Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

The months that followed were some of the busiest of Harry's life. With the help of the lordships he had inherited, he threw himself into the political arena of the Wizengamot, determined to use his influence to bring about the changes he had dreamed of. His days were filled with meetings, discussions, and strategic planning, and Grimmauld Place became a hub of political activity.

Harry quickly established himself as a formidable presence in the Wizengamot. He formed alliances with other lords and families, building a coalition that seemed eager to support his vision for a better wizarding world. Together, they pushed forward several bills that Harry had painstakingly drafted.

The first bill focused on werewolf rights. It proposed that all werewolves should have access to the Wolfsbane Potion at no cost and that discriminatory practices in employment and housing against werewolves would be met with severe penalties. The bill garnered significant support, with many lords agreeing that it was time to rectify the injustices suffered by werewolves like Remus Lupin.

The second bill addressed goblin rights. It sought to eliminate the long-standing prejudices against goblins, granting them more autonomy in managing Gringotts and allowing goblin-made artifacts to be recognized as legal tender in certain transactions. This bill, too, received a fair amount of support, especially as it aligned with the interests of several influential families who had business dealings with goblins.

Harry felt a sense of accomplishment as these bills began to make their way through the legislative process. It seemed that his strategy of aligning with the old pureblood families was paying off. He had managed to push forward significant reforms that would help some of the most marginalized groups in the wizarding world.

But Harry's most ambitious bill was yet to come, and it would prove to be the turning point in his political career.

The bill, which Harry had dubbed the Muggleborn Economic Integration Act, proposed a new exchange rate for Muggle currency when converted to Galleons. The idea was to make it easier for Muggleborns and their families to transition into the wizarding world without facing financial hardships. The bill also included provisions for goblins to manage the exchange process, which Harry believed would strengthen the ties between wizards and goblins and provide a steady source of income for Gringotts.

Harry was optimistic about the bill. He believed it was a natural extension of the work he had already done—another step toward creating a more just and equitable society. But when he brought it before the Wizengamot, he quickly realized he had made a grave miscalculation.

The initial discussions were tense. As Harry presented his proposal, he noticed the skeptical looks on the faces of many of the lords who had previously supported him. When he finished, there was a heavy silence in the chamber, broken only by the shuffling of papers and the murmurs of discontent.

Lord Nott, one of the more influential members of the Wizengamot, was the first to speak. His voice was cold and measured as he addressed Harry. "Lord Potter, while I commend your efforts to improve the conditions for Muggleborns, I must question the wisdom of this particular bill. The economic ramifications of such a drastic change to the exchange rate are... concerning, to say the least."

Several other lords nodded in agreement, and Harry felt a pang of unease. He had anticipated some resistance, but he hadn't expected it to be so immediate or so widespread.

Lord Greengrass, who had been one of Harry's staunchest allies, spoke next. "Harry, you must understand that the economy of the wizarding world is delicate. A sudden influx of Muggle wealth could destabilize our financial institutions. Gringotts may not be able to handle such a dramatic shift, and the consequences could be disastrous for all of us."

Harry tried to counter their arguments, pointing out the potential benefits of integrating Muggleborns more fully into the wizarding economy. He spoke about the need for equality and fairness, about how this bill could bridge the gap between the magical and non-magical worlds. But as he spoke, he could see that he was losing them.

Draco, who had begrudgingly supported some of Harry's earlier bills, finally stood, his voice dripping with disdain. "This is exactly the kind of reckless, idealistic nonsense we feared when you first took your seat in the Wizengamot, Potter. You're playing with fire, and it's our livelihoods—our families' legacies—that will burn if you continue down this path."

The debate raged on for hours, but it became increasingly clear that Harry's support was crumbling. The lords who had once backed him were now turning on him, voicing their concerns about the economic dangers his bill posed. They accused him of being naïve, of not understanding the complexities of the wizarding economy. Some even implied that his Muggle upbringing had blinded him to the realities of their world.

In the end, the Muggleborn Economic Integration Act was voted down by a significant margin. Harry sat in stunned silence as the final tally was read out, the weight of the defeat pressing heavily on his shoulders.

As the session adjourned, many of the lords who had once called Harry an ally now avoided his gaze. They hurried out of the chamber, eager to distance themselves from the young lord who had so disastrously overstepped.

It wasn't until later that evening, as Harry sat alone in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, that the full realization of what had happened began to sink in. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth did little to chase away the cold feeling in Harry's chest.

He had been so sure that he was making progress, that he was building something meaningful with the support of the other lords. But now he saw the truth: they had never truly been his allies. They had supported him when it suited their own interests, when it made them look good or when they saw an opportunity to advance their own agendas. But the moment he proposed something that challenged the status quo, something that threatened their wealth and power, they had turned on him without hesitation.

Harry thought back to the conversations he had had with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, the doubts they had expressed about his involvement with the old pureblood families. At the time, he had dismissed their concerns, believing that he was doing what was necessary to bring about real change. But now, in the wake of this defeat, their words echoed in his mind.

They had warned him that he was getting too close to the very people he was trying to change. They had feared that he was losing himself, that he was becoming like them. And perhaps, in a way, he had.

But what stung the most was the realization that he had been used. The lords had never seen him as an equal, as someone with a vision worth supporting. To them, he had been a pawn, a useful tool to be discarded the moment he became inconvenient.

Harry clenched his fists, a surge of anger and frustration rising within him. He had lost so much—his friends, his trust, his sense of purpose—all because he had believed in a system that was fundamentally broken.

As Harry sat alone in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, hard clarity settle over him. The wizarding world had asked too much of him—more than he could ever give. He had sacrificed his childhood, his innocence, and nearly his life to protect them from Voldemort. He had lost his parents, his godfather, and so many others along the way. And now, it seemed, he had lost his friends as well.

He had always believed in the cause, in the idea that he could make a difference, that he could help build a better world. But what had it cost him? More than he was willing to pay. The wizarding world had taken everything from him, and now, it demanded even more. They wanted him to play their political games, to maneuver through their endless schemes, and to sacrifice whatever was left of himself in the process.

But Harry was done sacrificing. He was done giving pieces of himself to a world that seemed determined to take and take, without ever truly changing. If the wizarding world couldn't trust him, couldn't see the sincerity in his efforts, then perhaps it didn't deserve him. He had given them enough—more than enough. He didn't owe them his life.

He thought of his parents, of Sirius, of all those who had died so that he could live. He had always tried to honor their memory by fighting for what was right. But what if, in the end, the best way to honor them was to live his life, truly live it, and not waste it on a society that refused to change?

The anger that had been simmering inside him began to cool, replaced by a steely resolve. He wasn't going to let the wizarding world consume him. He wasn't going to lose himself in the endless, soul-sucking grind of politics. The old pureblood families, with their rigid traditions and their unwillingness to embrace change, could rot for all he cared. They had their chance, and they had squandered it.

Harry stood up, the decision solidifying in his mind. He wasn't going to fight for them anymore. If they couldn't see the need for change, if they were too blind or too stubborn to accept it, then that was their problem—not his. He had already done more than anyone could have asked of him. He had saved their world, and if they were foolish enough to let it slip back into darkness, that was on them.

He had given them everything he had, and it still wasn't enough. So be it. He didn't need them anymore. He would live his life on his own terms, and if the wizarding world couldn't accept that, then it wasn't worth saving.