A/N: Thanks again for all your reviews, favorites and follows. We're getting to the finish line. It's time to put Harry Potter on trial.
Chapter 7
"—and don't forget Isobel Thoreau's hearing of sixteen ninety-two," Hermione babbled nervously, "Oh and Dorea Black's treatise on the volatile results of mixing the dark arts. That's your best bet against the Imperious defense. Oh and—"
"I know Hermione and the Tonks helped you—" Harry began.
"Don't forget your eye potion. You might as well…" Vance gave him the recommended three drops in each eye and a shaky smile that he could see a little better without his glasses. "I'll just keep it right here, for when you get back."
Harry nodded soundlessly, barely noticing Diggle's spells vanishing the manacle and dirt. "Merlin damn it, could we not have one peaceful shopping trip. This is a disgrace." He straightened, "Well I am neither tailor nor hairdresser, but have done the best I can, now remember—"
"I'll wait," Ron interrupted, clutching two brooms in his hands, two backpacks slung over his shoulders. "Right outside. Give the word and we'll be in Australia."
"Thanks mate," Harry clasped his hands and for once Ron took after his mother and squeezed his friend tight.
"Oh Harry," Mrs. Weasley engulfed him as well, "You poor, dear thing. You shouldn't have to suffer this." She blinked away tears. "Remember you only did what you had to and if you hadn't…" She choked off and squeezed him tighter, "…that horrid man." With a few strokes of her wand, she cleaned up his robes and fixed his hair.
"You did what was necessary," Sirius said, a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I hope you don't have to follow my example but if you do, follow my other example," his godfather wrapped his arms around Harry. "You sure you don't want your pet dog to follow you?"
"No." Harry said. "Please, they'll kill you."
Sirius nodded and, in a whisper, he added, "Trust no one. Pay attention to everything. You got the potion?"
"Not yet," Harry whispered. In a louder voice, he added, "I'm just gonna freshen up."
Cursing whichever idiot had changed the time at the last minute, Harry put all the ingredients and the vial in the larger of the two anti-magic containers. Then he hid it where Sirius swore the Aurors wouldn't check, 'when they've got spells to cast.'
Finally Albus Dumbledore knocked. "We must depart." Harry, newly dressed in his fine robes, hands washed, opened the door. Beside him stood Mr. Weasley, who had the excuse of a late shift.
Harry still felt like he was going to face Voldemort again, but it wouldn't be like that. This time he wouldn't be alone. And what was the wizened-court to Voldemort? He stepped out of the fresher, still feeling like a Malfoy in fancy gold-embroidered robes, slicked hair and stylish glasses. A doll of the wizarding world's darling 'boy who lived' at last. Or a little swot. Which was the point.
Not that he wouldn't be scrubbing hair gel out as many times as it took. If he made it back to Grimmauld.
"I'm ready," Harry said.
The headmaster's hand seized his shoulder and Mr. Weasleys and they all vanished together.
When they re-appeared before the Ministry the sun was already sinking. A night trial. How long of a full moon would he have? How long would the trial last? He paused before the phone booth, placed his wand over his pounding heart, and spoke the animagus incantation toward the setting sun. Who cared if Mr. Weasley or Albus Dumbledore heard him, but hopefully the Ministry didn't. Once he was done, Mr. Weasley held out his hand for the wand, "Just in case. I'll keep it safe Harry. I promise."
Inside, a wizard was leaning over his front desk in anticipation. Behind him ministry workers mingled with reporters and folk from the street; all snapped their attention to the party of three that entered. "Wands." Said the front-desk wizard.
Arthur Weasley hesitantly handed over two wands, "I…ah…already took the liberty of…"
The wizard nodded, "Very well." He weighed both wands and handed one back to Mr. Weasley, fingering the other with some curiosity. Eleven inches. Holly. Harry itched to snatch it back. He could feel the crackle of magic on his skin but the wand didn't move. Albus Dumbledore handed his wand over, where it was weighed and given back. "All appears well. Ah…" he trailed off, staring at Harry's wand before an Auror stepped forward. Gawain.
"I shall take responsibility for that." Holly wood vanished beneath red robes, then he turned to Harry. "This way."
With the Headmaster and Mr. Weasley behind him, he followed the rumpled-looking Auror to an equally rumpled-looking partner as the crowd tried to pounce. Cameras went off, questions blurred into a babble of noise and a rotten splattered on a shield the second Auror cast. "Back you lot." She parted the crowd with the shield like a bulldozer and Harry realized this was Auror Tonks. Her hair was dark brown and limp, her voice harsh as she battled the crowd.
Harry turned away from the noise and curses to see Gawain dodge another rotten fruit. Without the exuberance that had filled the man not too long ago, he managed only a ghost of his former cheer. "At this time there are to be no interviews. He has a trial waiting. I'm certain he'll be happy to tell you everything once it's over."
"He's innocent," someone yelled.
"Put up the ministry on trial," another added. The crowd turned on itself.
With Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley's help, the four surrounded Harry all the way to the elevator and none of the fighting reached him. Cameras still went off in a flurry of light until the lift doors closed with a sharp shriek, like a rusty cell in Azkaban. Harry could smell Mr. Weasley's sweat dampening his red hair behind his ears. He could the scrape of callus against wood from Tonks and wondered who she wanted to curse. Behind him, he could feel each deep breath Gawain took as he forced calm. Albus Dumbledore reached into the pocket of his robes and took out a small pouch, filling the elevator with a scent no Azkaban cell had ever known.
"Lemon drop?"
Tonks shook her head silently. Mr. Weasley smiled weakly, "That's alright. Don't think I could stomach anything now," his stare shifted to Harry.
"I have to agree," Gawain said.
Harry's stomach wanted to third the motion but if he did go to Azkaban he probably wouldn't get a single sweet thing for a decade. "Thanks," he popped one of the candies in his mouth. The Headmaster took one as well. Surprisingly, Harry relaxed just a little. Or at least he didn't feel like a raw nerve of terror.
The doors opened. Mr. Weasley patted Harry's shoulder again. "Best of luck and don't worry." In a lower voice he added, "You did nothing wrong." Both Aurors stepped between the two and herded Harry away from Mr. Weasley, who stood unmoving, hand half-raised. Albus proceeded with Harry and his guards until Gawain cleared his throat.
"With all due respect sir, the accused is to be accompanied by Aurors alone. If you are a witness you should proceed to the witness stands. If you are a part of the defense you should meet the Tonks in the courtroom."
"Of course," Albus inclined his head slightly.
Harry glanced between the two of them but forced himself not to look back. The hallway, despite being built by wizards, could make a giant feel small and made their footsteps echo loudly as they trekked to the end. The portraits of former stern judges and ministers and other stuffy types, their eyes following him accusingly, only made things worse.
The hall ended.
Massive doors sprung open, revealing the familiar interrogation chambers he'd witnessed from the headmaster's pensieve. Like Barty Crouch Jr., both Aurors lead him to a chained chair within a cage. There was bare floor before the rows and rows of court seats, which would surround him further like living bars of a cell. Stepping through there felt like imprisonment already. Pesky things like trials and evidence were only window-dressing.
Both Gawain and Tonks hesitated. The Minister, one of many looming figures, smirked, "Let the accused step forward."
And in that moment, Harry fixed the pompous arse-licker with a glare, straightened his spine and stepped forward himself. They were trying to intimidate him: the hall and the chair and the cage and the looming seats. Just like Voldemort. Only the Minister definitely wasn't Voldemort.
Behind him, Gawain whispered to Tonks, "A bloody shame. 'e's just a kid."
In front of him, Tonks's parents smiled encouragingly, if shakily, as though they were about to start crying at any moment. Aside from the Aurors, they were alone in their sympathy. Surrounding him from all sides were fifty stern, fierce, horrified, vengeful and wrathful faces looming over him, as if they'd already made their decision without hearing a single word from him. Or from the Tonks. Dumbledore had vanished. Only the cage and chained chair awaited him. He had to draw on the same courage as in the chamber of secrets, in the forbidden forest, in the graveyard just to take his seat. Chains snapped around his limbs, fastening him tightly. Unless his animagus form was a snake and he could somehow transform now, he was totally helpless. The judges stared back in surprise: Fudge in the center, an unknown toad-faced woman to his right and a stern-faced, square-jawed witch sitting to his left. Where Fudge and the pink woman did not meet his eyes, this woman did, and gave him a nod of respect. The others stared at him as though the Polyjuice would wear off.
He felt like a spirit drifting away from his own body, unable to feel the chains or the chair, his steely spine or liquid guts. Those things did not belong to someone who felt nothing. The chamber echoed in silence. Percy Weasley cleared his throat.
"The questioning of Mr. Harry Potter regarding the…uh…lethal events of June twenty-seventh, nineteen ninety-five and the," Percy faltered a moment, "Tragic death of Mr. Lucius Malfoy may now begin. Department of Magical Law Enforcement Director Amelia Bones, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and Undersecretary Delores Umbridge presiding."
Cornelius Fudge spoke with satisfaction, "The charges Whetherby."
Percy Weasley glanced sadly toward Harry before shuffling through the papers. "The charges," more shuffling, "Are one account of conspiracy to cause widespread panic through the wizarding world with false claims—"
Harry tried to jump to his feet, but the chains held him fast. His defenders silently motioned him to calm down. ("There are judges and Wizengamot members who would find you guilty if you came in with an undone shoelace.")
"—three accounts of resisting arrest," This time Harry held his temper, "And one account of," Percy coughed, "Murder of one Lucius Malfoy with a muggle weapon."
In the silence that followed that last charge, Madame Bones spoke. "First, we will hear the testimony of the three Aurors, whom Mr. Potter was purported to have resisted."
In an almost inaudible hiss, Harry asked, "I thought we would get to speak?"
"You will," Mr. Tonks reassured, "This is, unfortunately, procedure."
Auror Gawain moved between Harry and his accusers. A moment later Aurors Bulan and Williamson came through the door to stand with him. Madame Umbridge spoke with the satisfaction of one who could already taste victory, "Tell the court of Mr. Potter's crimes."
Harry could feel the chains dig into his flesh. He wanted nothing more than to leap away, to fight all of them if he had to, so long as he could depend on himself and not the whims of court proceedings paragraph B, section 4, while he sat helplessly.
"Well, honorable Wizengamot members," Auror Gawain spoke, "Ye see the person in question was wearing glamour—"
"A disguise," Fudge looked ready to tag on a forth charge.
"What my colleague means," Auror Bulan interrupted, "Is that we could not say who was under that glamour."
Only Madame Bones looked unruffled. Madame Umbridge looked as though she might have swallowed her father. Fudge's jaw kept opening and shutting, "…but…I mean…you're Aurors. He tried to escape from you. Just minutes ago."
"Our spells are able to detect the presence of any disguise," Auror Bulan pointed out. "It was through this means that I realized the young man in the Alley was not who they appeared. However, we were too busy attempting to apprehend the disguised person and their colleagues to undo a glamour."
"You mean to say," Umbridge spoke with saccharine sweetness, "That the ministry's finest law enforcement officers were unable to capture a child?"
"They could have been Sirius Black for all we know," Auror Williamson burst out.
"We are also supposed to show restraint with uncharged suspects amid large crowds," Auror Gawain added. "We were forced by necessity to hold back."
Before Fudge or Umbridge could complain, Madame Bones asked, "Your conclusions?"
"Our testimony alone is irrelevant to this trial as the person beneath the glamor remains unidentified," Auror Bulan said. "Furthermore glamours alone are not illegal."
Umbridge exploded, "But you must charge him. You're Aurors. What are you for if not to arrest…" she remembered herself, "That is, the guilty parties, of course."
"Of course." Auror Bulan glared at Umbridge until she sat down again.
"Then, you have no testimony to offer for or against Mr. Potter?" Madame Bones asked.
"None," said Auror Gawain.
"No," said Auror Williamson.
"Nothing," said Auror Bulan.
"Very well, no more questions." The three Aurors left the floor. The Tonks' looked ready to melt in their chairs with relief. Harry had already forgiven them for their first meeting.
Madame Bones turned to him. "Mr. Potter, relay the events that took place upon the proclaimed day."
Harry began to do just that when Mrs. Tonks stood. "Under the charter of former DMLE head Persephone Prewitt I propose pensieve submission in order to most clearly show the facts of the case."
For the first time, Harry heard Narcissa Malfoy—hidden behind him and several rows of Wizengamot members—speak, "Penseives are notoriously fallible, allowing false memories to be shown—"
Head Auror Bones spoke calmly. "Penseive memories are permitted as eye-witness testimony is notoriously more infallible. However, to ensure truth and accuracy, the court may vote for testimony under veritaserum."
Narcissa's face paled but her features sharpened with outrage. Finally she mastered herself and sat down, "I know my husband was murdered, I do not need to see him dying."
"You have a pensieve available?" Fudge asked, tone attempting danger and falling short.
This time Mr. Tonks spoke, "Albus Dumbledore has kindly offered to loan one for the proceedings of this court." He nodded toward Dumbledore, who had mysteriously appeared beside them, stone bowl in hand.
"Hem, hem," Umbridge cleared her throat in a deliberately obnoxious way. She stood, though she was so short there hardly seemed a difference. "How are we to know that this pensieve has not been tampered with? A veritable wizard such as Albus Dumbledore could no doubt do so."
Cornelius Fudge sprang to his feet. "Exactly, who knows what obscure magics he's cast."
"Auror Bulan," Amelia Bones called, "You have been trained by the finest Aurors and magical detectives known." The older Auror stepped forward again, her third eye spell already activated. "Ensure this device is merely a pensieve and has not been further tampered with."
The Auror in question ran her wand through a litany of spells as she stared at it, even turning the empty pensieve over and carefully examining each rune until tension bled to boredom. "Well?" asked Fudge.
"You wanted me to ensure it was untampered with? Give me time." She took out a potion and a cloth and wiped the bowl down, examined it further and finally nodded. "Nothing. If anything got past me that potion just took care of it. Pensieve's fine." She sat the bowl back on the table for the defendants.
"Very well, if the Wizengamot is willing to accept Pensieve testimony…" Fudge trailed off and tried to give everyone meaningful looks, but human curiosity worked against him. Some members were willing to pick up a few brownie points to vote his way in something they saw as inconsequential. More were eager to see the murder of the century with their own eyes. The motion passed.
Fudge attempted to muster another objection only for Madame Bones to snap: "Enough minister. I shall examine the memory myself, as is proper for the director of the DMLE." Her tone was as steely as McGonagall's.
Harry's insides went numb again. Blood rushed too loudly through his ears. The Wizengamot were sharks on the hunt. The minister would find some and Umbridge would rip him open. His clenched nails threatened to tear the skin of his palms; he was about to show a damning memory to the head of law enforcement.
One of his most painful memories.
"I need my wand."
Albus Dumbledore stepped forward, as close to the cage bars as he could. "I will be able to retrieve the memory. Focus on what happened Harry."
He did and the headmaster withdrew a silvery strand from his head, through the bars and plunged it into the pensieve. The director of magical law enforcement was about to follow when Umbridge cleared her throat again. "It would be fairer to see the memory in its entirety, to better discern truth from lies."
"Of course," Albus Dumbledore allowed, "Let us all see the memory. In fact Mr. Potter, perhaps it would be best to show them everything."
His heart left his chest a hollow pit. Everything. He glanced at his defenders and they gave encouraging nods. Harry focused on his worst memory and more silvery strands slipped out of his head and into the bowl.
The Wizengamot members filed down toward the pensieve, some suspicious as though Harry had faked his memories, or the headmaster had swapped them out right there in the middle of the courtroom. Others had faces shining with so much curiosity it turned greedy. Fudge, who had left first, stared at the silvery pool. He must have gawked too long because Madame Bones stepped to the side and dipped one finger into the ethereal plasma of his memories. Other purple-robed wizards and witches followed suit, ringing the bowl and dipping their fingers in.
Waiting, Harry decided, was the most excruciating punishment.
This type of waiting was more excruciating than any other. He'd gambled his freedom, his life, by confessing a crime—but if this would expose Voldemort? It would be worth prison, he told himself, blood wetting sweaty palms. It would be worth Azkaban.
He tried to believe that.
Without a wand to cast spells, without an enemy to fight, Harry's strain had nowhere to go. His muscles were tensed, his magic flooding his veins like adrenaline without anything to cast or shoot. Worse he had to be calm when he was coiled as a rattlesnake ready to strike, surrounded by Aurors while the gazes of the Wizengamot pressed against his shoulders.
"Bow Harry, bow to death."
Clenching his jaw, Harry straightened and gazed back at the people waiting eager as children about to see unforgivable demonstrated, their turn to view his worst memories.
Then the judges emerged. Iron-faced madame Bones looked a little rusty; the toad-faced Umbridge, appropriately colored; the bloodless-faced Minister who's legs gave out. Ancient, wise, powerful wizards and witches reduced to tears and trembles, to sickness and glassy-eyed horror and sheer denial over the memory of what Harry had survived. Dark satisfaction uncoiled at their shared pain, but they were only witnessing a reflection of Voldemort's horrific resurrection. They hadn't felt Voldemort's terrible will trying to crush them like an ant. They hadn't felt the lash of Voldemort's cruciatus curse, like the distilled pain a thousand slaves must have born over their whole lives. They hadn't felt the steel-cold realization of their own death, the knowledge that they could not win, could not live, could only make death count. Yet they panicked worse than he ever had.
Most of them anyway.
Madame Bones managed to keep her composure with firm, calming breaths. She glanced at him, her mannish features harder than ever, but gave him a stern nod of respect which silenced any pleasure he took from the sight.
By the time the last of the members of the governing body of wizards had seen the memories, the other two judges had found their voices. Umbridge spoke first.
"Lies."
This word jolted Fudge from his faint. "It's impossible. He's dead," the Minister whimpered. "Lucius promised—" he fell silent, remembering the death eater cringing and crawling in the dirt, begging.
"You've been taken for a fool Fudge," another Wizengamot member declared, Slytherin scheming in her eyes.
"The boy must be lying." Still another purple-robed member declared.
"Yes," Fudge shouted desperately, "The memories are faked."
"Could a fourteen-year-old boy fabricate such memories?" Madame Bones asked harshly.
Harry ground his teeth and tasted liquid iron but kept his temper by the narrowest of frayed threads. How dare they deny it after everything he sacrificed, after everything Cedric sacrificed? They had seen. One hand settled where his wand should be, clenching tight. Only his gritted teeth kept him from spitting lethal words. He was one step, one twitch away from exploding, like a hold of gunpowder eager for a spark. How dare they. How Dare They. How. Dare. They.
"Harry." Dumbledore spoke soothingly in a way no one could match. "You have mastered your fear in front of the very worst. Can you master your anger in front of the least," he nodded toward the Wizengamot. "They would prefer you to be angry. To give them some tool to use against you."
As if to drive home the headmaster's point, Narcissa spoke, "So he admitted it. The boy admitted to murdering my husband with that filthy muggle weapon."
"That was one of the memories shown, yes," said Madame Bones, "Alongside your husband casting the killing curse." They continued debating, but Harry couldn't hear the words over his own burning rage. Speech grew muddled among all the other shouting and accusations being flung around by the oh-so-grand court of wizards, their fine purple robes wrung with wrenching hands. Some were pale faced and wet faced. Others had let their dinners go and the stench of vomit infected the room. People looked at him with pity, with fear, with hope and horror and sly cunning in equal measure. Harry's anger cracked and coldness seeped in, like the chill in his heart when he'd pulled the trigger.
"Fine," Harry growled, so low and furious he couldn't recognize his own voice. He sounded possessed. "Fine." He'd faced Voldemort. He could face these idiots.
"See. See. The boy did kill Lucius." Another Fudge supporter shouted.
Before anyone, even his defenders, could speak, Harry interrupted. "If my memories are lies," he hissed, "Then I didn't kill anyone because that memory was a lie too." Like at the graveyard, what he had to do struck him with unnatural clarity. "Either I'm lying and I'm innocent," he continued, voice hard as his heart, "Or I'm guilty and Voldemort is back."
A/N: A bigger, badder charge means a bigger badder trial and lots of ripple effects. The charges mean some people see Harry in an even worse light than before. The trial is also making other people consider (and regret) their life decisions.
Till next time.
