The Ministry of Magic's main hall glimmered in gold and obsidian, the enchanted ceiling above alive with swirling clouds like an early evening sky. It should have been a grand sight. Awe-inspiring, even. But for Ethan, stepping out of the courtroom doors, it felt more like stepping into a storm.
They barely made it ten steps before it happened.
Flash
The first camera snapped before he'd fully registered the crowd. A sharp burst of light struck his eyes,
Flash
Flash
Flash
"Lady Wright! Lady Wright!"
"Madam, over here! What are tour thoughts on the final verdict?"
"Do you believe Lockhart deserves Azkaban?"
"Is it true you were responsible for the evidence?"
"Who's the boy with you, your son? Was he involved in the investigation?"
They closed in like a tide.
A dozen, maybe two dozen reporters, shouting questions over one another while jostling forward, robes brushing against robes in a blur of motion. Cameras clicked relentlessly, the smell of burnt film and magical ink filling the air. Bright paper quills hovered, scribbling madly in the air, enchanted notepads floating beside them like obedient birds.
Ethan took a step back on instinct.
His mother didn't.
Lady Chloe Wright stood tall, back straight, face carved in unshakable poise. And when she spoke, her voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"I will not be answering any questions at this time."
That didn't stop the reporters.
"Is it true you provided the memory evidence?"
"Will you be publishing your own findings on the Lockhart case?"
"Do you think the sentencing was too light?"
Flash
Flash
One man stepped too close. Her eyes landed on him for a single second, and whatever he saw made him hesitate. The crowd wavered slightly, but none dared retreat.
Ethan turned his face half away from the lights, shielding his eyes. He hadnt expected them to be immediately set upon by these mosquitoes when leaving. He underestimated how annoying reporters were. Crude. Less like observation, and more like being dissected.
He felt a hand close gently but firmly around his.
"Don't say a word," his mother murmured to him. "Let them choke on their questions."
With that, she moved forward.
Not fast. Not panicked. Just purposeful.
Reporters tried to move with her, to press in, but somehow she always had just enough space. People parted before her like reeds to a river. Ethan followed at her side, eyes downcast, letting the noise wash over him.
It took almost a full minute to break free of the circle.
Then, quiet.
Not full silence, the Ministry never truly slept, but the main corridor just outside the central atrium was sparsely populated. The marble floors gleamed, and polished brass doors lined the walls. A water clock dripped steadily nearby, each drop vanishing into thin air as time was marked by magic rather than gravity.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
"Are they always like that?" he asked, brushing his hair from his face.
"Worse, sometimes," his mother replied, letting go of his hand. "Especially when you give them something real to chase."
He nodded, but-
"Ah, Lady Wright," came a voice from the corridor wall. "Going to slip away before we even get to talk?"
Ethan turned sharply.
Rita Skeeter stood leaning against the brass door to Department 3B, her eyes glittering behind bejeweled spectacles. Her quill, acid green and slightly too large, hovered over her shoulder, twitching in anticipation like a snake waiting to strike. She wore lurid violet robes that clashed spectacularly with her gold hair, and a self-satisfied smirk stretched across her lips.
Lady Wright did not sigh.
But Ethan felt the air cool by a degree.
"Miss Skeeter," his mother said evenly.
"I was hoping to catch you before you vanished off," Rita said brightly. "Very hush-hush in there. No talking, no pictures, only what can be written. You wouldn't believe the speculation I've been hearing."
She stepped forward. "Ten years in Azkaban, was it? Quite a sentence. I'd love a few words from the witch behind the curtain. Off the record, if you prefer, just a little peek behind the veil."
Ethan could recognized the tone, sharp curiosity dressed up in false charm. A wolf pretending to be impressed by its prey.
His mother didn't blink.
"There will be no comments, Miss Skeeter. As I've already told your colleagues."
"Oh, but I'm not just a colleague," Skeeter said sweetly. "I'm an admirer. The work you've done, it's inspired, truly. Half of us have been chasing Lockhart's ghost stories for years. And to think, it was you who managed to unravel the whole tapestry. Brilliant. Ruthless, even."
Ethan felt the weight of the moment. He glanced up at his mother.
Lady Wright met Rita's gaze without flinching.
"Your compliments are noted," she said coolly. "And refused."
Skeeter didn't falter. She tilted her head, eyes flicking toward Ethan with a glint of interest.
"Is this your son?" she asked. "He's grown. Wasn't he the boy I heared who passed his first year at Hogwarts with top marks across all subjects? Fascinating, really. Magical talent clearly runs in the family."
She took a step closer, as if about to crouch down for a quote.
His mother's hand rose, not fast, not aggressive. Just a single, graceful motion. And Skeeter stopped mid-step, as if struck by an invisible wall.
"My family," she said softly, "is not for sale."
The words lingered, floating like frost in the air.
Rita blinked. Her smile flickered, but only for a moment.
"Very well," she said, smoothing her robes. "You can't blame me for trying. I suppose I'll just have to speculative. After all, the public wants to know."
"You may write what you like," Lady Wright said, brushing past her. "Just don't expect it to end well for you."
Ethan followed at her side.
He didn't look back.
Only when they reached the main fireplace did she pause again. The green flames roared, ready to take them home. She adjusted his collar gently, then offered him a glance.
"Journalists are leeches," she said. "They drain others for their gain and dress it up as public interest. Never trust a question that comes with a smile."
Ethan gave a small nod.
The flames turned green as she threw in the powder.
"Wright Estate," she said calmly. The Ministry vanished before his eyes, replaced by what has slowly been turning into a place he could call home.