Claimed at the Crossroads

Smoke still drifted through Ravenhall Academy's wreckage, the once-grand castle scarred by battle. Grief clogged the air, yet for Harry Potter, the pressure crushing her chest came from more than sorrow - it came from betrayal. Pain, she had expected. Loss, too. This was the one thing she had never seen coming. In the center of Crownspire Hall, Harry faced the Arcane Directorate officials gathered before her, every expression flat and hard. At the front stood Dorian Blackthorn, newly named Minister for Magic, grim-faced and unbending. Around him waited other powers - Wizengamot members, senior Aurors, and officials who had somehow escaped the war's ugliest blows. They had come for her. "Miss Potter," Dorian said, his tone level and stripped of warmth. "We need to talk about what you did during the war." Harry's fingers jerked near her hip, where her wand ought to have rested, but she had surrendered it after Malrec fell. She had thought she was done fighting. That belief had been a mistake. "What I did?" she echoed, her voice rough with exhaustion. "You mean defeating Malrec? You mean helping save all of you?" A murmur moved through the crowd. A few people dropped their eyes, shame flickering there, while others - especially the Wizengamot - stayed hard and unmoved. "Yes, defeating Malrec," snapped another voice, and Harry turned toward Marius Voss, an older but still imposing member of the Wizengamot, contempt etched into every line of his face. "And what about the ruin left behind? Ravenhall Academy lies broken, the Arcane Directorate is chaos, and the Grave King is gone only after destroying everything in his path. Was the price worth it?"