Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (MOD Novelization)

14

The atrium of the Ministry of Magic was a whirlwind of activity, more congested than Harry had ever seen it. Wizards and witches swarmed from all sides, their hurried footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. Golden grilles concealed a row of elevators along one wall, their ornate designs shimmering under the enchanted ceiling that depicted a serene azure sky dotted with pale violet paper airplanes heading in every direction.

Percival Clearwater, the Minister of Magic, strode purposefully along the line of elevators, his robes immaculate but his expression fraught with impatience. He attempted to weave through the throng, edging his way to the front. The grilles clattered and jangled as they opened and closed, each accompanied by a cool female voice that gently reminded everyone:

"Mind your step. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

"Move aside. Make way! I'm the Minister of Magic, for heaven's sake," Percival barked, his frustration seeping through his polished demeanor.

The crowd paid him little heed, too absorbed in their own affairs. A flock of pale violet paper airplanes swooped over Percival's head, inter-departmental memos flitting to their destinations. One clipped the back of his head, causing him to swat irritably at the air. With no immediate elevator available, he huffed and unfolded a copy of the Daily Prophet, scanning its contents with a frown.

"Mind your step," the cool voice repeated as another elevator discharged its passengers. "The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

Suddenly, a surge of noise erupted near the golden gates as Harry Potter entered the atrium. A crowd pressed in around him, voices overlapping in a cacophony of questions and exclamations. Delphi, his newly appointed Auror colleague, maneuvered alongside him, attempting in vain to hold back the tide of inquisitive witches and wizards.

"Yes, madam, I definitely think this is a matter for the Ministry to ponder at length, yes," Delphi said to a flustered witch clutching a beaded handbag. Turning to a stern-looking wizard, she added, "Thank you, sir. We shall investigate." To yet another anxious face, she assured, "We have no firm information on who was responsible for..."

Before she could finish, a determined witch broke free from the group and sidled up to Harry, her eyes shining with fervent admiration. A reporter trailed closely behind her, quill and notebook at the ready.

"Now that we know the full truth of what you did to save us all," the witch said ardently, "may I say—on behalf of wizarding kind—how grateful we are for your heroism."

Harry offered a tight smile, attempting to sidestep her. "I appreciate the sentiment," he replied, his gaze fixed on Percival across the hall.

"What the Minister said... well, you set my mind at ease," she continued, undeterred.

"Who is to be believed? Harry Potter or the Minister of Magic?" the reporter interjected, his quill hovering expectantly above the parchment.

Harry caught sight of the reporter and chose not to respond, quickening his pace.

"Why not one and the same?" the witch suggested eagerly.

The reporter's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "Harry as Minister? Are you leading a coup d'état, Potter?"

Harry stopped abruptly, his expression aghast. He couldn't let such a notion go unanswered. "There is no such thing taking place," he stated firmly. "Do not print a word."

The reporter raised an eyebrow. "The public will want to know the truth. If the Minister is certain that Voldemort is back, who should they believe? Was he lying? Someone is lying."