Orion's Busy Day

In April in London, the rain started falling in the morning, gradually drizzling and then pouring down, showing no sign of stopping.

The Ministry of Magic, being underground, was unaffected. The Magic ceiling of the central courtyard reflected a gray-blue light, making it brighter than outside, but the air pressure was about the same.

The Fountain of Magical Brethren continued to spray water as usual, with golden statues standing atop its tops.

The wizard and witch stood at the highest point, their wands pointing skyward, while Centaur, goblin, and House-elf below looked up at them with pious expressions.

A jet of water shot from the tip of the wand, its arcs converging in mid-air before falling into a circular pool, splashing up fine droplets.

There's always someone waiting in front of the fountain. A young witch, clutching a briefcase, stood on tiptoe, peering anxiously towards the fireplace.

Two employees in dark blue uniforms walked by, one with a newspaper rolled up in his hand and the other with a breakfast paper bag tucked under his arm.

Over at the fireplace passage, green flames flickered, spitting out a wizard every few seconds. Some people jogged towards the elevator as soon as they landed, while others stood by the flames brushing the ash off their robes.

With the arrival of spring, there's a lot more work to do. Proposals, memoranda, and regulatory reports that have been piling up on the desks of various departments all winter are waiting for signatures.

Orion Black entered the courtyard from the fireplace passage, his crimson Wizengamot robe trailing across the stone floor, a silver W embroidered on his chest. His steps were slow and steady.

Several passing employees stepped aside to make way for him. Some nodded in greeting, to which he simply nodded slightly in response. Others remained silent, but their eyes followed his retreating figure for a long while.

The gazes of those people were mixed, containing more envy, awe, and something else entirely.

Of the fifty or so Wizengamot members, very few had the effect of automatically making way for them when walking down the Corridor of the Ministry of Magic.

In the Ministry of Magic, class and hierarchy are ubiquitous.

Only those at the director level and above are considered to be in the true decision-making level. Deputy directors are in charge of their own areas of responsibility, followed by the heads of various departments, then senior staff, ordinary staff, and interns.

Each level has its own dignity and troubles, but the Wizengamot are not in this pyramid.

They do not participate in daily administration, have no subordinates, do not clock in, do not manage affairs, do not handle cases, do not approve fund allocations, do not report to superiors, and no one follows behind with documents waiting for instructions.

They only appear when voting is required, cast their votes, and leave. The overall operation of the Ministry of Magic is not closely related to them, but at certain times they can determine the direction of the Ministry of Magic's operation.

Whether the bill passes, whether people are sentenced, and whether the budget is allocated all depend on those dozens of raised hands, and the Black family has been raising their hands for generations.

Orion walked toward the elevator, just as a middle-aged witch in a dark blue uniform came out. She saw him, paused for a moment, and quickly stepped aside.

Orion nodded to her, went inside, the iron gate closed behind him, and the elevator descended.

Ten underground levels, Wizengamot.

The walls on both sides of the Corridor are adorned with Portrait of past Chief wizards, most of them dozing off, a few with their eyes open but too lazy to move.

At the end was a heavy oak door with two large brass rings hanging on it.

Upon entering, one is greeted by the courtroom, with its circular dome, tiered seating, and stone walls inlaid with the emblem of the first Wizengamot from hundreds of years ago, crossed wands supporting a scale.

The central seat was for the secretary, with an open, thick-covered notebook in front of him, a quill pen hovering above the paper, ready to be used at any moment.

The seat at the very front was the Chief Warlock's seat, but that high-backed chair was empty today.

Wizengamot is the highest judicial and legislative body in the UK Wizarding World, holding the functions of both the Supreme Court and Parliament.

The formulation, revision, and repeal of wizarding laws, the final judgments in major criminal cases, and the ratification of international treaties all originate from beneath this dome.

Fifty or so people sat in a courtroom that could hold three hundred people, which seemed spacious, but the decisions made by those few dozen people could rewrite the course of the entire UK Wizarding World.

To put it bluntly, all those thousands of people from the nine divisions of the Ministry of Magic outside the door have been working for a year, only to end up back in this room waiting for these few dozen people to subdue them.

At 10 a. m., members arrived one after another, their crimson robes spread out on the seats, and the hum of low conversations echoed under the dome.

Today is the deliberation day, and there is only one item on the agenda: the third reading and vote on the revised International Magical Cooperation Treaty, the core clause of which concerns the boundaries of cross-border Magic enforcement authority.

The French Ministry of Magic proposed expanding the scope of joint law enforcement, allowing Auror from member states to execute arrest warrants on each other's territories, provided they give 24-hour advance notice.

It sounds like a technical issue, but everyone knows it isn't.

The supporters' argument was straightforward: transnational Dark Wizard activities are increasing, and the Auror forces of a single country cannot cover them all; cooperation is necessary.

The France were particularly proactive; they had been entangled with several transnational Dark Wizard organizations in the Alps for years and had long wanted to extend their law enforcement authority into other countries.

There were also supporters in UK, mainly a few officials from the Department of International Magical Cooperation and some mid-level managers from the Auror Office. They felt that it was better to avoid trouble and that having more help meant having more options.

The opposition insists on one point: sovereignty. UK should manage UK own affairs; the France have stepped in. Today they're chasing the Dark Wizard, tomorrow who will they be chasing?

Both sides are only saying what's on the surface; there's another layer underneath that no one mentions, but everyone knows it.

Voldemort's influence has begun to expand outwards. The Death Eaters ' activities are no longer limited to the UK mainland. Last winter, several Attacks occurred in the Southern France, using methods identical to those of the Death Eaters.

The France were alarmed not only because there were more Dark Wizard, but also because they discovered that there were a particularly large number of Dark Wizard coming from UK.

If this amendment passes, foreign Auror will gain legal entry rights, which will be a problem for the development of Death Eaters.

So, those present generally knew how many of the opponents genuinely cared about sovereignty and how many were simply blocking the door for Voldemort.

The discussion lasted for more than half an hour, with back-and-forth exchanges, and in the end, it boiled down to two opinions: cooperation or sovereignty.

Orion sat in the ancestral spot of the Black family, neither too far forward nor too far back, but rather in the middle, offering a good view.

The clerk cleared his throat and began reading the clauses, his voice drawn out and weak.

After reading it aloud, it's time to vote. Raise your hand.

The votes in favor were raised sparsely, about twenty or so, while the votes against followed closely behind, numbering nearly half as many.

Orion voted against.

Whether this amendment passes or not will have little impact on the Black family's current situation.

Even if the France Auror could legally enter UK, they wouldn't be able to interfere with the Pureblood families, and the Black family wasn't on the wanted list.

But the Black family's stance was clear: they openly sided with Voldemort and opposed foreign interference in UK Magic affairs. This was perfectly logical, and no one could find fault with it.

Twenty-three votes in favor, thirty-one votes against, and seven abstentions; the resolution was rejected.

The clerk finished drawing the last stroke in the notebook, closed it, and announced the meeting adjourned.

The old wizards stood up, nodded to each other, and walked towards the door; their day's work was essentially over.

Wizengamot doesn't have a fixed office schedule. You only need to come on election day; you don't need to spend time here at other times. Respectable people do respectable things, and respectable things don't take more than a few minutes.

Even though I don't work in the office, I still need an office. I need a place to sign documents, receive visitors, and occasionally handle matters that overlap with family business and official duties.

Orion's office was at the end of the sixth-floor Corridor. It wasn't large, and the furniture was dark wood, similar in style to the Study in Grimmauld Place, made by the same carpenter, only a size smaller.

The Black family family crest hung on the wall, a shield-shaped base with two stars side by side, Sirius below, embroidered in silver thread, not very conspicuous in the dim light.

The windows face outwards, but in reality, they are still underground. The windows of the Ministry of Magic are enchanted with a spatial refraction spell, so you can see the changes in light on the ground, but you can't see the actual scene.

On the windowsill sat a half-dead Magical Plant, its leaves drooping and yellowing at the edges. As Orion passed by, he casually tapped it, and the leaves trembled and perked up slightly.

He sat down behind his desk and began working on several documents: the voting records from earlier needed to be signed, and a proposal to regulate the international Magic trade.

There was a knock on the door.

Orion didn't look up, but simply said, "Come in."

The door opened, and a man in his early fifties entered. He had gray hair, a thin face, and wore the dark blue uniform of the Ministry of Magic, with the top button fastened.

Hector Fawley, a senior officer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Orion put down his quill. "Hector, sit down."

The teapot on the corner of the table automatically poured two cups of tea, one of which flew to the other side of the table.

Fawley sat down, picked up his teacup and took a sip. "I heard the vote in Wizengamot today, it was a no?"

Orion nodded, his tone relaxed. "As expected, the France were a bit too hasty."

After a few casual words, the two changed the subject.

"Last week, someone accessed the Department of International Magical Cooperation's immigration records, specifically the Black family's immigration records for March."

Orion's eyebrows twitched slightly. "Who?"

Fawley said, "Glen Messway, a mid-level officer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in the administrative rank, not involved in cases, but in charge of file retrieval and case file circulation."

Orion shook his head slightly; he had never heard of that name before.

Fawley continued, "This guy himself isn't anything special. He's worked in the Law Enforcement Department for seven or eight years, his performance is so-so, he can't get promoted or he can't be removed from his post, he's stuck there."

However, he has personal relationships with several known Death Eaters outlaws, they are close, have eaten together a few times, and attended two gatherings. He does not bear the Dark Mark, at least not yet.

After listening, Orion asked again, "Your judgment?"

"There's no reason for Messerway to check the Black family's immigration records himself," Fawley said bluntly. "Even if he did, he wouldn't find anything. At his level, even a request to access records requires a higher-up's signature. He's just doing someone else's job."

Orion nodded. "What else did you investigate?"

"They only checked the immigration records; they didn't touch the other files," Fawley said. "I have people keeping an eye on things, and if he accesses any more files related to the Black family, I'll know immediately."

Orion was silent for a moment, then said, "Keep an eye on things, and let me know if there are any new developments."

Fawley nodded, stood up, straightened his cuffs, gave Orion a slight bow, and turned to leave.

Orion sat in the chair, his fingers resting on the rim of his teacup, gently stroking it.

Regulus left for France through legal channels in early March. The registration information for the international port Portkey is archived by the Ministry of Magic through official procedures, so it's not difficult to check, but not just anyone can access it.

Those who can investigate either have the authority, the guts, or both.

Masevier is on the Death Eaters' side, and that alone isn't a big deal.

It's common for people to inquire about the heirs of Pureblood families when they go abroad.

The Black family has been under scrutiny for quite some time now, from both sides, from friendly to hostile circles.

Regulus was quite famous, and after the Christmas Banquet, even more people would want to inquire about him—curious, envious, eager to curry favor, or wanting to find out more about him; all sorts of people would come.

Being noticed isn't the issue in itself, just remember it.

(And there's more!)