ACT4CH47 - The ICW Summit

The enchanted plateau of the Swiss Alps stretched endlessly before them, an expanse of crystalline snow and jagged peaks that shimmered under the charmed sky. Amelia Bones stepped onto the threshold of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Grand Assembly Hall, her footsteps faltering for a moment. The vast structure before her was unlike anything she had seen: a shimmering dome of light and magic, suspended impossibly in the air, with no visible means of support. Its grandeur was as intimidating as the gathering it housed.

“First time?” Newt Scamander’s soft voice cut through her thoughts. He stood beside her, his weathered face creasing into a kind smile. His robes were unassuming, save for the ICW insignia embroidered near his collar, and a faint glow of magic lingered around him like a second skin. “It can be… overwhelming.”

Amelia forced a tight smile, her grip on her wand tightening beneath her robes. “A bit, yes.”

“Don’t let them rattle you,” Saul Croaker added from her other side, his tone dry. The head of the Department of Mysteries was imposing for his height, his dark eyes unreadable. “Half of them are just here to hear themselves talk. The other half are terrified someone else might actually say something useful.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “And which half are we in?”

Newt chuckled softly as they stepped toward the entryway. “The third category, of course: the ones who actually have something to say.”

“Would’ve been better if we had Potter here,” she muttered. “These people would at least listen to us after that.”

The Grand Assembly Hall loomed ahead, its entrance an enormous archway guarded by two silent figures cloaked in shimmering silver. As the trio passed through, the air changed. Amelia felt the enchantments ripple over her skin, ancient and powerful, attuned to every magical signature that entered.

Inside, the chamber was breathtaking. The circular space was vast, with tiered rows of seats rising high into the domed ceiling, which reflected a sky so clear and bright it seemed unreal. Delegates from every magical nation sat in clusters, their robes a dazzling array of colors and styles. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, the low hum of whispered conversations filling the air.

Amelia’s heart thudded in her chest as she took her place at the British delegation’s table. Newt sat to her right, his calm demeanor grounding her, while Croaker took his seat with the air of someone utterly unbothered by the weight of the moment. Across the room, Amelia spotted familiar faces: Nicholas Flamel, seated with the French delegation, his silver hair gleaming like spun starlight; the stern representatives of Durmstrang, their crimson robes stark against their pale faces; and the regal Apolline Delacour, who exuded an air of quiet authority.

“I did not know that Apolline Delacour held an ICW seat,” Amelia murmured, thinking of her daughter, often seen on Harry’s arm at Hogwarts. Susan had wept herself a small river upon discovering that little fact.

“There’s a lot people don’t know about Apolline Delacour,” said Saul in a tone that suggested that he was letting off far less than he knew. “And trust me, it’s better that way.”

At the center of the chamber, on a raised dais, sat Albus Dumbledore. His presence was a beacon of calm amidst the storm, his indigo robes embroidered with constellations glinting in the light. As Supreme Mugwump, he radiated both authority and warmth, his sharp blue eyes surveying the room with quiet intensity.

A chime rang out, clear and resonant, and the chamber fell silent. Dumbledore rose, his voice effortlessly commanding the attention of every delegate. “We convene this extraordinary session of the International Confederation of Wizards to address the grave events of recent weeks. Let the record show that all nations are represented, and the quorum is met. We begin.”

The delegates nodded solemnly, and Dumbledore continued. “The magical world stands on the brink of upheaval. The Anima breaches, the transformation of Azkaban, and the devastation wrought in Diagon Alley are but symptoms of a greater crisis. Today, we gather not to lay blame but to chart a path forward—a path that ensures the safety of our people and the stability of our world.”

His gaze swept the room before landing on the British delegation. “Minister Bones, Britain has been at the epicenter of these events. We call upon you to address the assembly.”

Amelia swallowed hard and stood. The weight of the moment was suffocating, but she forced herself to focus. “Thank you, Supreme Mugwump,” she began, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “It is true that Britain has faced unprecedented challenges. The breaches at Azkaban, the release of chaotic magic, and the destruction in Diagon Alley have left deep scars. But these events are not isolated incidents. They are the culmination of forces that have long been building—forces that we must confront together.”

She glanced at Newt, who gave her an encouraging nod, and continued. “Let me begin with the facts. The attack on St. Mungo’s Hospital by an unidentified Death Eater triggered a chain reaction that led to the release of an Obscurial. Despite protective enchantments cast by Harry Potter to contain the Obscurial, these measures were ignored by Dolores Umbridge, then Senior Undersecretary to the former Minister Fudge. Her actions, combined with negligence from other Ministry officials, led to the Obscurial’s release and the subsequent devastation of Diagon Alley.”

Murmurs rippled through the chamber, but Amelia pressed on. “It was only through the combined efforts of Albus Dumbledore, Newt Scamander, and Britain’s DMLE squads that the Obscurial was restrained and safely removed from the country. Let me be clear: the fault lies not with the Obscurial but with those who enabled its release. We must hold them accountable.”

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, his expression calm but approving. “Continue, Minister.”

“The situation at Azkaban further exacerbated the crisis. The prison’s transformation into its current state—a barrier between the Anima and our reality—has left us facing unknown dangers. While Harry Potter played a pivotal role in stabilizing the situation, the rebellion of the dementors, the ambush by Death Eaters, and the actions of former Minister Fudge all contributed to the chaos.”

Amelia’s voice hardened as she delivered the next part. “It is also my duty to report that Lord Voldemort himself appeared in the Azkaban courtyard. He struck down our forces with terrifying ease. It was only through the combined efforts of my entire team, and Harry Potter’s endless supply of his unique thaumaturgy that we were able to repel him—though not without great cost.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Amelia could feel the tension thickening, and for a moment, she feared she had overstepped. Then Dumbledore spoke, his voice a balm against the storm.

“Thank you, Minister Bones. Your account is both sobering and enlightening. But it raises a question that must be addressed: what role does Harry Potter now play in these events? And what does his presence—or absence—mean for the future?”

“Thank you, Supreme Mugwump,” she said. “The breaches at Azkaban, the release of chaotic magic, and the devastation in Diagon Alley have left indelible scars. But to understand what has transpired, we must first understand the figure of Ekrizdis.”

The hall fell silent at the name, a ripple of unease passing through the delegates. Even among the ICW, Ekrizdis was a name spoken only in whispers.

“Ekrizdis,” Amelia said, her tone grave, “was a figure of unimaginable power and cruelty. A sorcerer who, in 1489, struck a secret pact with the British Ministry under Minister Rowle. He was given free rein to operate in the shadows, with his dementors as his enforcers. In exchange, he promised a grand transformation—a return to the Age of the Gods. According to his deal, when the world reached what he deemed its ‘threshold of corruption,’ he would unleash the Anima upon the mortal realm, collapsing the veil between this world and the divine.”

The murmurs in the chamber grew louder, and Amelia raised her voice to cut through the noise. “This pact, hidden under the highest levels of Ministry secrecy, allowed Ekrizdis to build Azkaban as his stronghold. It was never intended as a prison for criminals. It was a staging ground—a place where his dark magic could fester and grow, feeding off the despair of its captives.”

Nicholas Flamel stood abruptly, his silver hair gleaming under the enchanted lights. “Minister Bones, are you suggesting that the British Ministry knowingly harbored a being of such danger? That it allowed this... deal to fester unchecked for centuries?”

“I am,” Amelia replied sharply, meeting Flamel’s gaze. “The Ministry under Damocles Rowle believed they were securing their future—a future free of the so-called ‘muggle problems’ that plague our world. They were promised a return to an age of magical supremacy, and they ignored the consequences. That secrecy persisted across generations, hidden even from most Ministers. Until recently.”

She turned to the assembly. “Ekrizdis’s plan, however, was not one of salvation. It was domination. By unleashing the Anima, he intended to obliterate the barriers between the mortal and divine realms, flooding our world with raw chaos. Magic as we know it would cease to exist, replaced by something incomprehensible.”

Flamel leaned forward, his expression inscrutable. “And yet, Ekrizdis’s plan did not succeed.”

“No,” Amelia said, her voice heavy. “Thanks to Harry Potter.”

The room fell silent again at the name, the weight of it pressing down on the assembly. Amelia continued, her voice steady but tinged with emotion.

“Harry Potter, in the face of impossible odds, confronted Ekrizdis within the heart of Azkaban. Using a combination of Death, Summer, and Binding magic, he disrupted Ekrizdis’s ritual and sealed the breach. But it was not without cost. Azkaban itself has been transformed—no longer a prison but a barrier, a gate between the Anima and our world. And Harry Potter stands as its gatekeeper.”

She let her words sink in before pressing on. “Ekrizdis himself was defeated, but his legacy remains. The chaotic magic he unleashed has caused devastation across the globe, destabilizing communities and threatening the balance of our world. And while Harry Potter has stabilized the immediate threat, the long-term consequences of these events remain uncertain.”

Another wizard, this one from the Balkans, posed a question next. 

“Minister Bones, what of the dementors? They were the enforcers of Azkaban. Are they gone?”

Amelia nodded. “The dementors rebelled against the Ministry during the Azkaban crisis. They are no longer bound to us, but their numbers have been drastically reduced. Many were destroyed during the battle, but we suspect some of them remain at large. We must be vigilant.”

Another delegate rose, his voice sharp. “And what of Harry Potter? If he has taken on the mantle of gatekeeper, does he remain loyal to the ICW and its principles? Or does his power place him beyond our reach?”

Before Amelia could respond, Dumbledore raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. “Harry Potter has proven himself to be a guardian of the highest order. He does not seek power for its own sake, nor does he act out of self-interest. His actions have saved countless lives, not just in Britain but across the magical world. To question his loyalty is to misunderstand the very essence of his character.”

Amelia nodded, grateful for Dumbledore’s intervention. “It is true that Harry’s powers are unlike anything we have seen. But they are not to be feared. He is a force for balance, not chaos.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. “However, I must also emphasize that this crisis is not over. Lord Voldemort appeared during the Azkaban battle, striking down our forces with terrifying ease. Though he was ultimately repelled, he remains a grave threat. And Ekrizdis’s legacy, while contained for now, will require constant vigilance.”

The murmurs in the chamber grew louder, the weight of her words settling over the delegates. Dumbledore rose again, his expression somber.

“Let us not lose sight of what is at stake,” he said. “The world stands at a crossroads. We face threats both old and new, and the choices we make now will shape the future of magic itself.”

Nicholas Flamel rose, his expression calm but his voice carrying a subtle edge. “Supreme Mugwump, distinguished delegates, I do not question the bravery of Mr. Potter. But bravery alone does not make one infallible. The Anima’s power is not to be trifled with, and Mr. Potter’s connection to it is unprecedented. Should we not consider safeguards?”

Amelia’s heart tightened, but before she could respond, Dumbledore’s voice cut through the tension. “Nicholas, we have both seen the dangers of unchecked power. But we have also seen the dangers of mistrust and division. Harry Potter is not a threat to be contained; he is a guardian, standing between us and forces far greater than any of us can comprehend.”

Flamel inclined his head slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. “And yet, history has taught us that even guardians can falter.”

Amelia took a deep breath, stepping forward. “Harry Potter has risked everything to protect not just Britain but the entire magical world. Without his intervention, we would be facing a far graver crisis. To vilify him now would be both shortsighted and unjust.”

The debate raged on, voices rising and falling as delegates argued over Harry’s role, the need for transparency, and the path forward. Through it all, Amelia stood her ground, drawing strength from Newt’s quiet support and Croaker’s steely presence.

Finally, Nicholas Flamel rose from his seat, his silver hair gleaming like frost under the enchanted light, his expression calm but unyielding. “It is clear that Harry Potter’s role cannot be ignored. Nor should it be feared without cause. But Minister Bones, for all your eloquent speech about sacrifice and containment, and of the savior upon whom the fate of our world now rests. And yet…” His gaze swept the chamber. “Where is he?”

Amelia stiffened, her jaw tightening. Flamel pressed on, his voice gaining strength. “We are asked to trust in this figure—this Harry Potter—who holds power that defies comprehension. A power, might I add, that no single person should wield unchecked. But this Harry Potter, this so-called gatekeeper, does not deign to appear before us, the representatives of the magical world. What are we to make of that?”

The murmurs in the hall swelled, a rising tide of agreement and unease. Delegates leaned toward one another, exchanging sharp whispers, their eyes flicking between Flamel and Amelia.

Amelia rose to respond, her voice measured but firm. “Lord Flamel, Harry Potter has sacrificed more than any of us can imagine. The events at Azkaban—”

Flamel interrupted, his tone polite but insistent. “Are not in question, Minister. What is in question is his absence. If he is the stabilizing force you claim him to be, why is he not here to address this assembly himself? Why should the ICW entrust the safety of our world to a figure who remains hidden in the shadows?”

Before Amelia could respond, a ripple of magic coursed through the chamber, silencing the delegates as one. The air seemed to grow heavier, charged with an energy both familiar and alien. Even Flamel’s poised expression faltered, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the chamber’s massive double doors.

They swung open with a low, resonant creak, revealing a figure standing silhouetted against the bright light of the Alpine sky. Harry Potter stepped into the hall, his presence a stark contrast to the chaos swirling around his name.

He looked human. He felt human. And yet, there was something about him—something unplaceable, an undercurrent of power that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the room. His black robes flowed around him like living shadows, edged faintly with silver that shimmered with every step. The Sword of Gryffindor rested at his hip, its ruby gleaming faintly in the light, and his green eyes were piercing, their gaze sweeping the room with quiet intensity.

The hall fell into stunned silence as Harry walked forward, his steps unhurried but purposeful. When he reached the center of the chamber, he turned to face the assembly, his presence commanding without effort.

“Supreme Mugwump,” Harry said, his voice steady but edged with youthful boldness. “Honored delegates. Sorry for being late. Azkaban decided to keep me a little longer than planned.”

“How did you breach the wards?” someone shouted, rising in a mix of outrage and disbelief. The ICW Sentinels immediately tensed, their wands at the ready, eyes locked on him for any sign of hostility.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his tone casual. “I… apparated? Minister Bones gave me a portkey to the Summit earlier. Given my luck with portkeys—and trust me, it’s abysmal—I decided to use the coordinates instead. Apparating felt safer.”

The room fell silent as realization spread among the gathered wizards. Extracting coordinates from an enchanted portkey, bypassing its security, and mimicking its magical signature to circumvent the ICW’s wards—all to execute an international apparition into one of the most heavily protected locations in the world. It was the kind of feat that bordered on impossible.

Amelia Bones sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course. Leave it to Potter to turn international apparition into a personal convenience.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling. “Azkaban may have left its mark, but it seems Harry remains as inventive as ever.”

Harry gave a half-smile, inclining his head toward Flamel. “Nicholas,” he said, his tone direct but respectful. “You wanted answers, and here I am.”

Flamel leaned forward slightly, his expression cautious but curious. “It’s not mistrust that drives my questions, Mr. Potter. It’s concern—for the balance of power, for the safety of our world.”

“And I get that,” Harry replied, his voice measured. “But let me be clear: I didn’t ask for this job. The whole ‘gatekeeper’ gig? It wasn’t exactly in my career plans. But it’s what I’ve got, and I take it seriously.”

He stepped forward, his green eyes scanning the room. “Azkaban isn’t a prison anymore. It’s a boundary—a wall keeping the Anima from spilling into the world. My job isn’t to lord over magic or hoard power. It’s to make sure the chaos stays on its side of the fence.”

A German delegate shot to his feet, his voice sharp. “And vat about de destruction caused by de Anima’s release? De destabilization of entire regions? Can you promise it von’t happen again?”

Harry met the man’s gaze evenly. “No. I can’t make promises I might not keep. What happened at Azkaban was unprecedented. The Anima is unpredictable, and containing it isn’t as simple as flipping a switch. But what I can promise is that I’ll do everything in my power to stop it from happening again.”

Flamel spoke again, his tone more thoughtful. “You speak of vigilance, Mr. Potter. But vigilance requires trust. Trust comes from understanding. Will you allow the ICW to study the Anima? To learn its nature?”

Harry’s expression hardened slightly, though he kept his tone calm. “The Anima isn’t a toy, and it’s definitely not a research project. It’s raw chaos, Nicholas. Magic untethered. It almost destroyed us once, and I’m not risking it happening again because someone got curious.”

Flamel pressed on. “Witches and wizards have always sought to understand the Anima. It’s our nature to explore.”

Harry tilted his head, his tone sharp yet light. “And they didn’t need to poke at a Gate to do it, did they? The conjunctions are still out there. If anything, there are more of them now after Azkaban. You want to study the Anima? Go for it. Just don’t tamper with what’s keeping the rest of it at bay.”

Flamel’s eyes narrowed, though not in hostility. “And Voldemort? If the Anima is still a threat, surely he is too.”

Harry’s jaw tightened for a moment before he answered. “He’s not gone, but he’s weaker. He’s still a threat, and I’ll deal with him when the time comes. But right now, we need to focus on stabilizing what’s left—on ensuring Azkaban doesn’t become Ground Zero again.”

Dumbledore rose, his voice carrying its usual calm authority. “Harry speaks wisely. The world stands on fragile ground. Fear and division will only weaken us further. Instead, we must work together—to heal, to rebuild, and to prepare for what lies ahead.”

For a moment, the chamber was silent, the weight of Dumbledore’s words hanging in the air. Harry glanced around, noting the mix of expressions—some skeptical, others pensive, and a few even impressed.

“Well,” he said, breaking the silence with a wry smile, “any other questions, or can we get to the part where you tell me what a terrible idea this all was?”

Then Apolline Delacour stood up, her voice carrying the soft lilt of her accent but sharpened with curiosity. “Monsieur Potter, we ‘ave ‘eard much about ze battle at Azkaban, but little about Ekrizdis ‘imself. A figure of legend, si—but also one whose tale ‘as always felt more fiction zan truth. No?”

Harry shifted his gaze to her, his expression calm but heavy with memory. “Ekrizdis wasn’t a bedtime story or a myth for campfires, Madam Delacour. He was real—frighteningly so. If Voldemort was a spark, Ekrizdis was the wildfire that came before him. Obsessed with control, driven by power, and willing to go further than anyone else ever dared.”

The German delegate, tall and sharp-featured, leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “Vat vas his goal, exactly?”

Harry’s jaw set as he answered, his voice measured. “Ekrizdis wanted to collapse the barriers between this world and the Anima—the chaotic wellspring of all magic. Not to bring back the Age of Gods, mind you. That wasn’t ambitious enough for him. He wanted a new reality—one he ruled as its eternal master. Azkaban wasn’t just his hideout; it was his workshop. He fed on the despair of its prisoners, turning their suffering into fuel for his rituals.”

Murmurs rippled through the room, but Harry pressed on, his voice growing firmer. “At the heart of his plans was a homunculus—something he created to house the Eternum. Tens of thousands of souls fused into one vessel. It wasn’t just a weapon. It was meant to be his divine form, his way to wield the Anima and reforge the world in his image. When I found him, he’d already merged with it. He wasn’t human anymore—he was something else entirely.”

Nicholas Flamel rose with a calm yet curious air. “And how, then, did you stop him, Mr. Potter? Such a being, drawing directly from the Anima… it seems an impossible feat.”

Harry met Flamel’s gaze, unflinching. “It would’ve been, if I tried to beat him at his own game. But Ekrizdis had a fatal flaw—his ego. He thought the homunculus made him untouchable. It didn’t. Using the Sword of Gryffindor, infused with Binding magic, I struck through the core of the homunculus and locked him in a state of permanence. He became a prisoner of his own power.”

“Permanence…” Flamel murmured, as if tasting the word. “You managed to achieve such a thing?”

Harry nodded. “Under very specific conditions, yes. But even that wasn’t enough. The Anima was already breaching, and sealing it required something far beyond brute force. That’s why I transformed Azkaban into what it is now—a gate. A boundary to hold back the chaos.”

Flamel’s eyes sharpened. “How?”

Harry let a faint smile touch his lips. “Magic.”

The Italian delegate, a stout woman with a commanding presence, interjected. “You used the power of the Anima to do this? To twist Azkaban itself into a gate?”

Harry’s voice was quiet but firm. “Not entirely, but yes. Ekrizdis had shattered the boundaries. I had to reverse the damage and shut the door. Azkaban is now that door. And I’m the one keeping it locked.”

The Durmstrang delegate, his skepticism clear, rose next. “And vat of Ekrizdis? Is he… gone?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, his expression distant. “No. He’s not dead. His soul was sundered from the homunculus. How long he’ll survive like that, I can’t say. But he’s not a threat anymore.”

Flamel’s voice rose again, probing. “And the homunculus? Such an artifact—a vessel capable of channeling the raw might of the Anima and Family Magic alike—surely it warrants study. Its potential dangers cannot be ignored.”

Harry’s expression hardened, his tone sharpening. “The homunculus isn’t a puzzle for scholars or a prize for researchers. Its existence is a danger. Studying it would risk waking what’s dormant. Ekrizdis’s power isn’t something to be toyed with.”

The Russian delegate, his suspicion evident, spoke up. “And yet, you vield power dat is incomprehensible. Are ve to believe you alone should bear dis burden, vith no oversight?”

Harry turned to him, his voice calm but cold. “I didn’t ask for this power, and I don’t wield it lightly. But make no mistake: the homunculus stays locked away. Anyone who thinks otherwise is playing with fire.”

Flamel inclined his head slightly, his expression neutral. “Your concerns are clear, Mr. Potter. But fear is a dangerous guide. If you want the ICW’s support, you must meet us halfway.”

Harry’s gaze swept the room, his green eyes gleaming with quiet defiance. “I’m not here to make enemies. But I won’t compromise the safety of our world for the sake of curiosity. If that’s a problem, then I’ll face it.”

The chamber buzzed with murmurs, but Dumbledore rose, his calm voice cutting through the noise. “Harry speaks with wisdom. The homunculus is a danger we cannot afford to provoke. He has proven, time and again, that his judgment is guided by a deep sense of responsibility.”

Flamel’s voice softened, though his words remained pointed. “We understand the weight of what you’ve done, Mr. Potter. Few could carry such a burden. But trust isn’t unilateral. Collaboration and understanding are the foundation of progress.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber, several delegates leaning forward in their seats, emboldened by Flamel’s words. A representative from Egypt, her robes adorned with symbols of ancient magic, rose gracefully, her voice measured yet pointed.

“Mr. Potter, your accomplishments are remarkable, and none here would deny that. But you are just one man. The homunculus suit is a vessel of unparalleled power, unlike anything we’ve encountered before. You call it dangerous—and perhaps it is—but without understanding it, how can we ensure such a threat never rises again?”

The German delegate, his sharp features hardening, added in a clipped tone, “You speak of vigilance, yet you are tethered to Azkaban. If da vorld faces another crisis of dis magnitude, how vill you respond, bound to a single place? Da ICW has vast resources—scholars and researchers from every magical tradition. Together, ve could find a solution.”

Harry’s jaw tightened slightly, his emerald eyes flickering with a faint, cold light. He remained silent, his expression carefully neutral as a delegate from India rose next, her tone firm but tinged with diplomacy.

“With respect, Mr. Potter,” she began, her voice steady, “your education, while notable, is limited to five years at Hogwarts. You are clearly formidable in battle, but the intricacies of magic, particularly artifacts like the homunculus, are challenges even seasoned researchers struggle to unravel. The ICW is a melting pot of the world’s greatest magical minds. If you trust us with this, we can work together to ensure the safety of our world.”

The chamber erupted into murmurs of agreement, voices rising in a cacophony of debate. Harry remained still, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the podium, his expression carefully neutral. Yet, his silence seemed to fuel the growing fervor, as if his very presence demanded an answer.

A delegate from Japan, a wizened man whose robes shimmered with intricate patterns of starlight, rose with deliberate slowness. The room quieted out of respect for his reputation as a master of artifact containment and analysis.

“Potter-san,” he began, his voice calm yet weighty, “I have devoted my life to the study of objects of power—cursed blades, soul-binding jewels, and constructs that defy the laws of magic itself. The homunculus suit is a relic of singular importance. If you truly wish to protect this world, you must allow it to be studied by those with the expertise to understand its nature. Peverell Vessel or not, no one can carry such a burden alone.”

The emphasis on ‘Peverell Vessel’ made Harry’s grip on the podium tighten imperceptibly. His green eyes glimmered with a faint light as he finally spoke, his voice measured and edged with steel.

“And what exactly would you do with it?” he asked. “Contain it? Study it? Take it apart in the name of curiosity?”

The Japanese delegate met Harry’s gaze unflinchingly. “Containment, certainly. Study, absolutely. Dissection, only if necessary to unravel its mysteries. Understanding the homunculus is essential to prevent future catastrophes.”

Harry stepped forward, his presence commanding. “And when one of those mysteries tempts someone beyond reason? When curiosity turns into ambition, and ambition becomes ruin? The homunculus isn’t some cursed trinket. It’s tied directly to the Anima—a key to a door that should never be unlocked again. Are you so willing to risk the destruction of this world for the sake of satisfying your curiosity?”

Flamel interjected, his tone measured and calm. “With proper safeguards, such risks can be mitigated. The ICW has successfully contained countless artifacts of dark power—”

“Not like this one,” Harry interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “This isn’t a cursed goblet or an enchanted locket. The homunculus is volatile. One mistake, one misstep, and it won’t just kill a few researchers. It will unravel everything. This isn’t a challenge for academic minds—it’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

The chamber fell into uneasy silence, the weight of his words pressing heavily on the delegates. But the tension was soon broken by the measured voice of Apolline Delacour as she rose gracefully from her seat.

“Monsieur Potter,” she began, her tone soft but firm, “we do not question your intent. But intent alone does not make one infallible. You wield ze power of Death, Summer, and Binding. You are ze gatekeeper of ze Anima. Ze holder of Balance, no? Yet you ask us to trust in you implicitly while denying us ze same courtesy. Is zat… balance?”

Harry’s lips pressed into a thin line, the accusation hanging in the air. Apolline’s gaze softened slightly, but her next words were deliberate.

“Still, it is also true zat ‘Arry Potter ‘as proven time and again zat his decisions are made with ze safety of others. My own daughter owes her life to his actions. Zat is why ze House of Delacour is to be tied with ze House of Potter, non?”

The mention of their upcoming union caused a ripple of intrigue across the room. Amelia Bones, seated nearby, bristled at the subtle shift. Apolline’s motives were rarely straightforward. She watched the woman carefully, ready to intercede, but before she could speak, Apolline continued.

“Perhaps, un compromise can be reached?”

Harry’s sharp gaze flicked to her. “What sort of compromise?”

Apolline smiled—a gesture Amelia recognized as anything but benign. “Ze homunculus suit remains in Azkaban, under your watch, as you wish. But perhaps ze ICW could be granted limited access. A team of vetted scholars, overseen by you, could study it in a controlled environment. Zat way, we gain understanding without risking containment.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and his voice, when it came, was harsh and unyielding. “Impossible. You want to toy with the key, and you want to do it right next to the lock? Do you want to watch the world burn, Madame?”

To Amelia’s surprise, it was the Russian delegate who spoke next, his voice unusually agreeable. “I concur. Da suit can be studied—but da Gate must remain untouchable.”

The chamber buzzed with renewed debate, the delegates murmuring amongst themselves. Flamel sat quietly, observing Harry with a thoughtful expression, as though weighing the weight of his next move.

Harry let the noise wash over him, his gaze distant as he considered the enormity of what was being asked. Finally, he straightened, his voice quieter but no less resolute.

“I’ll consider it,” he said. “But understand this: my priority is containment, not curiosity. If I believe, even for a second, that your research risks the Gate or the safety of this world, I will destroy the homunculus. No debate. No negotiation.”

The Japanese delegate inclined his head respectfully. “A fair condition, Potter-san. We await your decision.”

Dumbledore rose then, his calm presence soothing the tension in the room. “Let us not forget the greater threats still lingering—the chaos left behind by the breach. Our priority must be to address those dangers and ensure stability.”

The delegates murmured in agreement, the discussion shifting to other matters, though the tension still lingered. Amelia allowed herself to relax slightly, but the unease remained. The balance of power was fragile, and the road ahead uncertain. For now, however, Harry’s resolve had held the fragile unity together.