standards."
She stood and moved to the window, looking out at the bustling Ministry atrium below. "The key is making the political cost of refusal higher than the political cost of approval. If enough department heads demand enhanced talismans, Fudge will find it difficult to refuse without appearing to actively endanger Ministry personnel."
"And if that doesn't work?" Peterson asked.
Amelia turned back to face her Aurors, her expression resolute. "Then we consider whether protecting Auror lives is more important than following bureaucratic procedures. But I believe rational argument and political pressure will ultimately prevail."
"Time frame?" Moody asked pragmatically.
"Two weeks to gather testimonials and departmental support," Amelia replied. "Another week to prepare comprehensive presentations. Then we approach Minister Fudge with a united front that he cannot easily dismiss."
She returned to her desk and began distributing assignment sheets to each Auror. "Williams, I want you to coordinate with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Dawlish, work with International Magical Cooperation. Thompson and Peterson, gather testimonials from every Auror who's had field experience with the current talismans."
"What about Mister Potter himself?" Kingsley asked. "Should we coordinate with him directly?"
Amelia paused, considering the political implications. "For now, we proceed without involving Mister Potter directly. This needs to appear as a Ministry initiative based on operational requirements, not as political support for a specific individual."
"Even though that's exactly what it is," Moody observed with dark humor.
"Especially because that's exactly what it is," Amelia corrected. "The enhanced talismans will save lives, and that's our primary argument. Everything else is secondary."
As the meeting began to wind down, Amelia felt a mixture of determination and concern. The statistical evidence was overwhelming, the operational benefits were clear, and the international implications were significant. But politics had a way of overriding logic, and Minister Fudge's discomfort with Harry Potter's independence might prove stronger than his concern for Auror safety.
"Gentlemen," she said as the Aurors prepared to leave, "remember that we're not just arguing for better equipment. We're arguing for the principle that magical law enforcement should be based on effectiveness rather than politics. That's a battle worth fighting, regardless of the personal costs."
"Understood, Director," Kingsley replied, speaking for all of them. "We'll make this work."
As her office emptied, Amelia remained at the window, watching Ministry employees hurry about their daily business. Somewhere in the building, Minister Fudge was probably calculating political advantages and disadvantages, while Harry Potter continued his second year at Hogwarts, unaware of the bureaucratic battles being fought over his innovations, or maybe he was aware.
The next few weeks would determine whether rational argument could overcome political fear, or whether protecting Auror lives would require more creative approaches to procurement and policy.
Either way, Amelia was determined to ensure that her Aurors had the best possible protection available, regardless of the political complications that decision might create.
Never again, Amelia promised herself, feeling her eyes burn a little, closing them, she could almost hear his scream...
Harry Potter - One Day After The Daily Prophet was Published
The Great Hall's massive oak doors swung open, and Harry Potter stepped through the threshold with Itisa draped regally across his shoulders like a living fur stole. The morning sunlight streaming through the enchanted windows caught the green accents in his Slytherin robes, and for a moment, he looked every inch the international magical prodigy the Daily Prophet had proclaimed him to be.
The effect on the Great Hall was immediate and dramatic.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Forks paused halfway to mouths. Even the ghosts seemed to hover with increased attention. Then, as if someone had lifted a Silencing Charm, the hall erupted into a cacophony of whispers, exclamations, and barely contained excitement.
"There he is!" "The Talisman Prodigy!" "Forty thousand Galleons!" "Phoenix Crown ranking!"
Harry paused at the entrance, his green eyes scanning the sea of faces with a mixture of amusement and wariness. He'd expected attention, but this felt like walking into a particularly enthusiastic Quidditch match where he was simultaneously the star player and the Golden Snitch.
"Well," he murmured to Itisa, "I suppose yesterday's absence from the gossip mill didn't help matters."
Itisa made a soft sound that might have been agreement, her eyes surveying the crowd with the sort of predatory interest that made several nearby students unconsciously step back.
Harry began making his way toward the Slytherin table, but his progress was immediately impeded by a cluster of students who seemed to materialize from thin air.
"Harry!" A seventh-year Hufflepuff he barely knew clapped him on the shoulder with enthusiasm that suggested they were old friends. "Congratulations on the Italian contract! My dad works for the Ministry, and he says everyone's talking about your talismans!"
"Thanks," Harry replied diplomatically, though he noticed how the student's eyes kept darting to Itisa with obvious nervousness. "Though I should mention that Nymphadora also—"
"Forty thousand Galleons!" interrupted a Ravenclaw sixth-year, her eyes wide with something approaching reverence. "At twelve years old! My parents are going to die when I tell them I actually know you!"
"Know me?" Harry raised an eyebrow with mild amusement. "I'm fairly certain we've never actually spoken before."
"Details," the girl waved dismissively. "We're in the same school. That's practically best friends!"
This earned a laugh from several nearby students, though Harry noticed that not all the attention was positive. A group of older Slytherins near the back of the hall were watching with expressions that ranged from grudging respect to obvious displeasure.
"Potter!" Fred Weasley's voice cut through the crowd as he and George approached with matching grins. "Brilliant work with the Italians! Though we have to ask..."
"Why exactly are you still here?" George finished with theatrical confusion. "Shouldn't you be off conducting international diplomacy or something equally important?"
"Yeah," Fred added, gesturing around the Great Hall with exaggerated bewilderment. "This is just a school, and you're clearly operating at a level that makes our professors look like first-years!"
"I heard McGonagall muttering about lesson plans yesterday," George said with a stage whisper. "Something about 'how do you teach Transfiguration to someone who's already revolutionizing magical innovation?'"
Harry found himself grinning despite the overwhelming attention. "Well, I figure I should at least finish second year before I start my own magical research institute. Wouldn't want to seem presumptuous."
"Presumptuous?" Fred laughed. "Mate, you're past presumptuous and well into 'completely mental territory.' Most people our age are worried about passing the tests, and you're negotiating with foreign governments!"
"Speaking of which," George added with obvious curiosity, "what exactly did you do at Gringotts yesterday? The rumors are getting increasingly ridiculous."
"Nothing too exciting," Harry replied carefully. "Just some administrative matters related to the contract. Vault arrangements, financial planning, that sort of thing."
It was a diplomatic non-answer, and both twins recognized it as such, but they also seemed to understand that Harry wasn't going to elaborate.
As the crowd around Harry continued to grow, Luna Lovegood appeared at his elbow with her characteristic dreamy expression and a copy of The Quibbler tucked under her arm.
"The Wrackspurts are very excited about your success," she announced serenely, completely ignoring the chaos around them. "They appreciate innovation in protective magic, though they're concerned about the political implications."
"The Wrackspurts are concerned about politics?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity. Luna's observations were often cryptic, but they were rarely irrelevant.
"Oh yes," Luna nodded seriously. "They're quite politically minded when it comes to matters of magical freedom and governmental oversight. They're worried that your independence might frighten people who prefer predictable hierarchies."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said seriously. "Though I have to admit, the Wrackspurts' political analysis is probably more sophisticated than most of what I've encountered so far."
"They do try to stay informed," Luna agreed. "They also wanted me to mention that your cat is looking particularly magnificent today."
Itisa preened slightly at the compliment, though her attention remained focused on the crowd around them.
"Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through the noise as she approached from the Gryffindor table, her arms full of books and her expression mixing pride with obvious concern. "I've been researching Italian magical traditions all morning! Did you know that their approach to Etruscan curse-breaking is completely different from ours?"
"I'm beginning to learn that," Harry replied warmly. "Though I suspect I'll be getting a much more comprehensive education on the subject this summer."
"You're actually going to Italy?" asked a nearby Hufflepuff fourth-year with obvious envy. "For two weeks?"
"Cultural exchange," Harry confirmed. "Meeting with their Master Artificers, visiting archaeological sites, learning about their magical traditions. Should be quite educational."
"Educational," Fred repeated with a snort. "Most people call that 'an all-expenses-paid holiday to one of the most beautiful magical communities in the world,' but sure, let's call it educational."
"It is educational," Hermione said firmly, though her eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Harry's going to be learning techniques that haven't been shared with British wizards in decades!"
"Speaking of research," George observed with a grin, "have you considered that you might be making our professors slightly nervous? It's hard to maintain professional authority when one of your students is achieving things that most of them never will."
"I haven't been trying to make anyone nervous," Harry protested, though he couldn't entirely hide his amusement. "I just wanted to create something that would help people."
"Well, well," came a drawling voice from behind him. "The conquering hero returns."
Harry turned to see Daphne Greengrass approaching with her characteristic poise, though her usual mask of cool indifference was cracked by what might have been genuine pride.
"Daphne," Harry acknowledged with a slight smile. "I take it you've seen the Prophet?"
"Rather hard to miss," she replied, her tone carefully neutral though her eyes showed obvious interest. "Phoenix Crown ranking, international contracts, diplomatic recognition... quite impressive for someone who's supposed to be focusing on his studies."
"I can multitask," Harry said dryly.
"Apparently," Daphne agreed. "Though I have to ask—did you really need to make the rest of us look quite so inadequate by comparison? Some of us are trying to maintain our reputations as accomplished students."
"I'm sure your reputation can survive my minor achievements," Harry replied with mock seriousness.
"Minor achievements," Daphne repeated with a slight smile. "Yes, I suppose conducting international diplomacy at twelve is fairly routine these days."
Before Harry could respond, a familiar cold voice cut through the conversation like a blade.
"Potter."
The crowd around Harry immediately began to disperse as Professor Snape approached, his black robes billowing dramatically and his expression thunderous. Even the students who had been most eager to congratulate Harry suddenly discovered urgent business elsewhere in the Great Hall.
"Professor Snape," Harry replied politely, though he noticed Itisa's ears flatten slightly against her head.
"The Headmaster," Snape said with anger, his dark eyes flashing with something that might have been frustration or resentment, "requires your presence in his office. Immediately."
The way he emphasized 'immediately' suggested that Harry's newfound international fame had done nothing to improve his relationship with his Head of House.
"Of course, Professor," Harry said diplomatically. "Should I—"
"Now, Potter," Snape interrupted sharply. "Not after you finish your breakfast, not after you've said goodbye to your admirers, and not after you've completed whatever other self-aggrandizing activities you had planned. Now."
The Great Hall had gone noticeably quieter, with students at nearby tables turning to watch the exchange.
"I understand, Professor," Harry said calmly, rising from his position near the Slytherin table. "I'll go immediately."
"See that you do," Snape replied curtly. "And Potter? The Headmaster's patience is not infinite, regardless of your recent... publicity."
With that, Snape swept away in a dramatic swirl of black robes, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the Great Hall with the eyes of half the school upon him.
"Well," Harry said to Itisa quietly, "I suppose we should go see what Professor Dumbledore wants to discuss."
Itisa made a soft sound that might have been agreement, though her amber eyes remained fixed on Snape's retreating figure with obvious displeasure.
As Harry began making his way toward the Great Hall's exit, he caught fragments of renewed conversation:
"...wonder what Dumbledore wants..." "...probably about the Italian contract..." "...Snape looked really angry..." "Snape is always angry..."
Harry found himself hoping that whatever Dumbledore wanted to discuss, it wouldn't involve curtailing his newfound international relationships. He'd worked too hard to establish his independence to let it be constrained by bureaucratic concerns or political maneuvering.
The gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office came into view, they moved aside before he could even open his mouth, and Harry walked into the office. He wasn't surprised to see Dumbledore sitting, but he was surprised to see Lucius Malfoy, Minister Fudge, and...Dobby!
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