made mistakes and made some choices
PHINEAS BLACK
Walking down Diagon Alley those days was a struggle for more reasons than one. Every few steps you could find protestors either for or against the old Muggle Protection laws, and anyone in want or need of purchasing something would spend at least an hour before even being able to enter the first store.
The not-so-crazy fact about it all was that the riots had started with a dispute between two Black family members. Not just two random ones, but between father and son.
Phineas Black had barely graduated from Hogwarts, school that his own father was currently the headmaster of, two days before it all exploded.
“Phineas Black II presents case on the Ministry of Magic against his own father, Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black” was found in every newspaper, in every lunch and dinner conversation, hushed whispers giving way to something more, something bigger than any of them could have ever imagined.
Anyone working in the Ministry in June of 1898 can perfectly remember the scandal that occurred both inside and outside the room where the Wizengamot confronted both of them. Who would have thought? A venerable Black, pure blood and Slytherin brains, facing his own father in a trial… A trial in favour of Muggle Rights.
“Mr. Black accuses Mr. Black of… Apologies. Mr. Phineas Black II accuses Mr. Phineas Nigellus Black of locking up in a cave, without justifiable cause, two muggles, parents of a student at the school he directs.”
That’s how the case was opened, the chamber more expectant for the family drama than the actual issue at hand.
“Anything to say in your defense, Mr. Black? Mr. Black, Father?”
Phineas Nigellus stood up, seemingly taking a few seconds to look around the room, as if cataloguing every single wizard that dared to attend that that. “All I have to say is this. That disgusting blood traitor doesn’t deserve to, and won’t ever be again, be called my son.”
The room fell silent, his words being registered by everyone by what they were. Nothing other than the sharp intake of breath of some of the court members could be heard for a while, looking at the father and son duo glaring at each other with increasing fears of a duel happening right in front of them.
“Mr. Black,” the same man tried to insist, voice shaky, but upon noticing the way the accused was looking at him, as if he was planning to tear him apart and hang his limbs from the top of the Astronomy tower, he stopped. Closing his eyes, as if that made anything better, as if that made the man disappear, he tried again. “Anything to say related to this case, Mr. Black?”
Phineas blinked, as if not expecting to have to answer those sorts of questions, as if his previous statement was enough. “Those muggles deserved it,” he started to say, his voice icy, the room hanging to every word. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do than sit here watching a boy whom I gave everything to demands meaningless things from me and this honourable court.”
At this, he got up from his seat and started walking towards the doors. No one, not even the Aurors in charge of him, knew what to do. This was unprecedented, and everyone knew what Phineas Nigellus was capable of when someone got in his way. They had no interest in the Ministry being reduced to rubble for something they considered, up until that point, a petty father-son squabble.
“Sir,” one of the Wizengamot members tried to call him, and Phineas turned around sharply, not allowing him to continue.
“Oh, and one more thing. If necessary, which it is increasingly faring so, I will start a case of my own to repeal once and for all those useless laws in favour of Muggle Rights.”
“And if necessary,” young Phineas spoke for the very first time, calm and collected, looking straight into his father’s eyes, “I will pursue the defense in favour of those rights you want gone.”
The older Phineas grabbed his wand from the Auror to his left, and opened the door. “In that case,” he said before finally leaving, “I will see that your name is erased from the family tapestry.” He was furious, voice and posture betraying him increasingly by the second. “I’m ashamed to be your father.”
“And I’m ashamed to be called your son,” the boy, for he was merely that, responded calmly, two seconds before the door slammed shut and the court finally adjourned.