Disclaimer: I only own Death, Morte, Harriet Potter, and any other characters that are not created by J. K. Rowling. Everything, belongs to J. K. Rowling. Enjoy.


Chapter Six

The Trial of Harriet Euphemia Potter

31st of July 1991

Death was nervous. His teeth chattered loudly, keeping Harriet awake, and his skeletal fingers twisted and flexed in a strange way that made the witch's skin crawl. The day of Harriet's trial had come quicker than either would have liked to admit, that even before the sun rose over Cirre, the young witch was awake, walking around her bedroom, trying to find the right dress and cloak to wear.

Usually, Harriet didn't care for clothes, choosing to dress in a pair of ratty overalls and a loose shirt before slipping on a pair of old trainers, but having read many accounts of Witches and Wizards being forcibly turned away because they refused to wear smart clothing, the witch was a little nervous.

'But what if I can't find anything?' she asked Mort, spinning around to face him. 'I'll get kicked out! Literally!'

Mort, who was just as worried as his friend, tried to lighten the mood by taking off his head and holding it high about his shoulders. He suddenly began to run around the room, his teeth cackling wildly as he ran. Harriet scowled, arms folding as she gave him a look.

'Don't do that,' Harriet said, striding towards the skeleton and reaching up on her tip-toes to pluck his skull from his hands. 'The last time you did that I had to put all your teeth back into your skull. You had tooth-ache for weeks.'

Mort looked sheepish, that is if a skeleton could even look sheepish. There was a faint knock at the door, and Harriet jumped, almost dropping Mort's head as Andromeda pushed opened the door, a brown paper package in her girl.

After setting Mort's head back on his shoulders, (and receiving a slightly confused look from her guardian), she approached Andromeda, hands in her pockets.

'What's is it?' Harriet asked, looking at the brown paper package, eyebrows raised. Andromeda smiled.

'This,' she said, handing the package to Harriet, 'is the dress you will wear at the trials. It might be a little out of date, but it will suffice.'

'Where did you get it?' Harriet asked, setting the package on her bed. 'I never saw you buy something like this.'

Mrs Tonks sighed, fingers curling into her skirts as Harriet opened the bag. Like Mort, she too was nervous - very nervous.

'It belonged to your mother,' she said, as Harriet pulled back the paper, revealing an emerald green dress. 'I contacted an old friend of your mother's and had it sent. From what I understand, she wore it for her father's funeral when she was around your age.'

'Its green,' Harriet muttered, eyebrows raised. 'Shouldn't she have worn black?'

'Perhaps her father thought otherwise,' Mrs Tonks said. Suddenly she clapped her hands, drawing up to her full height. 'Now, come on, get dressed. We're leaving in five minutes. The shoes are by the door.'

Once Andromeda had left, Harriet turned to look at Mort.

'Don't you dare look,' she snapped, as the skeleton turned around, sitting on the floor as he stared out of the window.

Once she was changed and had somehow pulled her wild hair into a long plait, Harriet raised down the stares, Mort following pursuit. She barely had time to pull on her shoes, (a pair of leather pumps that made her feel even more clumsier than Tonks), before Andromeda had grabbed her by the arm, and was dragging her towards the fireplace.

Over the last few days, Harriet has seen some witches and wizards appear and disappear by green-flames, and although at the time, she had sworn never to do it herself, a bubble of excitement clouded in her gut when she realised what Andromeda wanted her to do. Reaching up, the elder witch brought down a small pot, quickly pressing it into Harriet's hand.

'Now,' the witch instructed, lips tight. 'Take a good amount of the Floo Powder, and throw it into the fire. Then, when the flame turns green step inside and shout, very loud and very clear where you want to go. Have you got that?'

Harriet nodded.

'I hope so,' Andromeda said as Harriet took a handful of the powder. 'The first time Nymphadora tried to use Floo she ended up in Aberdeen.'

Shaking her head, Andromeda helped Harriet throw the powder into the fire. A brilliant roar of emerald burst from the red flames, and as the green grew, spreading wildly, Harriet smiled brightly, her eyes flickering to Mort, who suddenly looked surprisingly calm.

Extending her hand, the witch snatched Mort's hand, dragging her Imaginary-Friend into the flames. A part of her mind expected the fire to be hot, and she squeezed her eyes tight as the skeleton wrapped his long arms around her shoulders, holding her tight against him.

'Now remember,' Andromeda said, 'The Atrium; the Ministry of Magic,'

Harriet licked her lips and opened her eyes.

'The Atrium!' she called, voice hardening with each word. 'The Ministry of Magic,'

A small cry left her lips as she was thrown upwards, the Floor sucking her away before she could blunt. Mort's grip tightened as the two spun around, their backs banging into the backs of other people's fireplaces and they rattled through the system. Every so often, Harriet could hear a muffled voice, or a tinkle of china, or a radio, before she was encased in rushing wind and swirling soot.

Never once did she open her eyes, her arms and legs clamped so tightly together, that when she was spat out, half spiking like a drunken loon, she barely had time to stop before Mort caught her. She had just managed to stop her head from spinning, when Andromeda appeared a second later, a strand of her long hair falling in front of her face.

'Well,' the witch said, stepping from the fireplace and smoothing her skirt down. 'You did well,'

However, Harriet didn't hear her, for she was far too busy gaping at the Atrium. She stood in a very long and magnificent hall, the dark, polished floor gleaming beneath Harriet's feet. The peacock-blue ceiling twinkled with golden symbols, which Harriet realised had to be protective runes, and among them, flickering in and out of existence like some demented butterfly, bits of flying paper flew. The panelled walls were littered with fireplaces, the green flames brightening as witches or wizards left or entered the Atrium with a quick yell and a loud whoosh.

Right in the middle stood the larges fountain Harriet had ever seen. Far grander than any Muggle Fountain, hundreds of giant, golden statues stood in the middle of a large pool. A wizard rose above the rest, his wand high in the sky, and a witch and a centaur stood by his side. Two other ugly creatures were there too, but Harriet had no ideas what they could be? They looked a little bit like creepy animals.

Loud bellowing cracks echoed through the room, signalling someone's arrival or dis-arrival by Apparition, as people scurried down the hall, heading for their destinations. Harriet shivered. It reminded her of the London Underground - that is, if the Tube had been decorated by George the Fourth and was on steroids.

'Come on!' Andromeda said, grabbing Harriet by the arm and leading her down the hall, and into a room, which Harriet took to be a waiting room. It was magnificent, and much like the hall, gilded. A blonde haired woman, in a blue robe, sat behind a desk, under a huge sign that said, "SECURITY" and after a moment's hesitation, Andromeda, Harriet and Mort joined the sue.

It took a long while before the two (technically three) were seen, as there seemed to be an incident with a man and a plant. It was a bit like a Muggle-Airport, Harriet assumed, because the man was being patted down, a security wizard's wand running up and over his clothes as the plant was prodded with a pair of what she assumed were magical-tongs. There was a loud yelp as the man's skin glowed a red hot, and a second later he was tackled to the floor, the security-wizard screaming in his ear. Eventually, the man and the security-wizard moved on, the pot floating high above their heads.

'I'm escorting a visitor,' said Andromeda, gesturing towards Harriet as she looked at the blonde. 'We're here for a trial. We shall also need name badges.'

'Step over here,' said the witch, voice cold and bored.

Mort poked Harriet's back, edging her closer to the witch as she held up a long goldenrod, and ran it up and down her front and back.

'Do you have a wand?' the security-witch asked; Harriet blinked nervously.

She shook her head.

'Not yet,'

The witch raised her eyebrows.

'Then what trial are you here for - I thought you were at least twelve?'

'I'm eleven,' Harriet said profusely. 'And I'm here for two hearings.'

'Really,' the security-witch said, eyebrows raised as if this was most interesting piece of news she had heard all day. 'What are they?'

'Sandra!' a mother security-wizard cried, and Harriet turned, eyes wide as a man in a long purple robe, approached the two, his wand extended.

With his dark skin and bald head, the wizard remanned Harriet of a king, or maybe even a god from ancient Africa. His black eyes seemed to stare into the woman's soul, the earring that hung form his ear sharp and deadly.

Sandra lowered the rod, eyebrows raised.

'Shacklebolt?' she asked, as the man stopped beside Harriet, mars crossed. 'What are you doing here?'

'I'm here to collect the girl,' the man said, pointing at Harriet. 'Her trial was moved forward.'

Andromeda frowned.

'Was it?' she asked, stepping forward. 'I didn't get the owl?'

The wizard shrugged.

'Supposedly the decided that two hours between trials wasn't exactly a good idea, especially if one bled into each other,' he gave Harriet a wink. 'Don't worry, Miss Potter, Adéle's fair.'

'You mean Adéle is going to be the mediator?' Andromeda asked, eyebrows raised. 'I thought your wife had retired!'

The wizard grinned.

'She decided to come back for this trial - something about beating Dolores at her own game,' the wizard laughed, his eyes twinkling. 'Trust Adéle to do something this rash. Sandra, can we have the name-badged please,'

He turned toward Harriet, extending his hand as Sandra backed off, her eyes trained on her desk and the long, eagle quill that lay there.

'Kingsley Shacklebolt,' the wizard said, as Harriet excepted his large hand. 'Deputy Head Auror,'

'Harriet Potter,' Harriet said. 'Witch,'

Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows, a thin smile on his lips.

'It's a pleasure to meet you Harriet - a Sandra, the badges.'

He quickly handed Harriet and Andromeda their badges, and as the two pinned the golden pins to their clothes, Shacklebolt promptly led them away until they arrived at a golden lift. From what Harriet could tell, whoever had built the Ministry of Magic had vertically been flamboyant.

Just as the lift doors were closing, an ebony-skinned woman, dressed in a long grey robe pushed her way inside, her hands pressing tightly against her chest as the door closed. The first thing that Harriet noticed was that like Shacklebolt, her right ear was pierced, and a long dangling earring dangled down her neck, showing off her long neck and queenly bone-structure. Harriet suddenly realised her frizzy black hair was pulled back into a low turban, the fabric filled with shimmering stars. She was in her early twenties, her hands decorated with golden rings, that as she turned around, eyes round, a wide grin suddenly spread across her lips.

'Hello!' the woman cried, gently pressing a quick kiss to Shacklebolt's cheek as she entered the lift.

She had a faint French accent, but it was mingled and distorted as if she had spent several years elsewhere.

'Off to work?'

'Not yet,' Shacklebolt replied, as his daughter closed the gate, closing the lift. 'I'm escorting Madam Tonks and Harriet to a trial,'

The witch frowned, her gaze settling on the girl who stood before her. For a brief second her eyes trailed up to Harriet's scar before the witch looked into her eyes. She extended her hand, and as Harriet took it, she realised that she must have been Shacklebolt's daughter.

'I'm Jack,' the girl said, grinning widely. 'Hit-Witch.'

'Harry,' Harriet responding, biting back a laugh as she suddenly realised that she didn't know what a "Hit-Witch" was.

'Jacqueline Shacklebolt,' Andromeda breathed, a small smile gracing her lips. 'Last I heard you were in Bulgaria. How are you?'

The witch grinned, giving Andromeda a small salute.

'Madam Tonks,' Jacqueline said, grinning. 'It's been a while. I'm fine.'

She frowned.

'But what are you doing here? Did Tonks do something stupid again?'

Andromeda shook her head.

'No, no,' she said, gripping Harriet's shoulder. 'Dolores is trying to damn my name again - not that she's succeeded but still, she's trying,'

Jack's eyebrows narrowed.

'Hang on,' she said, pointing at Harriet. 'Are you the kid that shouted at the Toad?'

Nodding meekly, Harriet looked up at the woman. A strange, squeaking sound left Jack's lips as the doors opened again, allowing a group of witches and wizards into the lift, nearly squishing the two Shacklebolts, Andromeda and Harriet to the wall. Yes, - the Ministry was precisely like the Tube!

'Ha! That was ingenious!' Jack grinned, once the other witches and wizards had left. 'You are defiantly the highlight in the D.M.L.E, Harry.'

She snickered.

'Mum is so going to love you!'

The doors opened, and a tinny voice said,

'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.'

Jack grinned and smoothed down her robes.

'I guess that's me,' she said, stepping out into the hallway. 'See ya soon Andromeda; Papa, Mum, say's hi, oh and Harriet, bonne chance!'

With that, the doors closed, leaving the three (technically four) in the empty compartment. Harriet frowned and looked up at Mort who was staring blankly at the wall, eyes dark.

'What does "bonne chance" mean?' Harriet asked.

Shacklebolt sighed.

'It roughly translates to "good luck,"' he shook his head. 'My daughter has always liked speaking French - just like my wife.'

Harriet didn't know what to say after that, and as they descended, the minutes ticking by, she began to grow bored. Just as she was contemplating ripping Mort's head off to see if anyone would notice, the doors opened. Unlike the tannoy who had spoken beforehand, no voice echoed around the room and as Harriet and Andromeda, and by extension Mort, were led by Shacklebolt out of the lift and into a dark corridor, Harriet's hackles began to rise.

The stopped out a large door with a massive golden lock, and as Harriet placed her hand on the door, Shacklebolt stopped.

'Good luck, Miss Potter,' he said, stepping back into the darkness. 'I hope my wife will be kind.'

Nodding, Harriet smiled rightly at the Auror, before pushing open the door, Mort helping her all the way as she stepped courtroom. Her eyes widened as they fixed on the cold, stone walls, the dimly lit room revealing full benches with shadowy figures all dressed in deep plum robes. As the door closed, clanging loudly behind Harriet and Andromeda, a tall woman in a red robe rose to her feet. It took Harriet a little longer then she would have liked to admit, but as Healer Rose walked towards her, the girl almost had a heart attack.

Her bouncy hair was pulled tightly out of her face, making her look a little bit like a fire dragon, and in her hand a large book sat, the folds digging into her breast as she stalked towards the girl. A girl expression danced across her lips as she stopped in front of the girl, he back shaking.

'Thank goodness your head,' Healer Rose breathed, her Glaswegian accent thickening as she took Harriet's hand gently leading her towards a stand. 'I was beginning to think you'd never come - Adéle didn't know how much longer she could put off Umbridge.'

Nodding in the direction of the benches, Harriet picked out a dark-skinned woman, her black hair cropped against her skull. She looked like the type of woman Harriet saw on TV, a hardened lawyer with the knowledge and wisdom of a thousand prophets. Her plum robe sat tightly around her neck, her wedding ring the only piece of jewellery she owned as she stared at Harriet behind a pair of black glasses. A small smile drifted across the woman's lips before she turned to face Dolores Umbridge, a bored expression on her pretty face. Harriet took this woman to be the famous Adéle.

'Now,' Healer Rose said, sitting next to Harriet and pointing to a chair in the middle of the room. 'I'm afraid you will have to sit in that ghastly chair - but don't worry, they won't enact the chains unless they feel unsafe.'

A glugg of fear rattled down Harriet's spine when she looked at the large chair, her eyes fixing on the chains. She ignored Healer Rose's words after that, the woman's voice turning to mush in her head as she explained what was going to happen. Harriet looked back at the Wizengamot. She had a funny feeling that they would tie her up.

Eventually, after what seems like an age, Adéle waved Dolores away and rose to her feet, silencing the Wizengamot's whispering with one raised hand. Harriet noticed that her nails were painted a dark red, and she suddenly realised, that out of all the other Wizengamot members, that Adéle seemed to be the only one wearing a grey suit underneath her robes.

'Miss Potter,' the woman called her accented accent heavy with a french grander that Harriet knew she could never achieve. 'If you could sit in the chair, then we can start the trial,'

Bowing her head, Harriet smiled weakly at Andromeda before she moved toward the seat, gently collapsing into the hard chair. As soon as her feet touched the floor, the chains rose around her, and just like she had thought, clamped tightly around her legs, body and arms. A pair of gasps left Healer Rose and Andromeda's mouths as they turned to stare at Adéle. Steeling her fear, Harriet looked at Mort, who pressed a measuring hand on her shoulder. It seemed that no matter whether innocent or guilty, dangerous or gentle Adéle would chain the accused.

Sitting down, Adéle looked at her notes, brown eyes swimming the parchment.

'Disciplinary hearing of the thirty-first of July,' Adéle said, her voice running around the court. 'Into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, the International Statute of Secrecy, and the Decree for the Protection of the British Ministry of Magic Employees by Harriet Euphemia Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.'

'Cirre, actually,' Harriet suddenly blurted out. 'I live at number twelve, Cauldron Lane, Cirre, in Hampshire. I haven't lived with the Dursley's since the twenty-third of June.'

Adéle raised her eyebrows, eyes fixing on a Wizengamot Member who sat behind her.

'Lord Daubernoun, why wasn't I informed of this?' she asked, looking at the grey-haired man.

The Wizengamot Member blushed, suddenly ashamed.

'I'm afraid, Madam Shacklebolt, which I was unaware that Miss Potter's home had changed.'

'Then change it,' Adéle snapped, eyes narrowing. 'We cannot have this in the reports.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Lord Daubernoun said.

Harriet smirked. She was sure - she liked Adéle Shacklebolt. Turning back, Adéle continued her introduction.

'Interrogators; Adéle Camille Shacklebolt, Former Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad; Rune Howe, Head for the Institution of Orphaned Magical Children; Ignatius Prewett, Wizengamot Member and Representative for the Prewett and Black seats. Court Scribe: Rebekah Ainsworth and Witness for the Defence: Elena Lesley Rose, Head Healer of the Harpy Ward in the Children's Sector in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.'

Adéle's glasses seemed to shimmer as she looked at the red-haired healer, a look of thin supers passing across her face. Apparently, a Defence Minister wasn't ubiquitous.

'The charges against the accused are:' Adéle continued extricating a piece of parchment for her large pile. 'That she did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of her actions, produce an Obscurial in a Muggle-inhabited area, on the twenty-seventh July at eleven-minuets past ten, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph A of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. In doing so, the accused also threatened a Ministry Employee, specifically Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, thus breaching the Section 746 of the Decree for the Protection of the British Ministry of Magic Employees, 1901.'

Adéle raised her eyebrows at this, her gaze softening ever so slightly when she mentioned an Obscurial.

'You are Harriet Euphemia Potter, of number twelve, Cauldron Lane, Cirre, Hampshire?'

'Yes,' Harriet replied, suddenly aware how quiet her voice was.

'And you received two letters of warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic?' a silvery-haired man suddenly said, and Harriet realised that this must be Rune Howe.

'Yes, but-'

'And yet you continued to threaten Madam Umbridge even after those letters arrived?' Howe asked.

'No,' said Harriet, 'they-'

'You deny threatening Madam Umbridge then?' Howe asked.

'No, but-'

'So then you admit that you were in the wrong?' Howe questioned, his voice piercing the air like glass. 'Knowing that you were in an area with Muggles?'

'No I - and Cirre is-'

'Fully aware that you were near a Muggle at the time?'

'No - but-' said Harriet angrily, '-but I only used it because she was trying-'

A wizard with long red hair suddenly leaned forward; his blue eyes fixed on the girl.

'You managed to conjure an Obscurus?' he asked, his voice loud and energetic.

Harriet took him to be Ignatius Prewett.

'No,' said Harriet, 'it wasn't-'

'A real Obscurus?' Howe gasped. 'They haven't been seen since the Dark Ages.'

There was hubbub of chatter as the Wizengamot agreed with Howe, their eyes fixed on Harriet.

'It wasn't a-'

'But the "dark whips of light", as Madam Umbridge put it is very similar to an Obscurus,'

'Just what is an Obscurus?' Harriet asked, finally having enough.

'An Obscurus is a manifestation of suppressed, dark energy.' Adéle said, having spoken for what felt like the first time in a long while. 'It occurs when a child's magic is oppressed. Has your magic ever been oppressed, Miss Potter,'

'Yes,' Harriet said before she could stop herself.

'Really?' it was Howe again, and he was leaning forward on his chin, eyes narrow. 'Have you produced it before?'

'Yes,' Harriet said. 'But it's not-'

'And you are what, ten years old?'

'Eleven,' Harriet spat out, 'I turn eleven today,'

'Eleven?' Prewett said. 'That's a dangerous age.'

'Is it?' Harriet asked, suddenly weary.

'Yes,' Prewett said, and he was about to continue when Howe raised his hand.

'How long has the Obscurus been around?'

'Ten years,' Harriet said. 'And it's not a-'

Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; although most looked disgusted.

'It's not a question of how repressed her magic is,' said Howe, suddenly angry. 'In fact, it is proof that Miss Potter would have been mentally insane enough to do magic in front of a Muggle!'

Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement.

'I ONLY DID IT BECAUSE SHE WAS BEING HORRID AND THREATENING THE TONKSES!' Harriet yelled, looking right at Umbridge. 'AND IT'S NOT AN OBSCURES! IT'S SOMETHING ELSE!'

Silence fell across the court.

'Something else?' Adéle asked, lips pursed. 'What kind of something else?'

'I don't know,' Harriet admitted. 'But it's not evil… It's a part of me… Whatever it is…. And where's this Muggle you keep referring to? Cirre is Wizard-kind only!'

Adéle's lips seemed to thin after that, and she turned around to face Umbridge.

'Yes, Dolores,' she said, voice sickly and cruel. 'Just where is this Muggle of yours, hmmm?'

Umbridge smiled sweetly, her brown eyes darkening as she looked at the door.

'I call my first witness,' she said. 'Luke Burton!'

Harriet's eyes widened, as Luke's ghost walked into the room, his eyes flickering around the room. A wild squeak left Harriet's lips, and the Wizengamot turned to face her. Luke grinned, a malicious, ugly grin, and as he knelt in front of the Wizengamot, his arms and legs were suddenly bound.

'Name?' Prewett asked, eyebrows raised.

'Luke Edward Burton - born in ten-seventy - I died in ten-eight-eight. Witch-finder.'

A quiet rumble fell around the court, their fear rising as the ghost-man stared at them, lips curling.

'A Witch-finder?' Adéle asked, suddenly horrified. 'Dolores, you bring a Witch-finder into his court - a dead one at that? How is he Muggle?'

'Ah but I am, misses,' Luke said, grinning wickedly. 'I don't have a single drop of magical blood in my body - this form is simply a punishment from Death because I killed a few of his creations.'

The Witch-finder laughed darkly.

'How does your story connect with the accused?' Howe asked, suddenly interested.

Luke looked at Harriet.

'She was hanging around the grave of some nobleman,' the ghost said. 'She was talking to herself, blubbering absolute pigs-shit. I watched her for some time, and during that time, she seemed to be talking to someone else. Me being a ghost, an all, I thought at first she was talking to one of my kind, but as I watched closer, I realised that she was talking to air - nothing was there. It was then that she came over to my tree.'

Harriet's heart dropped. She hadn't been talking to air! She had been speaking to the old man. She frowned. Then again…he had, had a strange aura around him.

'She began talking to me, and I told her to stay away.' Luke shrugged, nose twitching. 'She wanted to know who to wipe the "dark magic" off of her. I told her she couldn't - that it was old. She began to talk to herself after that, and walked off, like an utter loon.'

If Harriet could have touched him, she would have strangled the ghost. That was not how it happened! It wasn't. Beside her, Mort looked like he wanted to murder the ghost, his hands flexing and un-flexing ever time he looked at him.

'He doesn't even live in Cirre.' Harriet hissed, to herself. 'He's a bloody ghost!'

'Thank you, Mr Burton,' Howe said. 'Your testimony has been most kind.'

Harriet felt her heart fall as the man looked towards her. A strange gleam filled his eye, and Harriet suddenly realised, that for whatever reason, this man loathed her - but for what, she didn't know.

Healer Rose's hand was up before the chains were off Luke.

'The Chair recognises Healer Rose,' Adéle said. 'What is it that you would like to say.'

'I have a full mental analysis of Harriet's mind,' the Healer said, stepping forward, a bundle of letters and parchment in her hands. 'And I can safely say that the black light is not an Obscurus.'

A roar of anger rose from the Wizengamot; some, Harriet guessed, were angry because they wanted it to be true, while others were just plain confused. To be perfectly honest, so was she. Did the Healer know what the black mist was?

'When I examined Harriet a few days ago, I noticed after she had left that were as a strange, and unusual pattern in her DNA - a different cell or strand, you might say. As you all know, those born from Wizarding-kind have a slightly different DNA string compared to a normal Muggle. However, when I looked into Harriet's, I found something else - something older,'

Healer Rose took a breath, straightening her glasses.

'What I found, surprised and enthralled me - for I can say with must confidence that the black mist, is nothing but hereditary. It's Familial Magic,'

'Familial Magic?' Lord Howe gasped. 'THere's no such thing!'

'I will remind you, Lord Howe,' Healer Rose said, looking up at the Lord with a cool expression. 'That familial powers can pass down bloodlines, and no matter how faint, Harriet Potter's ancestors were two of the Peverell brothers - otherwise known as Ignotus and Cadmus, masters and creators of the Cloak of Invisibility and the Resurrection Stone - two parts of the Deathly Hallows.'

She paused letting the information sink in.

'As we all know, Azrael D'Ark, the brother's father, was an Alchemist - an Alchemist I will add who dabbled a fair bit with the affairs of death.' Healer Rose looked at her notes, stealing her nerve. 'It is one of the reasons why the god went after the Three Brothers in the first place, to collect the toll their father had left behind.'

Harriet's eyes widened. Her ancestor had done what? With who?

'It has come to my attention, that just as he-who-must-not-be-named could talk to snakes, Harriet has come into D'Ark's powers by being his sole-living descendent.' Healer Rose glanced at Harriet, lips thin. 'She is a Necromancer; a commander of Death himself; the true owner of the Deathly Hallows. She is not an Obscurial and is anything but. I gather, that if put to the test, I can safely say that Miss Potter will have the capability and knowledge to control her gift by the time she reaches seventeen when her core finally settles. To be frank, I think Harriet will become a wonderful, powerful witch, with all the complications and honour that her ancestors upheld. That, Madam Umbridge, is my report.'

With that, Healer Rose bowed and sat back down, face grim.

'You mean to question years of history?' Howe snarled, leaning forth in his chair. 'You dare to say that the Deathly Hallows even exist? You stupid woman! They're legends! Myths! They don't even exist!'

'And yet, Lord Howe,' Adéle said, giving him a look. 'It is a theory worth looking into - Healer Rose makes a valid point. Is it a bad thing to hold a familial power, especially when you do not know, or understanding, or even control on how you received or understand it. It is not our fault what our ancestors did; we can nearly shape what they have left behind.'

'But if not trained, aren't they dangerous,' Umbridge said, eyes thinning. 'Those, like Miss Potter, should be kept a close eye on, maybe even examined just to be sure.'

Harriet suddenly had a funny feeling that Umbridge didn't mean examined, and more meant, extermination. Adéle's lips thinned.

'No,' she eventually said, leaning back in her chair. 'That would be a terrible idea. Think about what that would do - should we start "examining" Metamorphmagi or Animagus merely because they have a magical talent that others do not? There would be chaos.'

For a long while, Dolores Umbridge and Adéle Shacklebolt stared at each other, their eyes thinning, and Harriet suddenly got the impression that this as a conversation the two had, had many times before, and that the trial about her mental health was well and truly.

Eventually, Adéle turned back to Harriet.

'Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?' she said, her voice radiating around the room.

Harriet looked at the hands that shot up into the air, and her heart leapt when she noticed that more when half had voted.

'And those in favour of conviction?'

Umbridge and a few others raised their hands. Even Luke, although he quickly put his down when Mort glared at him.

A slight grin spread across Adéle's lips, and Harriet suddenly realised it wasn't about her, but instead because the wife of Kingsley Shacklebolt had won against Umbridge. She turned to face the horrible woman, her red nails tapping her chin.

'Cleared of all charges.'

Adéle smiled and looked at Harriet, and with a wave of her wand, the chains fell off Harriet.

'Out next trial will begin in four hours time!' Adéle snapped, lips thin as she sent a short look towards Dolores Umbridge, her hatred spinning wildly around the room.

Healer Rose smiled, rushing towards Harriet as the girl rose from the chair.

'Well done,' Healer Rose gasped, suddenly pulling Harriet into a warm hug. 'Well done, my dear girl!'

Harriet, who was feeling just a little bit uncomfortable, smiled. However, it was as Healer Rose moved away, flittering through the open door, that Harriet noticed Mort. He stood next to the Luke, staring directly at him. The ghost in question was shivering, his face pale as ever. It seems the rest of the Wizengamot could no longer see him, and a few members were looking around trying to find him. Harriet blinked, and the ghost was gone, Mort standing next to her once more. What had just happened? Mort took her hand.

Death's hands tightened around Harriet's, his bony fingers squeezing her own until they turned blue. His thoughts suddenly turned to his past, to the three boys he had once called sons, and as the realisation of what was about to come, settled deep into his bones, Lord Death suddenly began to feel something he hadn't felt in aeons - fear.

'Mort,' Harriet breathed, turning to her Imaginary-Friend. 'Are you all right?'

Stilling his fear, the God of Death nodded, his grip loosening as the court returned, their long robes spinning in the wind as people mulled back into the hall. Now, whether he liked it or not, he would have to wait for the second trial - a trial, Death realised would be physically exhausting, and if Harriet was able to get her way, incredibly damning to the Dursleys. Whether for better or worse, Death suddenly felt a whole lot better, and in the darkness, Death smiled.

No….

Death grinned, a bubble of invisible, silent laughed escaping from his mouth.


Dear Readers,

Hi everyone, I'm back, sorry it took so long. I have recently started a new job and I haven't had time to write anything. I would say Happy New Year...but it's March so...yeah... HAPPY 2018!

I should have the next chapters up soon, as I have some time off, but don't take my words for it - I'm bloody tied - also this chapters was fucking hard to write... christ courts...their hard - and I have a few more to do... Why did I do this to myself... Also, apparently I've been spelling Dolores wrong - whoops, best go back and change that (ps, it had been changed)... :)

Hope to hear your reviews!

from

Lily