A/N:

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Nachtrae for taking the time to read, edit and comment on this Chapter. She does amazing work and I'm lucky to have her as my beta.

Chapter 30

Trial

Harry eye's snapped open, and he lay perfectly still, almost frozen for a long moment. The moments stretched in to a minute and he finally relaxed. She was still asleep. He looked over at her for a moment, the blonde hair splayed across the pillow, one shapely leg poking out from under the blanket, mumbling something incoherent about five more minutes.

Their last date had been a comedy of errors, but Harry still consoled himself with one fact: She had been laughing the whole time, especially when he had point blank refused to try the whole baby octopus. The restaurant had a simple well-lit minimalist interior. "I think… it… just grabbed my chopstick…."he gasped, partly over dramatizing it as he engaged in a tug of war with the bamboo utensil. Fortunately, they had snagged a booth in a back corner which meant that they were not only out of sight of the other diners, but they were also somewhat obscured from the restaurant's staff, considering they were all Japanese – or at least Asian – would have probably taken offense to Harry's remark about the overly live nature of their cuisine. Japanese food is meant to be fresh but not that fresh.

At least, he knew better than to try the lump green past that had smelt a little too pungent by itself. It had smelt a little too pungent to be any kind of seafood. He had followed her lead, mixing it with the soy sauce and then adding more sauce to water down the accompaniment. "What happened to your being open minded enough to try anything once?" she teased

His retort of, "My mind is open, it's my mouth is clamped shut!" had her practically crying in to her Miso Soup. Fortunately, the rest of the meal had been comprised of sushi and sashimi that he could recognize as being either fish, eel, chicken or vegetable of some kind. The rest of that particular date was a blur in his mind, except for the way they had spent the last part of the night star gazing on the grounds of the manor. The night had stretched on in to the early hours of the morning before they had gone to bed.

He grinned, slightly, neither of them had actually been tired, but it just seemed, polite to call it a night at almost three in the morning. They had wandered in to each other on the landing and retreated to what was supposed to have been her room for just that one night. They had both thought they would kill the rest of the night talking, only for Fleur to fall asleep within minutes of stretching out. Harry had actually sat up to leave but the bed gave him away with a creak that Blake, at the other end of the mansion had heard. He was already standing when he heard the whisper, "Stay?" he froze, "Please?"

"You know," he had whispered back, "You can't have what you want."

"Not now… maybe not ever," she admitted, "But, at least…. Something…"

That room where they had nearly ruined their… relationship had become her room within his mansion where the couple spent their nights curled up against each other. Fleur never said it, but even if they did share the bid, she invariable woke in the mornings to find his arm draped over her protectively. Dobby and Winky had said nothing on the matter, but they were in private agreement that it was good that Master Harry was moving on, and happier. Blake had been unmerciful in his teasing the next morning when they had come down within a few minutes of each other. However, Blake was enough of a gentleman to refrain from teasing when she was present, "No intention of getting on the wrong side of her," he'd said hastily, "But you are fair game! Especially since Buckbeak won't fight back with words."

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and cursed quietly. "Five in the morning," he cast a silencing charm over the bed and got up. The nightmares were still there, but at least now, they did not have such a hold over him. They still woke him, regularly but at least he was not setting fire or freezing things in his sleep. The only question remained what to do with the wand fragments buried in his flesh. He shrugged. Maybe that would come in handy somehow some way.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present as he leaned over and kissed the still sleeping half witch, half Veela on the cheek. She had become… someone special to him. "Come so far so fast," he muttered to himself. Fleur was not much of an early riser – she never had been as far as he knew, but as he changed and headed down to the grounds of the Potter Manor to begin his routine morning workout, he let his mind run over the plan for his trial, scheduled for that morning.

Breakfast was a slightly awkward affair. Everyone knew what was coming and Blake had been quiet, offering only a few nuggets of advice, "Don't lose your temper," he had said very abruptly, "Stick to the facts, be polite, and don't forget that the law is on your side. Even underaged wizards are allowed to use magic in a life threatening situation." Then, Blake knew that he was not an underage wizard anymore. If circumstances had been slightly different, the charges would have been a whole lot worse.

Beyond that, they had said nothing more until Fleur and Harry had taken the Floo in to her apartment at Diagon Alley. She hugged him, and held him far longer than necessary. She was confident that he had everything, especially with a team of Goblin lawyers on his side. But as they walked down the alley towards the Bank, Harry could not help but feel a wave of apprehension wash through him. He took a breath, clearing his mind and raising his Occulemency barriers as they entered the bank where they were greeted by Marinashka and her two colleagues. The good bye was brief between the odd couple and the mismatched pair of wizard and goblins left the bank via floo for the ministry of magic.

They arrived, Marinshka first, followed by Harry who stumbled out of the fireplace instead of landing on his face as usual, "Been practicing have we?" she teased. He grinned and nodded, "You'll get it right eventually." She gave him a moment to study their surroundings, standing at one end of a long hall with a polished, dark wooden floor and a dozen gilded fireplaces lining both walls. Gleaming golden symbols decorated the walls that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. It was clear that the working day was starting as witches and wizards emerged from the fire places one after the other from the left-hand fireplaces. On the right side, shorter queues were forming, "night shift waiting to go home," she grunted, taking the lead.

Halfway down the hall was a fountain composed of larger than life-size golden figures: A witch and wizard were flanked by a centaur, goblin and a house-elf that seemed to stare up, at the witch and wizard with adoration. Jets of water flew from the ends of their outstretched wand, the centaur's arrowhead, the tip of the goblin's hat and from each of the house elves ears. "The hell?" muttered Harry.

As they passed the fountain, Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read: "All proceeds from the Fountain of Magical Brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."

Harry stared at the plaque for a moment and shook his head, "Fountain of magical brethren my eye," he thought contemptuously. The statue placed witches and wizards at the top and every other as second classes slightly behind them with the house elves at the bottom, as always. He blinked in surprise as an ally of sorts stepped out of one of the many fireplaces, "Mr. Weasley!" he called, "Over here!" He shook hands warmly with the wizard who had acted like a father to him for the past three years.

"Here for your trial?" he asked quietly, receiving a nod in return, "Signed in with security yet?" Harry critically eyed the badly shaved wizard in peacock blue robes oblivious to the world behind his copy of the Daily Prophet. Marinshka raised an eyebrow critically and Harry nodded his agreement as they made their way over with Mr. Weasely in tow. Harry took two steps forward and cleared his throat. The wizard slapped his paper down and held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible like a car aerial, "Wand," he grunted. Harry flexed his wrist and his wand sprang in to his hand, which he dropped in to a strange brass instrument where it vibrated for a moment, "Vine wood with Dragon Heartstring, 10¾ inches right?"

Harry clamped down on his emotions, "Yeah. That's it."

"I keep this," said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. "You get this back," he added, thrusting the wand at Harry.

"Thanks."

They made their way in to the crowd as a lift descended in front of them. The golden grille slid back and Harry and his lawyer made their way in to the crowd. It was then that people noticed who they were sharing a lift with and that seemed to create a cocoon of space around them as everyone pressed in to the corners. The grille slammed and began to descend.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club and Ludicrous Patents Office." The lift doors opened. Harry glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor for only an instant before the doors slammed shut and the lift continued its shuddering downward passage.

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparation Test Centre." Once again, the doors slammed open and a number of people got on and off, along with a number of pale violet colored airplanes bearing the seal of the Ministry upon their wings.

"Just inter-departmental memos," Mr Weasley muttered to him. "We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable ... droppings all over the desks ..." They clattered downwards another floor.

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats." Two of the memos zipped from the lift as again a number of passengers alighted.

"Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau."

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." The lift was suddenly empty and silent without the pointing fingers, stress and faint mutterings, except for Mr. Weasely, Marinahka and Harry

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

"This is us, Harry," said Marinashka. To Harry's surprise Mr Weasley followed them out explaining that his office was on the other side of the floor. They had just bid goodbye to Mr. Weasely when one of those small paper airplanes can to halt a few inches from Harry's nose. He snatched from the air and unfolded it, "Marinashka!" he thrust the paper in to her hands.

"Changed the time… and venue… 08:00 in Courtroom ten!" her eyes narrowed, as she glanced at her watch, "We should have been there five minutes ago!" she growled, "Typical ministry underhandedness!" she slammed the "down" button on the elevator repeatedly and to her aggravation it was full. She glanced at her watch again and growled intent on letting the elevator go when Harry put his foot in the door.

"I am Harry Potter," he growled, "Mentally unstable one, according to the Daily Prophet, yet emancipated, with full wand rights! I am getting on this lift. Now does anyone…" There was a stampede as the elevator emptied. They began their descent.

"Department of Mysteries," announced the cool female voice as the lift doors rattled opened and they took off, in a Goblin war run. The walls down here were bare, without magical windows and no doors, apart from a heavy plain black door set at the far end of the corridor. Marinashka took a sharp turn to the left and down a flight of stairs that Harry duplicated with ease, "Down here!" she said, "The lift doesn't even come down this far ... why they are conducting a trial for misuse of magic... down here…

They skidded to a halt and took a moment to compose themselves. Harry cast a number of discreet refreshing charms as he studied this corridor. It reminded him a great deal of the dungeons at Hogwarts, specifically the one that lead to potions with the greasy git. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

"Ready?" she asked.

His heart rate slowed as he took a calming breath and raised his occulumency shields to the full power. "Let's get this over with." He said calmly, grasping the heavy iron door handle and stepped in to the courtroom.

Occulmency being what it is, Harry had mastered his emotions but he recognized this dungeon, or at least thought he did: He had seen this place in the memories stolen from Dumbledore's pensieve. "That's nice," he thought sardonically, "and I'm sure meant to be subtle something or other to somebody somewhere." He took a few steps forward and halted as he scanned the rows of faces.

The dark stone walls were dimly lit by torches and many of the shadowy figures had been talking in low voices. They fell silent as the door slammed shut behind him, moments before a cold male voice rang across the courtroom, "You, are late."

His gaze dropped to the chair in the center of the room, the arms of which were covered in chains. He glanced up at the speaker shrouded in shadow and then at Marinashka, and sent a gentle probe with his legilimency. He got one back in return, with a slight nod, "Yes I am," he said politely, "Considering that your message reached me at eight precisely, to inform me that my trial had been moved forward, to start at eight precisely, it is no wonder that I am late," he said to the speaker in shadow. "As to taking a seat in a chair that has played host to Death Eaters of Lord Voldemort," he shook his head as the crowd shuddered, "I'd rather stand." Now he had their attention: There were fifty of them, at least, all in plum colored robes with an elaborately worked silver "W" on the left hand side of the chest, staring at him, with curiosity, fear, a few with anger and hatred, others with wonder and adoration.

He recognized the man in the middle of the front row: Cornelius Fudge, Minister. He recognized the witch to the Minister's left: Amelia Bones who gave him the slightest nod. The witch on his right, was in pink but she was sitting as far back as possible, leaving her face in shadow. "Now that the accused is present, let us begin. Are you ready?"

"Yes Minister!" said an eager voice and Harry blinked just to confirm what he was seeing: Percy Weasley, brother of Ronald, eyes fixed on his parchment behind horn-rimmed glasses, quill poised and began to scrawl as the minister began.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," said Fudge in a ringing voice, "into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." The pair flanking the chair exchanged a glance that went unnoticed, ""Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Harry cut him off smoothly, "Defense Attorney Marinashka Thaz-Dom, of Gringotts as my legal advisor."

"Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck.

Dumbledore was striding serenely across the room wearing long, midnight‐blue robes and a perfectly calm expression. His long silver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Harry and looked up at Fudge through the half‐moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crooked nose. "You're about the last person I ever expected to see!" said Harry quietly as the headmaster came to a stop standing next to Harry.

The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore. Some looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; two elderly witches in the back row, however, raised their hands and waved in welcome. "Ah," said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. "Dumbledore. Yes. You ‐ er ‐ got our ‐ er ‐ message that the time and ‐er ‐ place of the hearing had been changed, then?"

"I must have missed it," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done."

"Yes," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes." He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him and read aloud, "The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle‐inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty‐three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C 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."

Harry had paid no attention to the man's droning as he turned to Dumbledore, casting a discreet privacy charm over them both, "I don't know what you are doing here. But you should not be here. Just stay out of it, please." He added the last, because frankly he had no interest in threatening Dumbledore here, even though he knew he would bury the old man if he had to without hesitation, "You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.

"Yes," Harry said.

"You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, but ‐"

"And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" said Fudge.

"Yes," said Harry, "but ‐"

"Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?"

"Yes, but ‐"

"Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?"

"Yes, but ‐"

"Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?"

"Yes," said Harry as he ploughed on, "Dementors don't like Patronus do they?" He had expected muttering or something not silence that was thick enough to cut with knife.

"Dementors?" said Madam Bones after a moment, her thick eyebrows rising "What do you mean?"

"I mean there were two Dementors down that alleyway and they went for me and my cousin!"

"Ah," said Fudge again, smirking unpleasantly as he looked around at the Wizengamot, as though inviting them to share the joke. "Yes. Yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this."

"Dementors in Little Whinging?" Madam Bones said, in a tone of great surprise. "I don't understand ‐"

"Don't you, Amelia?" said Fudge, still smirking. "Let me explain. He's been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can't see Dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly convenient… so it's just your word and no witnesses…"

"Got a Pensieve?" challenged Harry, "Got a couple a drops of Veritaserum lying around?" Dumbledore eyed Harry worriedly, "Legal council has advised me that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, I can request a pensieve to present evidence! I can also demand trial by Veritaserum! Isn't that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?" he asked

"True," said Madam Bones. "Perfectly true."

"Oh, very well, very well," snapped Fudge. "Bring him a pensieve." Fudge grins, "But you should know, Mr. Potter, that false memories are very easily detected." Harry gave the Minister a look that would have frozen Vodka as the artifact was placed on a conjured table. In preparation for this, Harry had pulled the events of that evening to the forefront of his mind and it took moments to extract the memory, dropping it in to the bowl. The normally calm, placid silver surface began to bubble, ever so slightly, turning black and red in color.

The charmed pensieve began to playback the events of that one night that haunted Harry's sleep that he could only sleep through because of his occulmency: The night of Lord Voldemort's rebirth. Chaos erupted within an instant, but as the memory played itself out, the Wizangamot fell silent, as they watched it. Unable to tear they eyes away from the playback. He had their undivided attention now, and there was a pin drop silence as it drew to an end, just Voldemort was reborn and summoned his Death Eaters to his side, "Whoops," said Harry, with a carefree attitude he did not feel, "Wrong memory." Those two words resulted in utter pandemonium while Harry conjured a pair of chairs, and offered his lawyer a seat, before taking one himself, "You know, its shame that I forgot the…."

She produced a small bag of popcorn, "Best I could do, on such short notice," she said drily. He chuckled as they watched the Wizengamot of the United Kingdom run around in circles, flapping their arms in the arm, much like a flock of frightened headless chickens. The level of panic meant that the snacking duo were momentarily forgotten until Dumbledore raised his wand, letting it emit a single loud bang that shocked everyone in to silence,

"If it pleases the Wizengamot, the contents of memory, as we all know can be falsified, but to create such a detailed memory, with such exacting detail, to include names and faces as this has done, is clearly beyond the capabilities of any teenager wizard, no matter how powerful. Even I would have difficulty in maintaining a false memory such as this. However, it is not relevant to the matter at hand," Harry watched the master manipulator at work, and wondered just how he did it. He had all of them listening, and a number eating out of his hand too. Nevertheless, he could see a number did not agree but that was irrelevant for the moment. "Perhaps Harry, you could provide us with the relevant memory?"

He nodded and approached the pensieve, in half a mind to ruin Dumbledore where he stood, but banished that thought to the back of his mind, "Of course, Headmaster." Once again, he had their attention but in this instance, they found themselves hard pressed to find fault with his actions as the memory ended, Dumbledore realized that Harry had not gone farther than necessary. Tonks, Moody nor he had appeared. Harry was playing a cautious game, he realized. Nothing he did was reckless and unplanned. Even ruffling the entire Wizengamot was deliberate. However, what purpose that could be still eluded him.

"Convincing enough?" asked Harry casually.

Fudge was left spluttering as Madame Bones broke in, "It is clear that there were Dementors in little Whinging.

"But Dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard?" snorted Fudge, "The odds on that must be very, very long. Even Bagman wouldn't have bet ‐"

"Oh, I don't think any of us believe the Dementors were there by coincidence," said Dumbledore lightly. Even Harry turned to face the headmaster, without giving away his surprise: Dumbledore had stumbled upon the next phase of the trial plan, probably without meaning to.

The witch sitting to the right of Fudge, with her face in shadow, moved slightly but everyone else was frozen, processing the implications of what Dumbledore was suggesting, "And what is that supposed to mean?" Fudge asked icily. Harry wondered how so dense a man ever was elected to the position of minister.

"It means that I think they were ordered there," said Harry, cutting in smoothly, raising an eyebrow in warning towards the headmaster.

"I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of Dementors to go strolling through Little Whinging!" barked Fudge.

"Not if the Dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these days," growled Harry.

"I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius," echoed Dumbledore.

"Yes, you have," said Fudge forcefully, "and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge, Dumbledore. The Dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask them to."

"Then," said Dumbledore, quietly but clearly, "we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of Dementors into Little Whinging, and that alleyway on the second of August." In the complete silence that greeted these words, the witch to the right of Fudge leaned forwards so that Harry saw her for the first time.

He thought she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. Her eyes were large, round and slightly bulging. Even the little black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair put him in mind of a large fly she was about to catch on a long sticky tongue. Harry recognized the ugly toad of a woman almost at once, "The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister," said Fudge.

The witch spoke in a fluttery, girlish, high‐pitched voice that reminded Harry of twittering bird… a really ugly twittering bird, "I'm sure I must have misunderstood you, Professor Dumbledore," she said, with a simper that left her big, round eyes as cold as ever. "But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this… boy!"

She gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand as he clenched his hands, reigning in his emotions as a few other members of the Wizengamot laughed and sniggered with her. Though it was clear those who were laughing were not amused, Harry took note of them, just in case and was not surprised: Suspected Death Eaters from the first war were amongst those laughing. He could not help but wonder if Jane Umbridge sported a dark mark.

"If it is true that the Dementors are taking orders only from the Ministry of Magic, and it is also true that two Dementors attacked Harry and his cousin a week ago, then it follows logically that somebody at the Ministry might have ordered the attacks," said Dumbledore politely. "Of course, these particular Dementors may have been outside Ministry control ‐"

"There are no Dementors outside Ministry control!" snapped Fudge, who had turned brick red.

Dumbledore inclined his head in a little bow, and Harry stepped in, "Then I demand, as I am entitled to under Wizengamot Charter, a full investigation! What were two Dementors doing in Little Whinging? Why were they there at all? Why did they attack without authorization? Explain that to me! I want answers!"

"It is not for you to decide what the Ministry of Magic does or does not do!" snapped Fudge, now a shade of magenta of which Uncle Vernon would have been proud, "Especially at the demands of an underaged boy!"

"Funny you should mention that," said Harry, glancing at Marinshka and then at Director Sheppard, who occupied a seat in the third row of the Wizengamot, "I am an adult," he took the folio from Marinashka and held it out to the Minister, "Approved by the Department of Family Services, with Director Sheppard's approval a week ago."

He glanced at Madam Bones, who readjusted her monocle and stared back at him, frowning slightly. "I would remind everybody that the behavior of these Dementors, if indeed they are not figments of this boy's imagination, is not the subject of this hearing!" said Fudge. "We are here to examine Harry Potter's offences under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery!" Fudge was clearly hoping that he had sidestepped that particular minefield.

"Of course we are," said Dumbledore, "but the presence of Dementors in that alleyway is highly relevant. Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch him‐ or herself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the ‐"

"We are familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much!" snarled Fudge.

"Of course you are," said Dumbledore courteously. "Then we are in agreement that Harry's use of the Patronus Charm in these circumstances falls precisely into the category of exceptional circumstances the clause describes?"

"I ‐ that ‐ not ‐" blustered Fudge, fiddling with the papers before him. "It's ‐ I want this over with today, Dumbledore!"

"Naturally, " agreed Dumbledore, "But surely, the truth absolves Harry Potter, as he acted in accordance with Clause Seven, and any alternative would be a serious miscarriage of just…"

"Serious miscarriage, my hat!" said Fudge at the top of his voice. "Have you ever bothered to total up the number of cock‐and‐bull stories this boy has come out with, Dumbledore, while trying to cover up his flagrant misuse of magic out of school? I suppose you've forgotten the Hover Charm he used three years ago ‐"

That wasn't me, it was a house‐elf!" said Harry.

"You see?" roared Fudge, gesturing flamboyantly in Harry's direction. "A house‐elf! In a Muggle house! I ask you."

"Dobby!" snapped Harry. The house elf appeared with the quiet pop of apparition, and everyone present except Harry seemed to take exception to his appearance, and no wonder. The elf was no longer a half-hunched subservient creature, but one that stood tall. The boots upon his feet were leather and black, like the pants with red piping. There was a plain black undershirt or vest, over which the elf wore a pocketed vest.

"Harry Potter called for Dobby, sir!" his voice was calm, normal, without excitement or fear. Still high-pitched but not squeaky. The care and attention he had received from Harry, and to an extent Blake, meant that he had come in to his own as a more confident creature that no longer skulked and depended on the kindness of others.

"I have asked you to come here about the hover charm three years ago,"

"It was I who cast the hover charm sir!" Dobby admitted freely, "I was trying to…"

"I ‐ not ‐ I haven't got time to listen to house‐elves! Anyway, that's not the only ‐ he blew up his aunt, for God's sake!" Fudge shouted, banging his fist on the judge's bench and upsetting a bottle of ink.

"And you very kindly did not press charges on that occasion, accepting, I presume, that even the best wizards cannot always control their emotions," said Dumbledore calmly, as Fudge attempted to scrub the ink off his notes.

"And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school."

"But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanors at school, Harry's behavior there is not relevant to this hearing," said Dumbledore, as politely as ever, but now with a suggestion of coolness behind his words.

"Oho!" said Fudge. "Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?"

"The Ministry does not have the power to expel Hogwarts students, Cornelius," said Dumbledore. "Nor does it have the right to confiscate wands until charges have been successfully proven…"

"Overlooking the laws in a zealous pursuit of justice," cut in the Goblin, "If my client wishes to press charges for harassment, improper protocol, and of being forced to attend a trial, presided over by a biased representative of the Ministry of Magic…."

"Laws can be changed," said Fudge savagely.

"Of course they can," said Dumbledore, inclining his head. "And you certainly seem to be making many changes, Cornelius. Why, in the few short weeks since I was asked to leave the Wizengamot, it has already become the practice to hold a full criminal trial to deal with a simple matter of underage magic!"

A few of the wizards above them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fudge turned a slightly deeper shade of puce. The toad like witch on his right, however, merely gazed at Dumbledore, her face expressionless. "As far as I am aware," Dumbledore continued, "there is no law yet in place that says this court's job is to punish Harry for every bit of magic he has ever performed!"

Harry was convinced the headmaster was about to head off on a tangent and a rant so he cut in, "Look, you two can fight later! Right now, you know why I cast the Patronus Charm. You have seen my memory of the events of that night! Do you want me to testify under Veritaserum?" he challenged. He said nothing about the other memory he had accidentally shared, "And there's no telling what else I might… let slip…" he said coolly.

That silenced the Wizengamot, as they wondered collectively what exactly he knew, and Dumbledore, he was gratified, looking extremely worried for an instant. It was good to know that he had the old man on a short leash. Harry turned his attention back to the Wizengamot, deep in urgent whispered conversations. But it was not long in coming, "The Wizengamot finds the defendant not guilty on all charges." No doubt it was costing the Minister a lot to utter those words with a semi-straight face through clenched teeth, "Case dismissed, and all charges will be stricken from the defendant's record."

Harry's abrupt departure took Dumbledore by complete surprise, leaving him standing and staring as the Wizengamot rose, talking, gathering papers and generally packing away. Nobody noticed that the toad like Umbridge was glaring daggers, alternating between Dumbledore and Harry's retreating back.

"Cleared," Marinashka said, pulling the door closed behind him, "of all charges!" she broke in a toothy smile, "I think things went well."

"Only because I had the advice of a good friend to guide me," Harry said, "Otherwise I might have hexed a few of those inbred bastards, especially the ones bearing the Dark Mark."

She chuckled, "well they could not have found you guilty, not on the evidence you presented, but I was worried that they might ignore that and…" she broke off. They had just reached the ninth-level corridor and the Minister was standing a few feet away from a blond haired, pointed pale faced individual. Their conversation broke off as cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed upon Harry's face. "Lazy bugger must have apparated," thought Harry.

"Well, well, well," said Lucius Malfoy coolly, "…Patronus Potter." Harry growled, his hand balling in to fists. He had last seen those cold grey eyes through slits in a Death Eater mask, the jeering voice in a dark graveyard, it broke back other memories that he ruthlessly quashed. He would not show fear, weakness, no emotion, not to this… vermin standing before him. Harry could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look him in the face, here within the Ministry, or that the Minister of Magic was talking to the Death Eater, "The Minister was just telling me about your escape, Potter," drawled Mr. Malfoy. "Quite astonishing, the way you continue to wriggle out of very tight holes… snakelike, in fact."

Marinashka gripped Harry's wand arm in warning, "I do a good job of escaping," said Harry calmly, as he stared right back, "Unlike you," he added casually, "Dobby. Winky." Both house elves appeared with a "pop!" and almost immediately had spells ready to fly from the fingertips, "I'm sure you remember at least one of my house elves," he said casually, "Dobby kicked your ass once, I'm sure he'd love to do it again."

"Yes please, sir!" said Dobby with a smile that bordered on the absolutely feral, "Dobby would like that, very much!"

He took great delight in the way Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he swore the man had hissed something at him, "Who's the snake now Malfoy?" asked Harry, "Go ahead. I'll give you the first shot free. Then I'll let my house elves finish you off. And what in Merlin's name is a Death Eater doing in the Ministry?"

"I do not think private matters between the Minister and myself are any concern of yours, Potter," said Malfoy, smoothing the front of his robes. Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of a pocket full of gold. "Really, just because you are Dumbledore's golden boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us… shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?"

"Certainly" said Fudge, turning his back them both, "This way, Lucius." They strode off together, talking in low voices. Marinashka did not let go of Harry's shoulder until they had disappeared into the lift. He turned to his house elves, "Take a message to Blake and Fleur," he said, "Not guilty on all charges." With a brisk nod, the elves vanish with a pop.

"Why was the Death Eater not waiting outside Fudge's office?" Harry growled, "What was he doing down here?"

"Trying to sneak down to the courtroom, if you ask me," she said thoughtfully, "Come, we should leave before we meet any more unwelcome individuals."

"I'm guessing," Harry said, "That Malfoy senior's business is gold related."

"You would not be far from the mark," agreed Marinashka, "The Malfoy family has been giving generously to all manner of charities and causes, building influence with the right people so that he can ask for favors, and exert pressure where is suits his agenda. Gold, buys him loyalty."

"But such loyalty," countered Harry, "can be rented if your pockets are deep enough." Harry blinked, "You don't suppose that Fudge is under an Imperius Curse… I mean there might not be much of a mind there to control, but…"

"The goblins do not think that is so," said Marinashka carefully, "but anything is possible where Voldemort and his Death Eaters are concerned." The doors slid open and they stepped out into the now almost‐deserted Atrium. The security guard was hidden behind the Daily Prophet and did not even notice them as they passed the fountain. Harry paused and reached in to his pocket for his money bag. Considering that the gold went to St. Mungos, he had no complaints.

However, the statue was a mirror for the state of the wizarding world in that people were naïve enough to believe this illusion: The wizard and witch wore vapid, foolish smiles, like brain dead beauty pageant contestants and he knew that neither the Centaurs nor Goblins worshipped wizards. Only the house elf's attitude of creeping servility looked convincing, but Harry had already demonstrated how they could be incredibly powerful, if given the right motivation. Dobby had not only trust, but also loyalty, respect as part of something bigger. In essence: he had a purpose.

Harry turned his moneybag upside‐down and emptied the contents in to the pool. St. Mungo's was going to need the money, and more before long.

13