The Great Hall did not recover quickly.
For several long seconds after the Daily Prophet headline made its way down the tables, no one spoke. The usual clatter of cutlery faded into a brittle quiet, broken only by the rustle of parchment and the low hoot of owls retreating to the rafters.
Harry sat very still.
Across from him, Ron looked as though someone had struck him. Hermione's face had gone pale, eyes racing as she scanned the article with frightening speed. Ginny's jaw set, the easy fire in her expression sharpening into something far more dangerous.
Neville swallowed hard. "They can't," he said weakly. "Can they?"
"They'll try," Hermione replied. Her voice was calm, but her fingers were clenched white around the paper. "They always try."
Around the Hall, reactions rippled outward.
Hufflepuff erupted first, not in outrage, but confusion. Cedric's friends muttered furiously, voices rising as they pointed out that Harry had saved hostages, that he'd followed the spirit of the task better than anyone.
Ravenclaw fractured into heated debate. Legal precedent was cited aloud. Ancient Animagus statutes were dragged up from memory. Someone loudly declared that international magical law superseded Ministry bylaws.
Slytherin watched.
Some with satisfaction. Others with a careful, measuring silence.
At the staff table, Professor McGonagall was already on her feet.
"This is preposterous," she said sharply, not bothering to lower her voice. "The boy is a minor, operating under duress, and—"
"—and registered," Flitwick added, eyes flashing as he adjusted his spectacles. "With the ICW, no less."
Snape said nothing, but his gaze was fixed on the article, expression dark and thoughtful. When he finally spoke, it was soft enough that only those closest heard.
"The Ministry does not move without motive," he said. "And this reeks of fear."
Dumbledore folded the paper neatly and set it aside.
"Fear," he agreed, "and opportunity."
All eyes turned to Harry.
"How do you feel, my boy?" Dumbledore asked gently.
Harry exhaled slowly.
"Tired," he said honestly. "But not surprised."
The hearing was scheduled for two weeks later.
The Ministry did not waste the time.
Every corridor Harry walked seemed louder with whispers. Some students offered fierce support; others watched him with wary fascination, as though expecting him to transform at any moment. Letters arrived by the dozen, some kind, some furious, some thinly veiled threats written in careful, bureaucratic language.
Dumbledore prepared quietly.
When the day came, Harry did not travel alone.
The Wizengamot chamber was cold stone and old power.
Tiered benches rose in a semicircle, packed with robed witches and wizards bearing rings and sigils of authority. Floating candles cast long, wavering shadows across the engraved floor. At the center stood the accused's podium, bare, unadorned.
Harry took his place without hesitation.
He wore simple robes. No symbols. No attempt to intimidate.
Sirius sat behind him, jaw tight, hands clenched. Remus sat beside him, calm but watchful. Hermione was already whispering furiously with an ICW representative, a tall witch with silver-threaded robes and eyes like sharpened glass.
Cornelius Fudge presided, his expression fixed somewhere between smug certainty and nervous resolve.
"Harry James Potter," Fudge began, voice echoing. "You stand accused of violating Ministry law by failing to register your Animagus form, thereby endangering public safety."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Harry lifted his chin slightly. "I registered," he said calmly. "With the International Confederation of Wizards."
Fudge's smile tightened. "This is a matter of British law."
The ICW representative stepped forward.
"And British law," she said crisply, "is subordinate in matters of transnational magical phenomena. Your Ministry was notified of Mr. Potter's registration and chose to ignore it."
The dark faction pressed hard.
They spoke of fear. Of unpredictability. Of a boy who had lived too long, learned too much, become something other.
They hinted, never outright, but enough, that Harry Potter was no longer fully human.
Harry listened.
When it was his turn to speak, the chamber stilled.
"I didn't choose this," he said quietly. "I didn't ask to be called to another world. I didn't ask to survive wars before I was sixteen."
He looked up at the Wizengamot, not pleading, not defiant.
"But I chose to follow the law that applied," he continued. "I chose transparency. I chose restraint."
Silence followed.
Then Dumbledore rose.
"The question," he said softly, "is not whether Harry Potter is dangerous. It is whether we punish a child for becoming capable."
The vote was swift after that.
Clear.
Decisive.
Harry Potter was found not guilty on all charges.
Outside, the press surged.
"Mr. Potter! Do you fear the Ministry?"
"Will you transform again in public?"
Harry paused, eyes steady.
"I fear injustice," he said. "And I transform when the world requires it."
The flash of cameras lit his face.
Somewhere far away, roots stirred.
And the maze waited.