The birthday cake was a masterpiece of both culinary skill and magical engineering—three towering layers of rich chocolate sponge held together with buttercream that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light, decorated with intricate sugar work that depicted constellations in edible silver and gold. Andromeda had outdone herself, creating something that managed to be both elegantly sophisticated and perfectly suited for a gathering that included people who appreciated both beauty and the potential for spectacular destruction.
"Andromeda," Morticia purred with genuine appreciation as she studied the cake's architectural magnificence, "this is absolutely exquisite. The constellation work demonstrates remarkable attention to both astronomical accuracy and aesthetic elegance."
"Thank you," Andromeda replied with the kind of quiet satisfaction that came from watching her creation be properly appreciated by people who understood excellence when they encountered it. "I thought Hercules might appreciate having his new family heritage represented in edible form."
Fifteen candles flickered atop the confection—one for each year of his life, plus one more for the new identity he'd claimed—their flames dancing in the late afternoon breeze that carried the scent of jasmine from the gardens and salt from the distant ocean.
"Make a wish, pup," Sirius said with paternal warmth that could have melted glaciers, his arm draped casually around Amelia's shoulders in a gesture that suggested decades of separation were rapidly becoming irrelevant.
Hercules looked around the assembled gathering—at the Weasleys clustered together with their characteristic mixture of chaotic affection and protective loyalty, at Luna and Xenophilius discussing the magical implications of birthday wish protocols, at the Bones women who had become instant allies, at the Addams family who had made unconventional friendship look like high art—and felt his chest tighten with emotion he'd never expected to experience.
"You know what?" he said, his deeper voice carrying across the patio with ease, "I don't think I need to make a wish. Everything I ever wanted is already here."
He blew out the candles anyway, and the assembled gathering burst into applause that was immediately joined by the sound of magical creatures celebrating from the garden, the nearby forest, and what appeared to be several dimensional planes that existed adjacent to their property.
"Excellent technique," Wednesday observed with analytical appreciation as Andromeda began cutting generous slices with military precision. "The elimination of unnecessary ceremonial complexity in favor of authentic emotional expression demonstrates sophisticated understanding of what constitutes meaningful celebration."
"Plus the cake looks absolutely delicious," Pugsley added with innocent enthusiasm, accepting a slice that was approximately the size of a small textbook. "Chemistry is much more fun when it results in something you can actually eat afterward!"
The party had reached that perfect equilibrium of successful social gatherings—multiple conversations flowing simultaneously, laughter punctuating the warm evening air, people moving naturally between different groups as interests and energy levels shifted. Mrs. Weasley was deep in discussion with Gomez about proper child safety protocols for families with dangerous hobbies, while Mr. Weasley had cornered Lurch for what appeared to be a fascinated interview about the mechanical specifications of antique hearses.
Hermione and Susan were engaged in animated debate about the political implications of supernatural family alliances, their conversation punctuated by Luna's occasional observations about the magical creatures that were apparently providing commentary on their discussion. Fred and George had discovered that Wednesday possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of historically significant pranks, leading to what appeared to be the rapid development of a professional mentorship relationship.
"This is perfect," Ginny said to Hercules as she settled beside him with her own slice of constellation cake, her brown eyes sparkling with contentment. "This is exactly what you deserved for your birthday—people who love you for who you are, not who they need you to be."
"It really is," Hercules agreed, his serpentine eyes reflecting the warm light of the torches that had begun flickering to life as evening approached. "I keep expecting something to go wrong, someone to show up and ruin it, but maybe..."
He was interrupted by the sudden, distinctive crack of multiple people Apparating simultaneously onto the estate grounds, followed immediately by his enhanced senses cataloging the arrival of six magical signatures that made his blood run cold with recognition.
The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as Albus Dumbledore materialized near the garden gates, his distinctive robes billowing dramatically despite the lack of any apparent wind. Behind him, the unmistakable figures of Mad-Eye Moody, Elphias Doge, Mundungus Fletcher, Emmeline Vance, and Kingsley Shacklebolt arranged themselves with the practiced precision of people who had conducted similar operations many times before.
The festive atmosphere of the gathering evaporated instantly as every adult present immediately shifted into defensive positions, wands appearing in hands with practiced speed while the teenagers moved instinctively toward the center of the group.
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore's voice carried across the estate grounds with the kind of gentle authority that had once made Hercules automatically defer to his judgment, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles as though this were a pleasant social visit rather than an illegal incursion into American sovereign magical territory. "My dear boy, we've come to take you home."
"I am home," Hercules replied, his transformed voice carrying clearly in the sudden silence, every word precisely enunciated with the kind of aristocratic authority that brooked no argument. "And you're trespassing on American soil without authorization, which constitutes a violation of international magical law."
He stood slowly, his enhanced physique making the movement seem effortlessly predatory, while his family arranged themselves around him with the kind of protective coordination that suggested they'd been preparing for exactly this possibility.
"Harry—"
"My name," Hercules interrupted with the kind of cold precision that made several of the Order members exchange nervous glances, "is Hercules Black. Harry Potter died the day he realized that the people who claimed to care about his welfare were more interested in maintaining their political positions than ensuring his actual safety and happiness."
Moody's magical eye whirred as it focused on Hercules's transformed appearance, taking in the increased height, enhanced musculature, and predatory grace that marked him as something considerably more dangerous than the scared boy they'd expected to collect.
"The boy's been compromised," he growled to Dumbledore without taking his attention off the assembled gathering, his wand held ready despite the obvious fact that they were outnumbered approximately three to one. "Dark transformation, enhanced physical capabilities, possible mental influences. This is exactly what we were afraid of."
"I haven't been compromised," Hercules said with the kind of dangerous calm that made the Addams family exchange satisfied glances, "I've been *optimized*. There's a difference, though I don't expect people who've spent their careers confusing control with protection to understand the distinction."
Sirius stepped forward with the fluid grace that had once made him legendary among Aurors, his wand appearing in his hand with practiced ease while his expression promised violence to anyone who threatened his son.
"Dumbledore," he said with the kind of controlled fury that suggested years of suppressed rage were finally finding an appropriate target, "you have approximately ten seconds to explain why you think you have any authority to enter American magical territory without authorization and attempt to kidnap an American citizen from his own birthday party."
"Sirius," Dumbledore replied with the kind of patient disappointment that had once made both men defer to his judgment, "surely you can see that Harry has been influenced by forces that do not have his best interests at heart. This transformation, this rejection of his true identity, this embrace of darkness—"
"*ENOUGH!*"
The word exploded from Hercules with enough force to rattle windows throughout the estate and send several nearby birds into startled flight. When he spoke again, his voice carried harmonics that seemed to resonate in dimensions that ordinary human hearing couldn't access, beautiful and terrible and absolutely inhuman.
"I have spent the last four months discovering what it feels like to be genuinely loved and protected by people who see me as a person rather than a symbol," he said, his serpentine eyes beginning to glow with inner fire that cast shifting shadows across the assembled gathering. "I have experienced unconditional family affection, meaningful friendship, and the profound satisfaction of making my own choices about my life and my identity."
The air around him began to shimmer with heat distortion as his enhanced emotions triggered the magical forces that had been integrated into his transformed physiology.
"And now," he continued, his voice dropping into registers that made the assembled Order members take involuntary steps backward, "you want to drag me back to a country that officially considers me a dangerous creature, to live with relatives who systematically abused me for thirteen years, so that I can continue serving as a convenient chess piece in your increasingly desperate political manipulations."
Steam began rising from his skin as phoenix fire mixed with draconic fury and lycanthropic protective instincts, creating a combination of magical forces that should have been impossible for any human body to contain.
"The answer," he said with finality that seemed to echo off the very foundations of reality, "is no."
Dumbledore raised his hand in what appeared to be a placating gesture, though Hercules's enhanced senses detected the subtle wand movements that suggested he was preparing to cast something considerably more coercive than a simple calming charm.
"Harry, please—"
"*Protego Maxima!*"
The shield charm exploded outward from Hercules with enough force to send three of the Order members stumbling backward, but more importantly, it intercepted whatever spell Dumbledore had been preparing to cast, deflecting it harmlessly into the evening sky where it dissipated in a shower of sparks.
"Did you just," Amelia's voice was deadly quiet as she stepped forward with her wand trained directly on Dumbledore's chest, her expression carrying the kind of professional fury that had made her legendary for prosecuting corrupt officials, "attempt to cast a compulsion charm on a minor? On American soil? In front of multiple witnesses including an ICW Task Force Director?"
"Amelia, surely you understand—"
"What I understand," she cut him off with the crisp authority that had made criminals confess to crimes they hadn't even committed yet, "is that you have violated approximately seventeen different articles of international magical law in the space of thirty seconds, and that's before we discuss the attempted assault on an American citizen with non-consensual mental manipulation magic."
Ted had produced a magical recording device from his robes and was documenting everything with the kind of systematic thoroughness that suggested he was already preparing legal briefs that would make international headlines.
"For the record," he said in his calm Scottish accent that made even devastating legal pronouncements sound reasonable, "this gathering includes witnesses from Britain, America, and the International Confederation of Wizards, all of whom can testify that former Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore has just committed what amounts to an act of magical terrorism on American sovereign soil."
"This is ridiculous," Elphias Doge sputtered with the kind of indignant confusion that suggested he genuinely couldn't understand why their unauthorized international kidnapping expedition was being treated as illegal, "Harry Potter belongs in Britain, under proper supervision, away from these... influences."
"These influences," Morticia said with the smoky precision that could make international war crimes sound like casual observations, "include a loving father, competent medical care, educational opportunities, and social connections with individuals who value his authentic development over his symbolic utility."
Her dark eyes swept across the assembled Order members with the kind of analytical assessment usually reserved for evaluating potential threats to her family's wellbeing.
"Perhaps you could explain," she continued with elegant malice that made several of the intruders shift nervously, "exactly what constitutes 'proper supervision' for a young man who has demonstrated remarkable psychological resilience, ethical decision-making capabilities, and sophisticated understanding of both power and responsibility?"
"He's a child!" Emmeline Vance protested with the kind of maternal concern that might have been touching if it weren't being expressed while participating in an international kidnapping operation. "He needs guidance, structure, protection from forces that would exploit his abilities!"
"I'm fourteen," Hercules said with the kind of cold amusement that made his enhanced features look genuinely predatory, "I'm also financially independent, emotionally stable, and surrounded by people who have proven their commitment to my actual welfare rather than their abstract political goals."
He gestured toward his assembled family and friends, who had arranged themselves in protective formation with the kind of unconscious coordination that spoke of genuine loyalty rather than duty.
"More importantly," he continued, his voice carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate in the magical foundations of the estate itself, "I am no longer the scared, isolated child you remember. I am something new, something unprecedented, something that your conventional categories can't contain or control."
To demonstrate his point, he consciously triggered a partial transformation—not the full Dracolycan form that would have been overkill for the current situation, but enough to make his already impressive physique expand with visible muscle definition while his serpentine eyes blazed with inner fire that cast dancing shadows across the assembled gathering.
"Sweet Merlin," Kingsley breathed, his professional composure cracking as he cataloged Hercules's enhanced capabilities with the trained eye of someone who'd spent years assessing magical threats. "The transformation is more extensive than the reports suggested."
"The reports," Luna said with her characteristic dreamy precision, though her voice carried undertones of steel that suggested she was considerably less vague than usual, "were written by people whose thinking has been compromised by approximately fourteen different species of confusion-inducing magical creatures, which explains why their assessment of Hercules's situation has been so thoroughly disconnected from observable reality."
She drifted toward the front of the group with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she was perfectly comfortable confronting internationally significant wizards who'd just committed multiple felonies.
"Also," she added with matter-of-fact directness that made Dumbledore's benign expression flicker slightly, "the Clarity Inhibitors around Dumbledore have increased in density since his arrival, which suggests that someone has been working very hard to ensure his judgment remains compromised regarding this particular situation."
"Clarity Inhibitors?" Moody's magical eye whirred as it focused on the space around Dumbledore, though obviously he couldn't see whatever Luna was observing. "Girl, what exactly are you talking about?"
"Magical creatures that feed on clear thinking and decision-making capability," Luna explained with the patient tone usually reserved for discussing elementary concepts with particularly slow students. "They're attracted to people in positions of authority who are making decisions based on ego rather than evidence, which creates ideal feeding conditions for sustained periods."
Her pale blue eyes swept across the assembled Order members with analytical precision that would have made Wednesday Addams proud.
"Most of you have moderate infestations," she continued with clinical detachment, "but Dumbledore's case is quite severe. I suspect someone has been deliberately cultivating Clarity Inhibitors in his vicinity for months, possibly longer."
"That," Xenophilius added with the kind of intellectual excitement that suggested he was already calculating the journalistic implications, "would explain the series of increasingly poor strategic decisions that have characterized recent Order operations, particularly regarding Harry's—forgive me, Hercules's—situation."
"This is preposterous," Dumbledore said, though his voice carried less authority than usual, and his characteristic twinkling had dimmed considerably, "I am perfectly capable of making rational decisions regarding Harry's welfare without external magical influences."
"Are you?" Amelia asked with the kind of prosecutorial precision that had made her legendary for exposing governmental corruption. "Because your recent decisions include: attempting to force a fourteen-year-old who was systematically abused by his legal guardians to return to those same guardians; declaring him a dangerous creature without trial or evidence; and now conducting an unauthorized international operation to kidnap him from American soil during his birthday celebration."
She paused, her professional composure making each word land with devastating impact.
"If those represent the quality of decisions you make when thinking clearly," she continued with deadly calm, "then perhaps magical creature influence would actually be an improvement."
Wednesday had been observing the confrontation with analytical interest, her dark eyes cataloging the tactical dynamics while Thing provided what appeared to be strategic commentary through increasingly animated gestures.
"The elderly wizard's behavior patterns suggest classic symptoms of authority addiction combined with ego-driven decision-making and possible magical creature influence," she said with clinical precision that made her sound like she was presenting a psychological case study rather than insulting one of the most powerful wizards in Europe.
"Such combinations typically result in escalating poor judgment, increasing willingness to violate ethical boundaries, and persistent refusal to acknowledge contradictory evidence," she continued with the kind of academic detachment that somehow made her observations more damning than shouting.
"Treatment usually requires removal from positions of authority, comprehensive magical creature removal procedures, and extended therapy to address the underlying psychological issues that made the subject vulnerable to such influences in the first place."
"I don't need treatment," Dumbledore replied with the kind of strained patience that suggested his legendary composure was beginning to crack, "I need Harry to understand that his place is in Britain, serving the greater good, fulfilling his destiny as the one prophesied to defeat Voldemort."
The silence that followed was so complete that Hercules could hear individual heartbeats from every person present, could smell the sudden spike of adrenaline and magical energy that indicated everyone was preparing for violence.
"My destiny," Hercules said with the kind of cold precision that made arctic winds seem balmy by comparison, "is not something you get to determine for me. My life is not a resource you get to allocate for your political convenience. My choices are not subject to your approval or your prophecies or your increasingly desperate need to maintain control over situations that have evolved beyond your comprehension."
The temperature around him began rising as his enhanced emotions triggered the magical forces integrated into his transformed physiology, steam rising from his skin as phoenix fire responded to his fury.
"I have seen what your 'greater good' produces," he continued, his voice carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate in the magical foundations of the estate, "Systematic child abuse ignored for political convenience. International incidents created by unauthorized military operations. Complex problems reduced to crude binary thinking because nuanced solutions require acknowledging that your original strategies might have been flawed."
He took a step forward, his enhanced presence making even the experienced Aurors shift nervously.
"But most importantly," he said with finality that seemed to echo in dimensions beyond normal hearing, "I have experienced what it feels like to be treated as a person rather than a weapon. I have discovered what family actually means when it's based on choice rather than duty. I have learned what it's like to make decisions based on my own values rather than other people's expectations."
The air shimmered around him as his transformation deepened, not into the full Dracolycan form but into something that retained human shape while clearly transcending normal human limitations.
"So when you ask me to return to a life where I was systematically devalued, consistently manipulated, and perpetually treated as expendable for your political calculations," he concluded with the kind of controlled power that made the assembled Order members take involuntary steps backward, "the answer remains no."
"And if we refuse to accept that answer?" Moody growled, though his magical eye was clearly cataloging the defensive positions of Hercules's family and calculating odds that apparently weren't encouraging.
"Then you'll discover," Sirius said with the kind of dangerous calm that had once made him legendary for his ability to switch from charming conversation partner to lethal combatant in the space of a heartbeat, "exactly why the Black family has survived for centuries despite having enemies in multiple governments, international organizations, and occasionally dimensional planes."
"Plus," Gomez added with explosive enthusiasm that somehow managed to sound both welcoming and threatening, "our family has extensive experience with people who mistake our hospitality for weakness, our unconventional lifestyle choices for vulnerability, and our genuine affection for our children as negotiable political positions!"
His eyes blazed with the kind of passionate fire that had once made him challenge an entire diplomatic corps to simultaneous duels simply because they'd failed to demonstrate proper respect for his wife's intelligence.
"Such individuals," he continued with dramatic flourishes that would have been theatrical if they hadn't been delivered while obviously calculating optimal sword-fighting angles, "typically discover that families who live authentically outside conventional social boundaries have developed rather creative approaches to protecting what matters to them!"
Morticia glided forward with liquid grace, her presence somehow making the evening air feel several degrees colder while simultaneously suggesting that violence would be conducted with proper elegance and appropriate attention to aesthetic detail.
"*Querido*," she purred to Dumbledore with the smoky precision that could make death certificates sound like romantic poetry, "you seem to be operating under the misapprehension that Hercules is somehow isolated, vulnerable, or lacking in proper protection and guidance."
Her dark eyes swept across the assembled Order members with the kind of analytical assessment that cataloged weaknesses, tactical capabilities, and probable survival rates with scientific precision.
"Perhaps you would benefit from observing the quality of allies he has attracted," she continued with elegant malice, "the sophistication of his support networks, and the extent to which people with genuine competence and authentic power have chosen to align themselves with his continued welfare and autonomous development."
She gestured toward the assembled gathering with fluid grace that somehow managed to make the movement seem both welcoming and implicitly threatening.
"Does this appear to you," she asked with rhetorical precision that would have made Supreme Court justices reconsider their argumentative strategies, "to be the social circle of someone who requires rescue from malevolent influences?"
Mrs. Weasley stepped forward with the kind of maternal authority that had made seven children immediately cease whatever questionable activities they'd been pursuing, her expression carrying decades of protective fury finally finding an appropriate target.
"Albus Dumbledore," she said with the tone that had once made a Howler to the Ministry sound like casual conversation, "how dare you suggest that this boy needs to be taken away from people who love him, protect him, and treat him like family?"
Her voice rose with each word, carrying the kind of righteous anger that had made her legendary for defending her children against any threat, institutional or individual.
"How dare you imply that his happiness, his health, his obvious contentment and growth are somehow problematic?" she continued, her wand appearing in her hand with practiced ease despite her apparent focus on maternal fury. "How dare you suggest that people who have given him authentic love and genuine support are somehow inferior to a system that allowed him to be systematically abused for thirteen years?"
"Molly—" Dumbledore began with his characteristic patient tone.
"Don't you 'Molly' me," she cut him off with the kind of conversational violence that had made her children legendary for their tactical understanding of when to retreat immediately. "You left that boy with people who locked him in a cupboard, who starved him, who made him believe he was worthless and unwanted. You knew about his circumstances and chose to ignore them because they served your political purposes."
Her eyes blazed with maternal fury that made her appear considerably more dangerous than her usual cheerful demeanor suggested.
"And now," she continued with increasing volume that carried clearly across the estate grounds, "when he's finally found people who treat him properly, who help him grow into his potential, who love him for who he is rather than what he can do for their causes, you want to drag him back to the same abusive situation because it's more convenient for your plans?"
The assembled Order members shifted uncomfortably, clearly recognizing the truth in her accusations even if they weren't prepared to acknowledge it openly.
"The situation has become more complex than you understand," Emmeline Vance tried with the kind of diplomatic evasion that suggested she knew their position was ethically indefensible but felt obligated to defend it anyway.
"The situation," Hermione said with the crisp authority that had made her legendary for research-based argumentation, "is that you've spent months painting Hercules as a dangerous creature who needs to be contained, while simultaneously planning to use him as a weapon against Voldemort when it becomes convenient."
She stepped forward with confident precision, her intellectual capability clearly functioning at full capacity despite the tense circumstances.
"You can't have it both ways," she continued with the logical ruthlessness that had made her unstoppable in academic debates. "Either he's too dangerous to be allowed his freedom, in which case you have no right to demand his cooperation in your military operations, or he's competent enough to serve as your primary weapon against dark forces, in which case he's certainly competent enough to make his own decisions about where to live and who to trust."
"The boy doesn't understand the larger implications—" Doge began with the kind of condescending tone that suggested he genuinely believed teenagers were incapable of strategic thinking.
"This teenager," Hercules interrupted with the kind of cold precision that made several Order members take involuntary steps backward, "has spent four years successfully navigating complex political situations, surviving direct confrontations with Voldemort, and making strategic decisions that consistently produced better outcomes than the adults who were supposedly supervising him."
His serpentine eyes glittered with the kind of controlled anger that suggested he was calculating optimal responses to various forms of stupidity.
"More importantly," he continued with the British aristocratic accent that could make polite conversation sound like veiled threats, "this teenager has discovered what it feels like to have his judgment respected, his autonomy acknowledged, and his welfare prioritized over political convenience."
He gestured toward his assembled family and friends with fluid grace that emphasized his enhanced physical capabilities.
"These people," he said with profound satisfaction, "treat me as though my thoughts, feelings, and preferences matter. They ask for my input on decisions that affect my life. They provide support without demanding blind obedience in return."
His voice carried the kind of genuine contentment that made it clear he was describing experiences he'd never had before meeting his chosen family.
"So when you suggest that I should abandon people who respect my intelligence and autonomy in favor of returning to people who have consistently treated me as expendable for their larger goals," he concluded with finality that resonated in the magical foundations of the estate, "you're asking me to choose dysfunction over health, manipulation over authenticity, and exploitation over genuine care."
"The answer," he said with the kind of controlled power that made the assembled Order members realize they were no longer dealing with the manageable child they remembered, "remains no."
The confrontation might have escalated from verbal sparring to actual magical violence, but it was interrupted by the distinctive sound of multiple people Apparating onto the estate grounds with the kind of coordinated precision that suggested official government authority rather than unauthorized vigilante operations.
"Oh good," Ted said with dry Scottish humor that somehow managed to sound satisfied despite the increasingly complex political situation, "that'll be MACUSA responding to our emergency protocols. This should be interesting."
Six American Aurors materialized in formation around the estate's perimeter, their official robes and professional bearing making it immediately clear that the illegal international incursion had just become significantly more complicated for the Order members.
"Nobody move," the lead Auror commanded with the kind of calm authority that suggested extensive experience managing international magical incidents, "By order of MACUSA, all individuals present are subject to immediate questioning regarding violations of American magical sovereignty and international wizard law."
His sharp eyes swept across the assembled gathering, immediately cataloging the tactical situation and apparent threat levels with professional efficiency.
"Agent Richardson, MACUSA International Incidents Office," he introduced himself with crisp precision, "We've received reports of unauthorized British magical personnel conducting operations on American soil without proper diplomatic authorization."
His attention focused on Dumbledore with the kind of professional courtesy that didn't quite mask underlying steel.
"Sir," he continued with diplomatic formality, "I'm going to need to see your documentation authorizing this visit, as well as explanations for what appears to be an attempt to remove an American citizen from his legal residence without consent or due process."
The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of evening insects and the distant crash of waves against the estate's cliff-side boundaries.
"Agent Richardson," Amelia said with the professional courtesy that had made her legendary for managing complex inter-agency cooperation, "Director Amelia Bones, ICW Task Force on International Magical Law. These individuals entered American territory without authorization and attempted to use coercive magic against a minor during his birthday celebration."
She produced her official credentials with practiced efficiency, her composed professionalism making the Order's amateur operation look increasingly desperate.
"I have documented evidence of multiple international law violations," she continued with the systematic thoroughness that had made her unstoppable in complex prosecutions, "including attempted kidnapping, unauthorized use of coercive magic, violation of American magical sovereignty, and conducting unauthorized intelligence operations against American citizens."
"Documentation?" Agent Richardson asked with evident interest, his professional demeanor suggesting he was genuinely curious about the legal implications.
"Comprehensive magical recordings of the entire incident," Ted said with satisfied efficiency, producing his recording equipment with the flourish of someone who'd been hoping for exactly this opportunity, "Including visual, audio, and magical signature documentation of all spells cast and statements made."
Agent Richardson accepted the recordings with professional courtesy, his expression cycling through various stages of official displeasure as he reviewed the evidence.
"Mr. Dumbledore," he said finally, his tone carrying the kind of diplomatic formality that barely concealed significant legal jeopardy, "you're under arrest for violation of American magical sovereignty, attempted kidnapping of an American citizen, and use of unauthorized coercive magic against a minor."
He gestured to his fellow Aurors, who moved with practiced precision to surround the Order members with the kind of professional efficiency that suggested this wasn't their first international incident.
"You have the right to magical legal representation," Agent Richardson continued with procedural precision, "You have the right to contact British diplomatic representatives, though I should mention that conducting unauthorized military operations tends to complicate diplomatic intervention possibilities."
"This is outrageous," Elphias Doge protested with the kind of indignant confusion that suggested he genuinely couldn't understand why their international kidnapping expedition was being treated as criminal behavior, "We're trying to rescue Harry Potter from malevolent influences!"
"Sir," Agent Richardson replied with professional patience that didn't quite mask his personal opinion of the situation, "according to American magical records, there is no individual named Harry Potter currently residing in the United States. Our records show that Hercules Black, an American citizen by virtue of legal adoption, was entertaining friends and family at his birthday celebration when you arrived without authorization and attempted to remove him from his legal residence using coercive magic."
His tone carried the kind of diplomatic precision that made it clear the Order's version of events wasn't going to be accepted without considerably more evidence than they were likely to be able to provide.
"From MACUSA's perspective," he continued with the systematic thoroughness that had made American magical law enforcement legendary for their procedural competence, "this appears to be a case of international kidnapping thwarted by the presence of qualified witnesses and appropriate defensive measures."
Hercules felt something settle in his chest that he hadn't even realized was tense—the profound relief that came from watching competent authority figures actually do their jobs properly, protecting citizens rather than exploiting them, applying laws fairly rather than selectively.
"Agent Richardson," he said with genuine gratitude, his transformed voice carrying clearly across the estate grounds, "thank you for responding so quickly to what must have been a rather unusual emergency call."
"Mr. Black," Agent Richardson replied with professional courtesy that carried undertones of genuine respect, "American citizens have the right to live peacefully in their own homes without harassment from unauthorized foreign agents, regardless of whatever political complications might exist in other countries."
His expression carried the kind of solid competence that suggested he took citizen protection responsibilities seriously rather than treating them as political inconveniences.
"Besides," he added with dry American humor that somehow managed to sound both professional and personally satisfied, "unauthorized international kidnapping operations tend to create paperwork problems that nobody enjoys dealing with."
As the MACUSA Aurors began processing the Order members according to proper legal protocols, Hercules looked around at his assembled family and friends—at people who had literally put themselves between him and institutional power that wanted to exploit him, who had risked international incident to protect his right to choose his own life.
"You know," he said to the gathering, his voice carrying the kind of profound contentment that had been impossible when he was still trying to be Harry Potter, "this might be the best birthday I've ever had."
His serpentine eyes glittered with amusement as he watched Dumbledore being officially arrested for the first time in his extremely long career.
"Definitely the most entertaining," he added with the devastating grin that had become his signature expression, "and probably the most politically significant."
The evening stars were beginning to appear in the California sky, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of waves provided peaceful counterpoint to the organized chaos of international law enforcement processing unauthorized British wizards according to proper diplomatic protocols.
It was, Hercules reflected as he settled back into his birthday celebration surrounded by people who had chosen to be his family, exactly the kind of life he'd never dared imagine he could have—complicated, unconventional, filled with people who loved him enough to fight international incidents for his happiness.
For someone who'd spent most of his life feeling expendable to other people's causes, it was the most beautiful gift he could have received.
---
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