The Brethren (Based on the book by John Grisham).
By snowflakey
Summary: Trumble is a minimum security wizarding prison, home to the usual assortment of relatively harmless criminals – drug dealers, bank robbers, swindlers, embezzlers, tax evaders, and three former Hogwarts students that call themselves The Brethren. They meet every day in a law library where they handle cases for other inmates, practice law without a license, and sometimes dispense jailhouse justice. And they spend hours writing letters. They are fine tuning a mail scam, and it's really starting to work. The money is pouring in.
Then their little scam goes awry. It ensnares the wrong victim, a powerful man on the outside, a man with dangerous friends, and The Brethren's days of quietly marking time are over.
A/N: Right from the start, this is a strictly AU fic, so don't expect it to be anything else. It follows the basic plotlines for the book by John Grisham, except I have substituted the Harry Potter characters in place of Grisham's. I have also messed with the parts a bit (like Lily gets a heaps bigger role than what she would in the book, etc.).
Disclaimer: All rights belong to J. K. Rowling, John Grisham and their respective publishing houses. I recommend John Grisham – he's a great author.
Rating: It's rated R for extortion, language, themes, suggestions, and basically because I don't trust myself later on. Nothing too scary first up, though.
Chapter One – Trumble.
A young man, perhaps in his twenties or early thirties, walked out into the open sunshine of the summer morning, squinting as he did so. He was wearing his standard garb, which consisted of a well-used and deeply faded pair of maroon pajamas and lavender terry-cloth shower shoes with no socks. He wasn't the only inmate who went about his daily business in pajamas, but no-one else dared wear lavender shoes. His name was Mundungus Fletcher, and he had once owned considerable funds and stocks of flying carpets.
From a normal citizen visiting the jail, they wouldn't have found the pajamas and shoes nearly as disturbing as the wig. It parted at the middle and rolled in layers downward in all directions. It was a blinding white, and fashioned after the Old English muggle magistrates. A friend outside of the prison had bought it in a second hand store in London.
Mundungus wore it to "court" with great pride, and, strange and emotionally scarring as it was, had, with time, become part of the show. The other, smarter inmates kept their distance from Fletcher anyway, wig or not.
He stood behind his flimsy folding table in the prison cafeteria, tapped a muggle plastic mallet that served as a gavel, cleared his throat, and announced with great dignity.
"Hear ye, hear ye. The Inferior Federal Court of Southampton, England is now in session. All rise for the jury."
No-one moved to stand. Who would? They weren't there to watch the court jester introduce The Brethren, they were there for the show. Thirty or so inmates, all male, lounged in plastic cafeteria chairs, trying to look cool despite the circumstances. They were in here because they had committed minor crimes that didn't warrant a term at Azkaban, so they lounged here instead. Azkaban was full of dark wizards anyway. Trumble, on the other hand, was the best prison in all England.
The inmates were allowed a certain amount of freedom in what they did. Walks, sports, you name it. The guards weren't exactly sugar, spice and everything nice, but they were a hell of a lot better than what guarded Azkaban.
Some of the inmates sat up a little straighter, though, when Mundungus sat down carefully, making sure his wig didn't come out of place, and opened a thick leather book which served as the official record for the court. He took his work very seriously.
Three men entered the room from the caferteria kitchen. Two of them wore shoes. One was eating one of those little jam packets that you find in hotels and thus in Trumble. The one with no shoes was bare-legged up to the knees, so that below his robe his muscular legs could be seen. They were very brown and tanned from the sun. Most of the men at Trumble had nothing better to do than lie in the sun all day. A large tattoo had been applied to his left class. His name was Sirius Black.
All three were wearing their old Hogwarts robes, now considerably shorter than what they used to be, for no particular reason but to look official and all the same. All part of the show here at Trumble. The Brethren all had wigs too, a Christmas present on the part of Fletcher, which was how the latter kept his job as the court's official clerk.
There were a few hisses and jeers from the spectators as the "judges" ambled across the tile floor, in full regalia, their robes billowing out behind them. They were in a prison, after all, not the Minister's mansion. The Brethren took their places behind a long, also plastic folding table, near Fletcher but not too near, and faced the gathering. The Brethren met weekly to settle disagreements inside Trumble. A money-making incentive to the plaintiffs. A show for the on-lookers. Entertainment from the wizard guards, who were sitting at the back, wands in pockets.
Wands were not allowed for the inmates at Trumble. Neither was money. They had to manage their Gringotts accounts via their lawyers, if they still had one. Many didn't, and used The Brethren instead. After all, what was the use of a lawyer who got you a prison sentence?
The Brethren faced the people before them. Peter Pettigrew, the shortest and roundest of the three, sat in the middle. Straight out of Hogwarts he had been caught stealing petty things, and landed himself in Trumble for skimming profits from the St. Mungo's Fund, a charity for children.
"Please be seated," he said in a higher pitched voice than what most men could achieve. Not a soul was standing.
Trying (and failing) to look official, The Brethren made a fuss about sitting down, and readjusting their plastic chairs and cumbersome wigs. They shook their Hogwarts robes out so that they fell properly around them. The assistant warden stood at the door, watching. It was with his permission that they meet once a week in front of most of the inmates. They heard cases, meditated disputes, settled little fights among the boys, and had generally proved to be a stabilizing factor within Trumble.
And besides, it was fun to watch criminals in wigs, Hogwarts robes and imaginary authority stand in front of them and dispute fights.
Pettigrew looked at the docket, a neat hand-printed sheet of paper prepared unusually well by Fletcher and said
"Court shall come to order."
To Pettigrew's right was Remus Lupin, who had been in Trumble for two years now, with five to go. He had hung out with trouble makers Sirius Black and James Potter during hid Hogwarts glory days. Although he had hung around with bad boys, he had done nothing to get his sentence but tax evasion. The Ministry of Magic had given him so much time in jail because they needed the 48% tax to fight the Dark Lord. Lupin couldn't afford that much tax on account of him being a werewolf and not being able to get a real job. Thus he had kept all of the money he earnt, and eventually, the Ministry caught up with him. He had high hopes, despite his lycanthropy. Educated at Hogwarts, Ministry Defense training completed, and now serving his time at a federal prison in Southampton.
After two years Remus was still struggling with the bitterness. He had dreams of settling down with the girl he loved, of spending a life forgetting about the fact he was a monster. Two years, five to go, and those dreams were fading. He spent a lot of time on the jogging track, alone, dreaming of another life.
"First case is Schneiter versus Magruder," Pettigrew announced, as if a major antitrust trial was about to take place.
"Schneiter's not here," Sirius Black said.
"Where is he?"
"Infirmary. I just left there."
Black was the third member of the Brethren, and by far the coolest. He, along with James Potter, were always the influencers that drove Lupin and Pettigrew headlong into trouble. He was tanned muscular, and had played girls like a piano before his sentence. The Brethren were all of the same age, but Black had the longest sentence. Served just over two, with nine years to go. It was his favorite hobby to stir up the enforcers of the law, both magical and muggle, so it was no surprise when he joined his friends at Trumble.
Every day, he wished he was back out there, with his friends, united as the Marauders.
But the Marauders now longer existed. Lupin, Pettigrew and Black had dropped the name in honor of the absence of James Potter, once their best friend. They were thick as thieves during Hogwarts, but afterwards, when the three got their sentences at around the same time, lost all contact with James. No owls allowed in Trumble, only conference with lawyers. And The Brethren were their own lawyers.
Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew. The Inferior Court of Southampton, also known as The Brethren around Trumble, a minimum security prison with no walls around it. Nothing. Sometimes inmates just walked out. There was no alert or anything once they went out of bounds. It's just that they were stupid once they got free. Hooked up with an old girlfriend. Used their driver's license for something. So then they got caught, arrested, and hauled back in again to do double time.
So why didn't The Brethren just run away?
It would have been easy to pull off, after all, two were unregistered Animagi, to simply transform and run through the forest. But one of them wasn't, and no two would leave without the third. Besides, though the Ministry didn't use tracking charms at Trumble, or alerts when someone left, it meant that they were banished from the wizarding world. It meant they automatically had their wizarding license cancelled, and thus had to assume a false identity and live in Knockturn Alley or live life as a muggle. To be respected in the wizarding community, they had to do their time legally. That's why they were still stuck in Trumble.
But hey, if you had to do time, do it the federal way, and do it in a place like Trumble.
Brethren: Brothers. Three brothers, with no idea what was happening with the fourth. Maybe James had gone onto bigger and better things. They didn't know it, but soon enough they would come in contact. But not united as the Marauders. Far from it.
"This case will be in continuance until next week," Lupin said, breaking out the big words.
"I object!" said Magruder from the crowd.
"Too bad," interjected Sirius. "You'll have to wait until next week. Besides," he said, swinging he feet up to a plastic chair that just happened to be next to him. "It's not like he's going anywhere soon,"
The crowd laughed, enjoying the humor in Black's voice.
Magruder was now on his feet. "That's the third time I've been continued. I'm the plaintiff. I sued him. He runs to he infirmary every week he's supposed to be up here,"
"What are you fighting over?" Pettigrew asked.
"Seven galleons and two magazines," interjected Fletcher helpfully. He was in a cheerful mood; his time at Trumble was almost up.
"That much, huh?" said Black. Seven galleons and two magazines would get you sued every time at Trumble.
Magruder huffed and sat down, not before handing to Fletcher a one-page summary of his allegations against Schneiter. One page only. The Brethren didn't tolerate paperwork. One page and you got your day in court.
The rules of The Brethren's courtroom were kept simple. Short pleadings. No discovery. Quick justice. Decisions were made on the spot, and all decisions were binding. No appeals; there was no-where to take one. Witnesses weren't given an oath to tell the truth. They weren't expected to. It was, after all, a prison.
Remus Lupin was already bored. With one hand he stroked him chin, and with he other he tapped his fingers lightly on the table. Black popped his toes loudly, crunching them into the tile floor in an efficient little workout that grated on the nerves. Two years ago, when he lived the high life, he had often done this when he was bored during Auror training. Annoying as hell, but he was the only one that could get away with it.
"What's the next case?" Remus asked. He was a werewolf, one of two in the prison, and the only one with respect. Being part of The Brethren helped.
Mundungus Fletcher hesitated for a second, and then said, "It's the Whiz case."
Things were suddenly still and quiet for a moment, then the plastic caferteria chair rattled forward in one noisy offensive. The inmates scooted and shuffled until Fletcher announced
"That's enough!"
The Whiz case had been festering for months at Trumble. Whiz was a young Diagon Alley crook that Sirius remembered as a Slytherin at Hogwarts. His real name was Avery, but no-body called him that. He earnt his title of "Whiz" for bilking some rich clients he had at his Antiques store in Diagon Alley. Millions of galleons from families like the Malfoys had never been accounted for, and legend had it that Whiz had stashed it in a Gringotts bank offshore and managed it from inside Trumble. He had six years left, and would be almost forty when paroled. Make no mistake, the Brethren were not the only people at Trumble with dreams of a better life on the outside.
The rumor had grown, partly because Whiz was somewhat of a Hermit. Whiz kept to himself and spent long hours looking at financial charts and reading economic publications with words too many syllables for any of the other inmates at Trumble to understand. Even the Warden went to Whiz for tips on whether to buy or sell Daily Prophet stock.
Another former Slytherin by the name of Rook had gotten to be somewhat of a "buddy" to Whiz in prison, and somehow convinced him to share a small morsel of advice with an investment club that met once a week at the prison chapel. On behalf of the Investment Club, Rook was now suing the Whiz for fraud.
This case had been going on for ages; and arguments had ensued. Everyone knew that Rook had lost money; how much was unknown. But where there was money, there were fights at Trumble. The inmates couldn't wait to see one.
Rook took the witness chair, and began his narrative. The usual rules of a wizarding courtroom, with procedure and evidence, had been dispensed of so the could arrive at the truth quickly, whatever form that it might take.
"So I go to Whiz and I ask him what he thinks about Boomer Realty, a new company that I read about in the prophet," Rook explained. "It was about to go public, and I liked the idea behind the company. Thought it would make a lotta money. Whiz said he'd check it out for me. I hear nothing from him, so I go to him and say 'Hey Whiz, what about Boomer Realty?' And he said he thought it was a solid company and stocks would go through the roof,"
(A/N: Economy in my fic, is almost the same as in the muggle world.)
"I did not," Whiz interjected quickly from across the room. He was sitting by himself on the other side of the room, arms folded across his chest.
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Gentlemen," warned Remus from his table. Rook continued with his narrative.
"So anyways, I go back to the Investment Club and tell them Whiz is high on the deal, and we decide we want to buy some stock in Boomer Realty. But we can't buy stuff from prison and I ain't got a lawyer. So I go to Whiz and say 'look, o you think you could get me some stock in Boomer Realty?' And Whiz said he thought he could do that.
"Did not," shot Whiz from the other side of the room.
"Quiet," said Peter, almost nastily. "You'll get your chance."
"He's lying," the Whiz said, as if there was a rule against it.
"ANYWAY," said Rook loudly. "We decide to take a big position in Boomer Realty, a bit of a gamble. Our strategy was to consolidate the funds,"
"Consolidate?" asked Peter Pettigrew blankly.
"Yes, consolidate. Borrow everything we could from family and friends, and had close to five hundred galleons,"
Sirius Black whistled. Five hundred galleons wasn't something you heard about every day at Trumble. Not bad for an inside job. "So then what happened?"
The crowd was on the edge of their seats by now.
"So anyways, I go to Whiz and say 'look, could you invest five hundred galleons in Boomer Realty?' and he said yeah, he probably could do it. Had a buddy on the outside he could bribe. That day was Tuesday. The stock went on sale on Friday,"
"Did not," said Whiz.
"So anyways, on Wednesday I ask Whiz is the stock ready to go and he said yes, no problem,"
"Did not," said Whiz.
"I got a witness," said Rook.
"Who?" asked Remus.
"Picasso."
The Brethren rolled their eyes. Picasso would appear at almost every case; and would lie for anyone who paid him enough. Sure, coins weren't allowed at Trumble, but that didn't mean they weren't used.
Picasso was sitting behind Rook, as were the other six members of the investment club. Picasso reluctantly waved his hand.
"Is that true?" Remus asked.
"Yep," Picasso answered. "Rook asked about the stock. Whiz said he would get it. No problem."
"Continue," Sirius said, not believing for one minute what Picasso was saying.
"Anyway, Thursday I couldn't find Whiz anywhere. He was hiding from me."
"I was not."
"Friday, the stock goes public. It was offered at four knuts a share, the price we could've bought it for if Whiz over there had done what he promised. It opened at six, spent most of the day at eight, then closed at seven. Our plans were to sell it as soon as possible. We could've bought heaps of shares at four, sold them at eight, and walked away from the deal with thousands in profits."
Violence was very rare at Trumble. Thousands of Galleons would not get you killed, but some bones might be broken. Whiz had been lucky so far. There'd been no ambush.
"And you think the Whiz owes you these lost profits?" asked Pettigrew.
"Damned right we do. Look, what makes the deal stink even worse is that Whiz bought boomer realty for himself."
"Did bloody well not!" Whiz said.
"Language, please," Remus said. If you wanted to lose a case before the Brethren, just offend Remus Lupin with your language.
The rumors that Whiz had bought the stock for himself had been started by Rook and his gang. There was no proof of it, but the story had proved irresistible and had been repeated by most inmates so often that it was now established as fact. It fit so nicely.
"Is that all?" Black asked Rook.
Rook had other points he wanted to elaborate on, but the Brethren had no patience with windy litigants. Especially ex-lawyers still reliving their glory days. There were at least five of them at Trumble, and they seemed to be on the docket all the time.
"I guess so," Rook said.
"What do you have to say?" Peter asked the Whiz.
Whiz stood and took a few steps toward their table. He glared at his accusers, Rook and his gang of losers. Then he addressed the court. "What's the burden of proof here?" Peter Pettigrew immediately lowered his eyes and waited for help. He had no training for this whatsoever. He'd barely passed his NEWTS at Hogwarts, and hadn't done anything worth mentioning since he graduated. Peter relied on common sense, which was often at odds with the law. Any questions dealing with legal theory would be handled by his two colleagues.
"It's whatever we say it is," Sirius said, relishing a debate with a stockbroker on the court's rules of procedure.
"Clear and convincing proof?" asked the Whiz.
"Could be, but not in this case."
"Beyond a reasonable doubt?"
"Probably not."
"Preponderance of the evidence?"
"Now you're getting close."
"Why don't you just tell us your side of the
story?" said Remus. His patience was wearing thin with Whiz.
"I'd love to. Boomer realty was a typical online offering, lots of hype, lots of red ink on the books. Like the muggle stocks. All talk and no action. Sure Rook came to me, but by the time I could make my calls, the offering was closed. I called a friend who told me you couldn't get near the stock, but it was too late to buy any. All the big companies bought all the stock before it opened."
"Now, how does that happen?" asked Peter.
"Happens all the time in IPO's. That's initial public offerings."
"We know what an IPO is," Remus said.
Pettigrew certainly did not. Didn't have many of those back in Hogwarts.
The Whiz relaxed, just a little. He could dazzle them for a moment, win this nuisance of a case, then go back to his cave and ignore them.
"The Booomer Realty IPO was handled by the investment banking firm of Gringotts, London. Five million shares were offered. Gringotts basically pre sold the stock to its preferred customers and friends, so that most big investment firms never had a shot at the stock. Only sold to companies with big money. Happens all the time."
The judges and the inmates, even the court jester, hung on every word.
He continued. "It's silly to think that some disbarred yahoo sitting in prison, reading an old copy of the Daily Prophet, can somehow buy 500 galleons worth of Boomer Realty."
And at that very moment it did indeed seem very silly. Rook fumed while his club members began quietly blaming him.
"Did you buy any of it?" asked Sirius.
"Of course not. I couldn't get near it. And besides, most of the high-tech and online companies are built with funny money. I stay away from them."
"What do you prefer?" Peter asked softly, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Value. The long haul. I'm in no hurry. Look, this is a bogus case brought by some boys looking for an easy buck." He waved toward Rook, who was sinking in his chair. The Whiz sounded perfectly believable and legitimate.
Rook's case was built on hearsay, speculation, and the corroboration of Picasso, a notorious liar.
"You got any witnesses?" Spicer asked.
"I don't need any," the Whiz said and took his seat.
Each of the three justices scribbled something on a slip of parchment. Deliberations were quick, verdicts instantaneous. Remus and Sirius slid theirs to Spicer, who announced, "By a vote of two to one, we find for the defendant Whiz. Case dismissed. Who's next?" The vote was actually unanimous, but every verdict was officially two to one. That allowed each of the three a little wiggle room if later confronted.
But the Brethren were well regarded around Trumble. Their decisions were quick and as fair as they could make them. In fact, they were remarkably accurate in light of the shaky testimony they often heard. Sirius and Remus had both completed Auror training before they were arrested. They could spot a liar at fifty feet.
"That's all today," Mundungus Fletcher. "End of docket."
"Very well. Court is adjourned until next week."
Fletcher jumped to his feet, his curls again vibrating across his shoulders, and declared, "Court's adjourned. All rise."
No one stood, no one moved as the Brethren left the room. Rook and his gang were huddled, no doubt planning their next lawsuit. The Whiz left quickly. The assistant warden and the guard eased away without being seen. The weekly docket was one of the better shows at Trumble.
~*~
Lily Evans walked briskly toward Professor Dumbledore's office. Of course, he wasn't her Headmaster anymore, she had gradated from Hogwarts last year. Top of the year, best marks in England, thank you very much. She had been accepted straight into Intelligence training, and had been more than a little surprised to see Albus Dumbledore, the man with the long beard and twinkling eyes, right in the thick of it.
Having completed her training, she was now waiting outside his office to receive her first assignment. It was nine-o-clock on a Monday morning, and all the students were in class.
Not for the first time, she jumped slightly as the stone gargoyles in front of her jumped apart of their own accord, and she entered Dumbledore's office with great trepidation.
~*~
Albus Dumbledore was in pain. Sitting in a muggle wheelchair, his body was still recovering from a run–in with dark wizards two years ago. The damage they had caused to his body was curable, but it would be at least five years until his body returned to normal and he could walk again. Until then, painkilling spells were out of the question, as they would slow down the healing process. He stifled a groan and waited as his former student and Head Girl made her way up the spiral staircase, her heels going clip-clop on the way.
He was quite proud of the Lily Evans he saw stride confidently into the room. She wore a women's suit, and she looked every bit of the official, business-like woman Hogwarts had shaped her to be. She was a bit uptight, but that was needed in the kind of profession she was in. Focused, energetic, hardworking – the perfect person for the job she was about to be offered. The exact opposite of the person she was just about to be assigned to work with.
In the most persuasive, emotive words possible, Dumbledore explained the assignment to her. She would act as a secretary to a man who had yet to be identified. This man would change the wizarding world. She would organize events and the like, but at the same time keep an eye on what he was doing. It was entirely possible things could get out of hand.
The brief she was given was short and vague, but the pay was mind boggling. It was a dangerous thing, to be in Albus Dumbledore's place, and even more dangerous to work under him.
But the Lily Evans he knew titled her chin high, and, without a moment's hesitation, accepted the job. How predictable. Pity what she would do in the next year would be so unpredictable that not even Albus Dumbledore could forsee it.
~*~
A/N: This chapter was basically to show life at Trumble. Different to what you were expecting, huh? Next chapter out soon. Look forward to meeting James in it. Three guesses to who Lily's working for.
And yes, Lily and James were in separate years at Hogwarts. Call it artistic license.