ACT4CH46 - THE GATEKEEPER

FUDGE FALLS, UMBRIDGE UNMASKED: MINISTRY IN RUINS, BONES TAKES THE THRONE

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

In a Wizengamot session soaked in shame and Veritaserum, former Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge and his ever-horrid sidekick Dolores Umbridge finally received what they long denied everyone else: the truth.

Fudge, trembling in his too-tight robes, admitted to ignoring You-Know-Who’s return, silencing dissenters, and clinging to power while the country bled. And as for Umbridge? The self-styled High Inquisitor revealed a catalogue of cruelty even Azkaban might flinch at—unforgivable curses on students, obliviation, and blood quill torture, all in pursuit of silencing one Hermione Granger. Her obsession with control unleashed an Obscurus in Diagon Alley, killing dozens.

Granger, since rescued by Ministry hit-wizards and recovering under strict protection, gave a harrowing testimony—only parts of which the Ministry dares release. The rest? Locked behind the Ministry Official Secrets Act. One wonders what they're still hiding.

With the Ministry in tatters and the Dark Lord’s shadow far from gone, Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore finally did something useful: handed the keys to Amelia Bones, the only adult in the room. The newly appointed Interim Minister has vowed to drag the Ministry out of the muck it so gleefully wallowed in.

“The walls will be rebuilt,” Bones declared in her first address. “But more importantly, so will trust.”

Notably absent from the scene is Britain’s newest enigma: Harry Potter. Hero, Gatekeeper, or something stranger, Potter’s silence is deafening. While Britain burns through reform, whispers grow louder: will he answer the ICW’s summons? Or is the boy who lived now the man who watches?

Confirmed for the ICW emergency summit: Bones, Dumbledore, Newt Scamander, and Saul Croaker. The topic? Magical upheaval, Azkaban's transformation, and of course, Harry Potter.

In the meantime, Bones has promised sweeping reforms: more funding to the DMLE, new elite Auror training, and international alliances to contain the magical mess Britain exported to the world. Better late than never, Minister.

One thing’s clear—whatever future the wizarding world imagines, Harry Potter is already ahead of it.

....

....

The North Sea stretched endlessly, its waves a tumult of dark greys and cold whites, churned into a frenzy by the biting wind. The group stood at the deck of the muggle trawler, staring ahead at the sight that had drawn them to this desolate corner of the world. Albus Dumbledore’s aged eyes, sharp despite their weariness, fixed on the horizon—a horizon that seemed swallowed by the impossible.

The island that once housed Azkaban was shrouded in a massive dome of monochromatic grey. It was not mist or fog, though it carried their texture. It was something far denser, more profound. A veil of unreality, rendering the very air devoid of life and colour. To Albus’s perception, it seemed as though the dome itself devoured light, swallowing even the faintest hue until only shades of grey remained.

“I have seen this once before,” murmured Albus Dumbledore. 

“What? Where?” asked Daphne.

“At the cemetery,” he said finally. “Harry wielded power like this. And when he did, he became something… beyond himself.”

The memory that Voldemort had sent him through Severus Snape came to mind. Harry had become something terrible and magnificent in that moment. A hunter, a being born of Death’s own power, who had ripped through thirteen Death Eaters and Cedric Diggory as though they were parchment in a storm.

Amelia’s reaction was immediate. “Are you telling me that something similar might have happened?”

“I cannot say,” Albus said reluctantly. “But if it is, we might be in great danger. Miss Greengrass, I strongly urge you not to go.”

“No,” Daphne said firmly, her voice carrying a conviction that startled him. “If Harry’s transformed into… something else, then I’m the best chance you have. He’ll listen to me.”

“Or he won’t,” snapped Amelia. “And you’ll be killed before any of us can intervene. This is not a matter for debate.”

Daphne’s hands clenched at her sides. “If you think I’ll sit it out while you march in there to confront him, you’re delusional.” Her green eyes burned with defiance. “Harry saved my life. He’s my fiance. I won’t abandon him.”

One of the hit-wizards, a gruff man with a scar slicing across his jawline, stepped forward. “Minister, if what’s in that dome is what Dumbledore says it is, then you shouldn’t be going either. We’ll handle it.”

Amelia rounded on him, her expression thunderous. “Before I was Minister, I was the Director of the DMLE. I will not ask my people to step where I will not go myself. Is that clear?”

The hit-wizard’s mouth snapped shut, but his unease was plain.

Dumbledore sighed, stepping into the fray before tempers could escalate further. “It may not be necessary to choose. There might just be another way.” He raised his wand, and exhaled. The next moment, Fawkes materialized in a burst of golden light.

The phoenix’s arrival immediately changed the air. The oppressive weight of the dome seemed to recede, if only slightly, as Fawkes let out a soft trill that rippled with the promise of hope. Dumbledore reached out to stroke the bird’s brilliant feathers, feeling their warmth seep into his hand.

“Fawkes,” Dumbledore said softly, “Can you help us get through that?”

Fawkes gave him a look that Albus found oddly reticent. The phoenix then looked up at the mighty dome looming before them, and let out a brilliant trill. He left Dumbledore’s shoulder, and began to beat his wings powerfully, his cry getting louder and louder with time. As he did, his body exuded light — not golden, but pristine white. The dome seemed to flinch from the radiance, its swirling greys thinning and dissipating in patches. A path, narrow and fleeting, appeared through the mist.

Amelia didn’t hesitate. “Start the engines,” she barked to the trawler’s crew. “We move now.”

The muggle vessel shuddered as its engines roared to life, and the group began their approach toward the ominous island. Fawkes flew ahead, his light carving the way forward. The hit-wizards moved into defensive positions, wands drawn, their eyes scanning the mist for any signs of danger.

It was useless. The moment they entered the dome, it sapped away every bit of their magical strength. Even Albus felt like he had suddenly aged by thirty years. He still had magic, but it was repressed to the degree that he doubted any magical ward would even consider him a ‘magical’ so long as he was like this.

The hit-wizards panicked, trying to cast basic spells, but they didn’t work. Amelia had to calm them down, before they expended whatever little they had. The only exception was Daphne, who stood near the bow, her posture stiff, her hands gripping the rail tightly. She stared ahead, unblinking, her expression a mix of fear and determination. The dome’s oppressive energy seemed to weigh on her more than anyone else, yet she refused to show it.

“You care for him deeply,” Dumbledore said quietly, moving to stand beside her.

She didn’t look at him. “Of course I do. He’s…” Her voice faltered, then steadied. “He’s Harry.”

Albus smiled. “You have no idea how true that statement is, Miss Greengrass.”

“Is this the moment when you tell me that I’m risking my life pointlessly?”

“No,” said Albus quietly. “If Harry has indeed… changed, then the only person capable of reaching him might be you… or perhaps, Miss Delacour.”

He noted the small frown on the girl’s face but continued anyway. “I’m not trying to downplay the strength of your feelings towards him, Miss Greengrass. But a word to the wise — when you stare too deep at the Abyss, sometimes, the Abyss stares back at you. Those that expose themselves to the Abstract, or the Anima if you will, are no different.”

Daphne frowned at him. “What are you insinuating, Headmaster?”

“Tell me, Miss Greengrass. You have spent quite some time being with Harry. But have you truly seen him? Known what he truly is?”

“Truly —”

“Not many months ago, I received a memory of what transpired at the cemetery. Of what Harry had transformed into… the night he killed those Death-Eaters. Even more recently, during a certain struggle in the Room of Requirement, I had the unfortunate opportunity to bear witness to his… true form. I’ll admit, to this day, I have never been truly comfortable standing close to him since that. If not for my Occlumency, which all modesty aside, is quite formidable, I believe I would have despised him with every inch of my being.”

Her frown deepened. “Are you telling me that Harry’s a threat? That he’s evil?”

“A threat? Definitely. Harry Potter poses a far greater threat to existence than anything ever has, or will be. He embodies Death, the End Of All Things. By his very nature, he is the antithesis of Existence. But evil? No. As a vessel of such a cosmic force, he is beyond the forced duality that we ordinary mortals perceive the world around with.”

Just a surface scan of her thoughts told Albus that the girl had some inkling of what he was talking about. She might have not seen the Change, but she had at least seen a flicker of that which slumbered beneath Harry’s countenance.

“I’m not certain why you’re telling me this, Headmaster.”

“The issue here is that while I might hold many positions in his life — the Headmaster, a mentor, perhaps even a friend, it is unarguably inconsequential compared to what he views you as.”

Daphne opened her mouth to reply, but Albus raised his hand.

“Harry loves you,” he said softly, and wasn’t surprised to see the slight blush forming on her face despite the odd conversation. “He loves you with every fiber of his being. I know he does. It won’t be unfair to assume that if I put Sirius Black, Miss Delacour and yourself on one side of a scale, and the rest of the world on another, Harry will likely choose your side.”

“But Sirius is dead,” murmured Daphne.

“I believe the apt expression is gone, Miss Greengrass,” Albus corrected. “He vanished into the Anima through the very Circle Voldemort intended to capture Harry with. A way to restrain him forever, or in the unlikely event of losing control, perhaps he expunge him out of Reality for good. A fate that Sirius took upon himself to protect Harry.”

He paused for a moment.

“That said, even with Sirius’s absence, the scale shall still tilt in your favour. In the end, Harry will always choose you.”

This time she actually blushed, which made it better and worse at the same time. Better, because Albus now knew he wasn’t exactly wrong about his assumptions, and worse, because of what he was about to— no, what he needed to say.

“And that, Miss Greengrass, is perhaps why Harry might try and not answer you today. Unless I am wrong, this clash with Ekrizdis, and whatever followed has accelerated whatever he is becoming. He now knows that he cannot truly hope to hide from you forever. There will come a time, when you will see it. The day will come to pass, when he will strip himself of his false shell, discard the facade of humanity that he wears and show you what he really is. And on that day, when he stands in his true form before you, and says ‘I love you’ through the lips of… a demon, would you be able to say those words back?”

Daphne was growing agitated with every word he spoke.

“Or will you step back in hesitation? Despise him as wrong as everyone else would? Will your affection, your love for him wither to disgust and apprehension? Because if that happens, I’m afraid we might just lose him forever.”

The girl looked absolutely shaken. “Professor, are you telling me —”

“I’m telling you that you must exercise caution. Pay attention to your own reactions. After everything that has happened, the Harry we knew may not be the Harry we find.”

Daphne’s grip on the rail tightened. 

“He’ll still be Harry,” she said firmly, though her tone carried a hint of uncertainty.

“For your sake, and the world’s,” murmured Albus. “I pray that’s true.”

“Merlin’s beard,” one of the hit-wizards breathed. “What in the world is that?”

Albus Dumbledore turned to face whatever the man was pointing at with shaking arms….

…and couldn’t look away.

IT loomed above the fractured coastline, a monument of grey that shimmered like thought without form. Not built. Not grown. Not summoned. Just… there. Existing on the threshold of the real and the unthinkable, occupying a space that rejected definition. It… it felt less like a place and more like a memory shared between two dying stars.

And then there was the cold.

Not the kind that numbed limbs or iced the lungs.

Not the kind that crushed mighty wildfires with a single spell. 

But the sort that crept into one’s soul. The kind that whispered…

You aren’t meant to be here. You aren’t meant to see this.

“I… I can hear my mother’s lullaby,” murmured Daphne Greengrass. “She… she’s singing to me.” She turned to Albus, the impossible question in her eyes. “How? She died giving birth to me.”

“Before Albus could even think of a reply, someone else did.

“Not a liar,” Amelia murmured. “Not a liar! They’re calling me a liar, but I’m not.” She turned to him, eyes-wide. “Tell them. Tell them I’m not, Albus! Tell them!”

“You’re not a liar, Amelia,” Albus said sadly. 

“I’m not— but they — why do they —?”

Every single member on the trawler began murmuring about things that didn’t make sense. One had begun walking in place, counting nine steps leading up to some invisible platform, only to find another nine steps, and on and on. Another smelt burned cinnamon and parchment, claiming it was how regret tasted like. A third one was lost, confused in his own memories. 

Fortunately, Albus was a seventh-level Occlumens, the highest possible out there. His mind had been a formidable fortress since he was seventeen, layered in recursive illusions, harmonic warding and mirrored thought structures with paradoxical loops to fool even the most skilled intruders. Gellert Grindelwald had not infiltrated inside his mind. Tom Riddle had never dared to exact Legilimency upon him. 

So if he was seeing Aberforth laughing — not in bitterness, but in joy, while Ariana — healthy and older, fed him sandwiches — he knew it must be true.

He held out his hand, wanting to touch his dear sister, whose eyes held love, held forgiveness, instead of accusation and hatred and —

Reality crashed like a shattering mirror.

And in front of him was… that. 

His right eye claimed it was a spiral of bone-white stone, twisting through mist. His left saw a tesselation of hexagonal bl;ack panes veined with liquid starlight. The longer he stared, the longer he wanted to stare, and the more he was convinced that he wasn’t a centennial wizard, but a boy with a beard.

A sinner with delusions of saviourhood.

Fawkes trilled loudly. 

Somewhere deep within him, something sensed the phoenix’s trill as a trigger, and dampened every single sense, submerging him in pitch blackness. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing at the edge of the trawler, which was just about to hit the shore of this island. Blinking, he looked around at his compatriots, who seemed to have come to their senses again.

“What… What was that?” Amelia asked, her voice hoarse, as if she had just been screaming for a while.

Maybe she even had.

“That is… the Gate of Azkaban,” said Albus softly, taking special care not to stare at the massive structure looming all around them. “Everyone, please ensure you look at it only peripherally. I cannot even fathom what it might do to you at such closeness.”

Despite his words, Albus almost failed to look back at Arianna again. See her happy, smiling face. 

“You really shouldn’t have come here.”

The identity of the voice froze Albus in a way few people ever could. The entire group tensed, wands at the ready at the sudden voice. One moment there was nothing, the next a young man was clear in sight, approaching them. Truly, the extraordinary thing about him was how ordinary he looked. He was wearing a standard black robe, appearing neither charismatic nor charming. His posture was stooped, back slightly bent, and what could be seen of his face was absolute in its neutrality. There was no gravity to his presence. No weight behind his being. Just a fifteen-year-old that one could probably see loitering around anywhere in Diagon Alley.

Which only made it more incredible as he slowly strode towards them, his hands empty, and devoid of even the barest of enchantments. And the wildest of all things was the expression on his face.

It was the expression of an old man that had finally reached a place he wanted in life. 

It was also the face of a starving boy that had just had a happy meal.

“....Harry,” he breathed.

Before he could say or do anything, Daphne Greengrass had already made a run for him. She sprinted across the distance between them, and practically smashed herself against him. Then, as if she hadn’t just done the unexpected, she grabbed his face and kissed him. Hard.

That caught Harry off-guard, but he returned it.

And then she smacked Harry in the head.

“Oww!” grunted Harry Potter. “Hey! Stop!” He protested with his arms half-heartedly fending off Daphne’s emotional bursts but making no move to stop her sudden and seemingly unprovoked assault. Meanwhile, Amelia Bones and the rest of the hit-wizards watched in disbelief as the young man they had believed to be a potentially world-class threat got manhandled by an angry fifth-year Hogwarts student, and wondered when the world had stopped making sense.

“...arrogant, Gryffindorish, brazen, stupid…. Egotistical little —”

Albus just smiled, his eyes back to twinkling merrily, as Daphne Greengrass hit Harry’s chest hard and wrapped her hand around him so hard that it was bound to break a rib or two.

Harry hugged her back, and listened to her steady string of derogatory adjectives until she finished it.

“...arse!”

“Yeah,” he said. “I love you too.”

Albus Dumbledore smiled. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost after all.

....

....

Moments later, everyone was sitting there on stone benches. Albus could have crafted something far more elegant for himself and the others, but just traversing through the grey dome had sapped him of his magical strength. Much to his surprise, Harry Potter had just pressed his palm to the ground, and the ground had ‘accommodated’. 

“Sorry I can’t do anything more than that,” said Harry Potter, sitting next to Daphne Greengrass who had claimed his arm for good measure. “As Professor McGonagall can attest, Transfiguration isn’t my strong suit.”

Albus’s eyes twinkled. It seemed that not even Azkaban and Ekrizdis had managed to rip away Harry’s gift of understatements. 

“It is alright, my boy,” he said. “Personally. I’m more interested in the Death dome all around. Pre-emptive defence, I suppose?”

Harry smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not defence. Containment. I’m not worried about intruders coming in, as much as… those on the inside getting out.”

“You mean… the Anima,” said Amelia slowly.

“And more.”

‘The world needs answers, Potter,” she said. “There are things we need to debrief you about. Ekrizdis. The dementors. Azkaban. St. Mungo’s. Everything that happened. The ICW has called for an emergency meeting, and we’re here to request you to be a part of it.”

The smile fell off Harry’s lips. “The world needs many things, Madam Bones. I’m not sure I’m one of them.”

“You are,” Daphne said firmly, grabbing his arm tighter. “To hell with the ICW. I need my fiance back, and you’re walking out of this place with me today. End of discussion.”

Harry blinked twice, and sighed. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is,” said Daphne, petulant. “I’m quite skilled with animation charms. You won’t need to do a thing.”

Harry snorted softly, and turned to Amelia. “A request? I didn’t think the Ministry was in the habit of asking nicely.”

Amelia ignored the jab, though she noticed Daphne’s lips twitch in what might have been a fleeting smile. “Whatever transpired here at Azkaban has impacted all over the world. They’re scared, Potter. And fear makes people do stupid things. The people need to know that you aren’t a threat, that you aren’t another dark power waiting to devour the world.”

“And if I am?” Harry asked, his voice low, almost amused. “What then?”

Amelia didn’t flinch. “Then they’ll act. Out of fear. And I can’t promise that every nation will have the sense to approach you as we have.”

For a second, something terrible flickered across his eyes. “It really does not matter, Madam Bones. It doesn’t matter how one approaches it. Death welcomes all.”

More than one person flinched at that blanket statement.

“Is — is that a threat, Potter?” asked a brave hit-wizard.

“Perkins!” snapped Amelia. Then, less agitated, she turned to Harry. “That maybe, but I doubt you  went through with creating all of this… just to make it a center of conflict again.”

“Harry,” Daphne asked. “Just.. What is this place?”

“This place… I guess I can call it a Gate. So long as it exists, there is balance. So long as this holds strong, the Anima cannot break through again. So I need to be here, to keep the balance intact.”

“No you don’t,” exclaimed Daphne. “I’m not about to lose my fiance just because of some stupid gate. You’re more than just this… Gatekeeper. You’re freedom. You’re the owl. The Harry I know wouldn’t trap himself here, no matter the cost.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Daphne —”

“No, you listen to me, Harry Potter. I know holding this gate strong hits some kind of Good vs Evil button in your Gryffindor brain, but there’s more to your life than that. My Harry doesn’t just stand still. He fights. He lives. You’ve always been more than your power, Harry. Don’t let it define you now.”

For a long moment, Harry said nothing. He stared at the swirling gate behind him, the weight of its presence etched into his every movement. Then he turned back to Daphne, his eyes softening as they met hers.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally. 

Daphne’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief, though her determination didn’t waver. “That’s all I ask.”

Amelia stepped forward again, her gaze steady. “Harry, if you decide to attend, it will send a message—not just to the ICW, but to everyone. The world needs to see that you’re not hiding, that you’re willing to stand with us.”

Harry gave her a small nod, though his expression remained guarded. “I’ll let you know. But for now, this place still needs me.”

“Minister,” interrupted Daphne. “Exactly when is the Summit?”

“In two days.”

“Good, then we will see you in two days.”

“We?” Harry asked, flustered. 

“Why, yes, of course,” said Daphne, flapping her eyelashes in a way that fooled no one. “If you have to return to the world of the living, you have to make sure this place is all set up and locked, isn’t it? And we both know just how terrible you are at architectural charms.”

“...”

“She’s spirited,” said Amelia sagely. “You’re lucky to have her, Potter.”

“Well, now that this is settled…” Daphne began.

“It isn’t!” Harry protested. “Professor Dumbledore —”

“Yes, I agree with her completely,” said Albus, ignoring the betrayed look Harry was giving him. “Come, Amelia. I believe we have things to arrange.”

He turned to Harry one last time. “I’ll send you the portkey with Fawkes. Until then, farewell, Harry Potter.”

Harry watched the old man go, his footsteps swallowed by the mist and silence of the dead island.

Then it was just the three of them—Harry, Daphne, and the Gate.

The dome pulsed gently behind him. Still. Contained. But watching. Always watching.

“You think I’m making a mistake,” Harry said, his voice softer now. “That I should just drop all this and forget about it?”

“I don’t like it when someone takes something that’s mine. I don’t abide poachers, Harry.”

“Daphne… I need to —”

Daphne snorted. “That would be a first.”

“..what?”

“ You. Needing to do something, that is. As far as I know you, things have never been according to what you want or need. You have always belonged to others. To Hogwarts. To your friends. To Britain. To Dad, Andi and the others. That psychotic elf of yours.” She paused for a moment, frowning. “And to Delacour, not that I care about her. And most importantly, you belong to humanity, to the weak and defenceless.”

Harry flinched.

“But none of them deserve you. The world will use you, and you will let them. They will take until there’s nothing left, but you will keep offering. That’s what you are, Harry. So no, I decided to take your ownership in my own hands.”

“Ownership…”

“Before coming here, I asked Dad to ignore the pointless engagement and go ahead with marriage,” she went on, full throttle. “I decided that if I staked my ownership, it would reduce the hold of others. My claim would have priority over the many.”

Harry blinked. Twice. “Marriage —”

“And besides,” she went on. “We’re Scandinavian. If you want a month of rehearsed niceties and politely sharpened smiles, you can get that from the Frenchie. If you want Truth, come barefoot under the ash trees and swear your name to mine.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He tried again, but with the same result.

Daphne grinned. “Exactly.”