Orion Confronts Crouch

At the same time, in the Wizengamot meeting hall beneath the Ministry of Magic.

The stone dome is high and wide, and Magic light shines down from the walls, passing through the air that has been still for hundreds of years, and landing on the circular, tiered seating area.

Portrait of past Chief wizards hung on the stone wall. Some were dozing off, some were chatting with their neighbors, and a few had simply turned their backs to the wall, completely indifferent to what was happening below. Others were awake, gazing down at the scene with silent eyes.

In the center of the hall was a spacious circular floor paved with dark stone slabs, with the Chief scribe's long table in the very center, piled high with parchment scrolls and seals.

About fifty Wizengamot members were scattered across the tiered seating area, which filled most of the hall.

Today there is a motion; Orion Black, the representative of the Black family, submitted a procedural application ahead of schedule, with wording so concise as to be almost ambiguous.

The Black family is about to initiate a traditional procedure protected by ancient Pure-bloods laws, and this is hereby filed.

There was nothing wrong with the procedure, Chief secretary could find no reason to refuse to accept it, so it was put on today's agenda.

Everyone present was wondering, what was the Black family up to?

Orion sat in his seat, wearing a crimson Wizengamot robe with a silver "W" embroidered on his chest, his expression calm and composed, no different from whenever he sat in this position.

His eyes were half-closed, his mouth was level, his body leaned back slightly, one hand rested on the edge of the table, and his fingers were gently clasped together.

Even though the proposal submitted today was a major move that the Black family had been preparing for several days, the expression on his face was no different from when he was discussing an amendment to the import tariff on crucibles.

Abraxas Malfoy sat in the seat next to him; the Malfoy family's seats were right next to the Black family's, and the seating arrangement hadn't changed for decades.

Her long, silver-gray hair was neatly combed, her hands were naturally folded on her knees, and her gaze swept over the faces present, with the casualness of someone attending a routine meeting.

The Chief wizard's seat was empty; Dumbledore was not there.

In recent years, it has become more difficult to see Dumbledore in the General Assembly Hall of Wizengamot than to encounter a living Troll in the Corridor of Hogwarts.

The absence of the Chief wizard had become a daily occurrence in Wizengamot; even the Portrait of former Chief Wizards no longer bothered to look at the empty seat.

Nobody cares whether he's there or not, at least not right now.

The Chief clerk was looking down at today's agenda. The Black family's proposal was third on the list, preceded by a discussion on revising the Floo Powder quality standards and a routine report on Muggle entry and exit point management.

The discussion among Floo Powder was still going on when suddenly light pierced through the dome between the stone bricks in the center of the ceiling.

A golden beam of light fell from above, passing through the stone wall, through the gaps between the Portrait, and landed in front of Orion, hovering in mid-air.

The entire conference hall was illuminated by golden light. Everyone looked up, and even the former Chief wizards who were dozing in the Portrait woke up and peeked out from the edge of the frames to look down.

Golden light spread across the sky, revealing rows of gilded Ancient Latin letters, exactly the same as those in the sky Diagon Alley.

The complete terms of the Family Vengeance Contract burned word by word in the air of Wizengamot, spreading outwards from Orion as the center.

The Floo Powder ' discussion stopped. The committee member, who was halfway through his sentence, still had his mouth open but didn't continue. All fifty or so Wizengamot members looked up.

On the tiered seating, some people stood up, some gripped the armrests, and some turned to look at Orion.

Orion sat in his seat, the golden Latin letters swirling and floating in the air before him, illuminating his entire face.

The clerk stopped writing with his quill pen, the tip hovering over the paper. A drop of ink seeped from the tip and stained the notebook.

Abraxas looked at the Latin text in the air, scanning it from beginning to end, reading through every clause, and then sat up slightly.

In the Portrait, a 17th-century Chief wizard, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and with a mostly white beard, who has been dead for nearly three hundred years, presses his face against the edge of the frame, squinting as he tries to decipher the Latin inscriptions in the air.

"Declaratio sanguinis," he read in a strange tone, then snorted and retreated into the depths of the frame, "Something no one has touched in centuries, you're really something."

Orion stood up from his seat, straightened the front of his crimson robe, and held a pre-prepared formal contract filing document in his hand.

He walked through the passageway between the steps, past the still-glowing Latin inscriptions, to the circular floor in the center of the hall, and to the Chief clerk's desk, where he put down the document.

"The Black family, in accordance with the Ancient Pureblood Law, has officially registered the 'declaration sanguinis,' Family Vengeance Contract."

His voice was steady and resonated in the utterly silent hall. "Target, the Rowle family; instigator, Regulus Atallos Black, heir of the Black family."

The Chief clerk looked at the document before him, then at Orion, then at the still-glowing Latin script in the air, his face expressionless.

He was an elderly male wizard who had held this position for decades and had handled enough documents to fill twenty filing cabinets.

He had read the terms of the declaratio sanguinis in the documents; every Wizengamot scribe had to copy the Ancient Pureblood Law from beginning to end when he took office, but that was only part of the ceremony.

He never imagined that a living person would actually walk into this conference room and place a living contract in front of him.

He looked down at the documents on the table. The parchment shimmered with faint golden patterns, the mark of the contract Magic itself, impossible to fake.

After reading it, he looked up, dipped his quill pen in ink, and began to record it in the notebook.

"There's probably only one person in all of UK capable of forcibly breaking an ancient contract Magic of this level," a white-haired old member muttered from the upper right seat.

Several people's eyes simultaneously turned to the Chief wizard's empty seat.

That the Dark Lord isn't here today.

Just then, the side door of Wizengamot was pushed open, Barty Crouch strode in.

He was lean, tall, with straight shoulders, his hair combed back without a single stray hair, a slightly high hairline, a thin face, prominent cheekbones, and two deep nasolabial folds that stretched from his nose to the corners of his mouth.

He wore the standard dark robes of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic, with the Director's badge, silver scales and sword pinned to his left breast.

His gaze swept quickly across the entire hall, the lingering golden characters in the air, Orion standing in the center of the hall, the documents on the scribe's desk, and the various expressions of the Wizengamot members on the tiered seating.

He walked down the steps, across the central open space, and straight up to Orion, stopping less than a meter away—too close to be impolite, but not close enough to be considered a provocation.

"Orion Black," Crouch's voice, as cold and hard as his appearance, his gaze stern and unrestrained, "What is the meaning of this filing?"

Orion turned to him, his demeanor composed. "Mr. Crouch, it's clearly stated in the documents that the Black family has initiated Family Vengeance Contract, targeting the Rowle family. The initiator is my son, Regulus Black. Procedurally, the filing with Wizengamot has been completed."

"Procedure?" Crouch took a step forward, his eyebrows furrowed, immediately adopting a confrontational stance, showing no politeness. "The Black family believes they have been offended and should file a formal complaint with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Wizarding World has judicial procedures, courts in Wizengamot, and the enforcement authority of the Auror Office. Any dispute should be resolved through legal channels, and organized acts of force must be authorized by the Ministry of Magic."

"The validity of the Declaration of Sanguinis does not derive from the authorization of the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Crouch," Orion waited for him to finish, his tone unchanged. "It comes from an ancient order established by Pureblood families hundreds of years ago. This law has not been repealed by Wizengamot to this day, and it runs parallel to the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Magic, without replacing each other."

He reached for the filing document on the table, flipped to the first page, and pointed to the clause. "If I remember correctly, the Ministry of Magic's jurisdiction is not equivalent to the right to deny the ancient traditions of Pure-bloods. If Mr. Crouch wants to repeal this law, please go through the legislative process."

Crouch stared at Orion and asked curtly, "Are you telling me the Ministry of Magic can't handle this?"

"I'm telling you, this matter has its own rules," Orion said, glancing around at the assembled members, his tone slightly raised. "These rules weren't set by the Black family, nor by the Crouch family; they were established hundreds of years ago by the ancestors of all of you here."

Several representatives from long-established Pureblood families sat up slightly and nodded solemnly.

They love to hear that.

Crouch looked at Orion's face and remained silent for a moment.

He certainly couldn't go through the legislative process; he was Pureblood Wizards and the patriarch of the Crouch family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

The Family Vengeance Contract is the oldest rule of war between Pureblood families, and for hundreds of years no Pureblood Wizards has attempted to challenge it.

To question it is tantamount to publicly stating in front of all Pureblood families that the rules set by your ancestors do not count in my eyes.

Crouch wouldn't openly challenge the ancient order of Pure-bloods Pureblood families the meeting hall of Wizengamot. He's tough, but he's not stupid.

So he changed his approach, no longer dwelling on the legality of the procedure. He shifted from direct confrontation to a more methodical aggression, staring into Orion's eyes, his voice hardening. "The instigator is Regulus Black, thirteen years old, a minor wizard."

He swept his gaze across all the Wizengamot members present. "Does an underage wizard have the qualifications to perform an ancient ritual of this level? Does he have the qualifications to wage a war of annihilation?"

"Regulus Black, heir to the Black family, is thirteen years old and, according to Black family tradition, is qualified to preside over family ceremonies independently," Orion, already prepared. He took out another document from his inner robe pocket—a thin piece of parchment bearing his signature and the Black family's Magic seal, a deep blue light faintly emanating from it. "The Patriarch confirms, the Patriarch authorizes, the document is here."

He handed the document to the clerk, then turned back to Crouch and added, "Contract Magic itself is a verification process. If the person casting it is not qualified, the contract Magic will not be activated at all. You see, it was activated, so the qualification is established."

Crouch stared at the still-glowing Magic signet, his brow furrowed deeply.

Magic itself is the judge, so that path is blocked.