beta by the amazing Vanillaghost
Neville wasn't stupid. At times a coward, but never stupid. Not even if Professor Snape had said so in front of the class multiple times. Professor Dumbledore was much kinder, yet it was just as clear to Neville that he didn't rise up to his expectations. The shoes were much too big to fill. Being the Chosen One felt like a weight dragging him down by his neck. How had Harry done it? He supposed he had all of his life to get used to it, Neville answered his own question. And if not his entire life, at least whole years. Not months, like Neville had.
Outside rain fell and had continued to fall since last night. It lay waste to the pretty piles of snow soon to be mud as their group returned to Hogwarts. Their little trip to Hogsmeade had been cut short by the front page of the Daily Prophet while they had their late breakfast in The Three Broomsticks. And if there had been previous speculations on Harry's whereabouts — the most popular theory being that he was away on some secret business with Albus Dumbledore — now they had their answer, or at least an attempt at one.
The Boy Who Lived to be on trial for murder and practicing black magic. Read more on page 2.
The picture below the headline portrayed a grave-looking Dumbledore responding to the never-ending questions of a faceless reporter, presumably Rita Skeeter. There was not a single snapshot of Harry's face.
It had to be a misunderstanding, they all agreed in a heartbeat. This was Harry! Their Harry! And Neville would have totally been on the same page as them if not for the… Well, as he said before; he was not stupid. Since last summer, Harry had changed. You had to be blind not to notice. And Neville had noticed. How Harry sometimes looked as if he dreaded to be in their presence. As if they were not friends in the first place and they were bothering him on his way to something greater. Then he would smile, change the subject, and it was all forgotten. Until the next time, that was. Neville had briefly considered bringing this peculiar behavior to professor Dumbledore's attention early that year but finally decided not to. It did not concern him. And besides, Harry may be having some bad days back home with his muggle relatives. Or perhaps You-Know-Who was back with the nightmares… In that case, Harry had all the right in the world to act angsty.
But murder and practising black magic? Dare it be real? Neville's heart would stick to a categoric 'No' but his rationality and his faith in Dumbledore said otherwise. It was Albus Dumbledore, after all. And Harry… There was something wrong with him after all, it seemed.
Neville decided to keep these convictions to himself as not even he was sure if he believed Harry to be guilty or not. The rest of the group, however, had an entirely different opinion.
"They're not really going to send Harry to Azkaban, are they?!" Ron nearly shouted in order to be heard over the heavy rain. "This must be… I don't know, something else! You-Know-Who's plan, or a clever way to end this war… It has to be!"
Their wands were wielded like umbrellas yet water nonetheless invaded their shoes. At least it did Neville's, but he kept quiet about it.
The thought that the whole arrest and trial may be some kind of elaborate plan to lure out You-Know-Who had passed his mind but it did not fit the bigger picture. Harry had an obvious status in society, so not even if the supposed plan worked could they hope his reputation would be cleaned. Public opinion was already tricky to deal with and Dumbledore would be tactless to choose this specific approach. So unfortunately, the alternative left nothing to the imagination.
Harry was guilty.
His friend had used the same magic that had parted Neville from his parents. It was nightmarish, and a tremor that had nothing to do with the rain shook him. Why had Harry done such thing? Surely it was not of his own free will. No, You-Know-Who must be at fault. Neville had seen the way Harry had gazed at his boggart while the rest of the class raised eyebrows at the handsome man before their eyes. Harry had looked at the creature as if there was no one else in the room, so deeply as if… as if the monster had all the answers to his questions. And in Harry's green eyes there was a feeling Neville knew all too well; loneliness. A terrible, terrible loneliness. All aimed at You-Know-Who. It was oddly fitting for this to be his fault as well — everything Harry was was because of Lord… because of Him. Merlin, how wrong that sounded!
Neville's left shoe was completely flooded by the time he caught a glimpse of Him.
His living nightmare was leaning against a streetlamp, eyes on Neville, nonchalantly waiting. Neville's legs wobbled and he almost dropped his wand, rain splashing over his face, concerned voices calling out to him. Are you alright? Are you feeling sick? Neville? But You-Know-Who's gaze was like a sharp needle as he marched towards the small group. No, no, no —
Yet Neville's mouth remained locked, and in the end he couldn't even scream. His lips would not part.
Harry was dreaming, and for once it was not a nightmare but a pleasant dream. One of Voldemort.
There was broad daylight, the sun shining bright on them together by the lake. They were not on the green grass this time but resting atop the snow. Somehow, they were not freezing. Harry sat on the coldness while Voldemort's head laid in his lap with Harry's fingers threading through his hair, nails scraping at his lover's scalp like a habit. Grey eyes blinked up at him, obviously satisfied. Maybe they were talking about something in particular… maybe not. Harry couldn't recall.
What he actually remembered was the sudden way Voldemort had captured both of his hands and proceeded to interlock their fingers. Then he kissed all ten of them while holding Harry's gaze, a fiery want glimmering in those grey orbs. "I'll save you," dream-Voldemort had promised.
Then Harry had awoken, blinking at the ceiling. It was still night, or perhaps early morning… Either way, it was dark outside.
I'll save you.
Was that his own imagination or had Voldemort managed to finally pierce the forged gates of Harry's consciousness? Because if that was the case, his lover had found out about his imprisonment. For a moment Harry imagined some spectacular scenario where one of Voldemort's spies in the Order (besides Snape) had found out about his situation and ran to Voldemort to tell the tale…
But then he remembered all the rubbish Dumbledore had spouted about second chances and a trial. Could he have been serious? Would they really orchestrate, of all things, a trial for him? Could they be that stupid? Announce it to the whole world and have it scribbled in all the papers? It should be obvious that Voldemort would come. It wasn't as if the Dark Lord did not read newspapers.
Then Harry realized he was the biggest fool of all.
Yes, it was obvious because they wanted to be obvious. Because they wanted Voldemort to arrive at his trial! Dumbledore and Snape had some kind of trap in store. But his lover was way smarter — surely he had already understood the situation and the awaited surprise. He'll know not to…
Harry's heart teetered.
I'll save you.
The Dark Lord loved him and would not stand back as they sentenced Harry. Not even if the courtroom was filled with a thousands Aurors and, not one but three, Dumbledores. Voldemort would come.
Harry inhaled, head between his knees and back against the wall. Please stay where you are, he willed his thoughts to reach Voldemort. They want you to be here, they'll wait for you, so please don't come. I'm safe. They won't kill me, just lock me up somewhere… You'll find out and then come up with a plan, rescue me, and it'll all be fine. We'll be together again so just stay where you are, don't play their game, don't come to the trial. Please.
Perhaps Harry was only talking to himself but he still hoped.
"Please, Tom, please," he spoke aloud, somehow hoping their weight would double, triple, and that Voldemort would be able to hear. Perhaps he'll know Harry had used his given name and be furious about it. Harry smiled at the thought.
But his faint whispers only met his own ears. Harry stilled both his limbs and his breathing, listening for a response, but got none. If he were to start hitting the walls, Harry wouldn't be alone for much longer… so he refrained. Company was not desired and anger would only burden him further. It did not matter, the cards were already dealt. Harry would play their game until his first chance at freedom arrived. Or until Voldemort did, hopefully safe and sound. That was the plan so far.
Harry got little sleep that night and the nights to come.
Fear would not let him rest. And when fear decided to take its leave, worry came to visit. Worry about his own fate, about Voldemort, about the remaining horcruxes. Obviously their specific number was an unknown variable to Harry, yet one thing was clear. Another had been destroyed. First the diary, then the ring, now the diadem. Three parts of Voldemort's soul had perished. Now Harry really felt like hitting walls.
The food arrived three times a day, brought by a house elf who did not reply to anything Harry said. Not to his 'thank you', not to 'where are we', not even to 'tell Snape that Lord Voldemort will tear him to fucking pieces'. The round eyes only grew bigger at that before the creature would vanish with a pop. Harry hoped the slimy git would be noted of his exact words. Damn him! Yes, Voldemort would kill him, but if Harry could get to him first… well, the traitorous scum was bound to regret every decision he ever made that brought this specific outcome. And Harry was bound to enjoy every second of it.
For a moment Harry wondered what reaction they would have if he were to announce he was fucking Lord Voldemort. Right now, if Harry were to say that specific sentence. Enjoyment spread within him but he knew it wasn't worth it. Sure, their shock and revulsion would be hilarious but it would prove difficult for him in the long run. Besides, the last thing Harry needed was a question at his trial that sounded like 'Mister Potter, have you had sexual intercourse with You-Know-Who of your own free will or did he force you?' Yes, that was the kind of circus he did not intend to participate in. Nonetheless, the thought remained entertaining.
Judging by the meals, five days had passed when they came for him. Alastor Moody and three other unknown Aurors, and of course Dumbledore and Snape who kept their distance as if Harry was infected with all the diseases in the world. Were they that scared of him? Good to know. Harry was an immortal being who now had a grudge and a lot of time to see to it. They should be scared.
"I can walk just fine on my own," Harry spoke when they made to grab his arms.
Like an oversized bat, Snape approached. "Are you certain? Shouldn't we call the Dark Lord for aid?" he articulated.
Harry imagined himself like in a slow-motion movie; of somehow managing to lunge at Dumbledore and twist his wand away from his stick-like fingers before a green light flew towards a dumb-looking Snape. Not the killing curse, no. That would be far too painless, far too easy. Harry craved blood and terrified screams. He wanted pain, Snape's shrieks echoing in the empty space of the cells. And oh, the look on Dumbledore's face amidst it all would be priceless. The shock and stupefaction as tiny drops of blood flew from Snape's body like colorful confetti… well, more like a waterfall. But still.
With a sigh, Harry let go of the attractive fantasy. "Careful now. Then again, for you it'll end in torture no matter what you say or do. So go on, you worthless piece of shit. Insult me."
If not for Dumbledore's warning hand on Snape's shoulder, the traitor would have surely hit Harry straight in the face.
So on they went. And to Harry's immense surprise, at the end of the corridor the familiar halls of the Ministry awaited. He had been imprisoned at the Ministry all this time. Clever. Harry blinked at the few people before him who made a point of not looking him directly in the eye. But oh, how they stared. It could only mean they knew, that Dumbledore had talked about his crimes and made this a public affair like none other before. In absolute silence, Harry was escorted to the courtroom.
Inside the vast space of the Wizengamot cameras flashed and the bright hair of Rita Skeeter glimmered among the blinding lights. Her faithful quill was already scribbling. The other individuals belonging to the press were in quite a frenzy, undoubtedly fantasising about headlines for their future articles. 'The Boy Who Lived Charged With Murder'. The horror.
The place did not differ from a year ago, not in terms of setting or people. There were a few familiar faces in the courtroom and the rest complete strangers, just like the time with the Dementors.
When Moody took his leave after escorting Harry to the assigned wooden chair, Harry caught sight of none other than Umbridge herself three rows in front of him. Her attention had already been on Harry. She gave him a vicious smile and then an elder colleague demanded her attention with a tap on her shoulder. Conversations buzzed and echoed up to the tall glass ceiling.
Harry made a point of staring into nothingness with a blank expression when Dumbledore and Snape appeared in his line of vision to take their assigned places and he subconsciously narrowed his eyes at the pair. How eager they must be for this cheap show. No one from school was there, student or professor. It seemed Harry's trial only allowed for special attendance, like a V.I.P. pass. Or maybe it was just to avoid the predictable chaos more people would inevitably bring. Whatever the case, it had no importance, Harry decided, as he drummed his fingernails against the wooden chair.
As if on cue, Rufus Scrimgeour took the stand. Or maybe he only did so because he minded the noise. "The trial of Harry James Potter begins," the Minister said, and then addressed Harry directly. Apparently not wasting any time with grand speeches. The approach was unfamiliar to Harry. "You stand accused of murder and practising black magic. How do you answer to these charges, Mister Potter?"
For real, what was he supposed to do? Tell the truth and go to Azkaban? Or lie and eventually go to Azkaban as well? Cheap show indeed.
"I'm innocent," Harry lied.
A few murmurs and then silence.
"Mister Potter, these accusations against you have been presented by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. You are provided a chance to speak your mind before we move on to the evidence."
It passed Harry's mind to let Dumbledore have the stage and be done with it but then decided against that. As he was going down anyway, he may as well go down in style and drag another down with him where possible.
Harry cleared his throat and sought Dumbledore's eyes. "I'm not the Chosen One." The quiet was disturbed once again. "I mean, I was… until a year ago. When Albus Dumbledore decided I had not done my job well enough and Lord Voldemort still lived." Harry allowed the words to sink in before he went on. "Now you have brought me here based on what? His word? But why does his word hold so much value when he has lied all this time? To me, to you. Dumbledore knew about the prophecy concerning the Dark Lord and a boy — perhaps two, but we'll get to that in a minute… 'The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not'… This prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney, in his very presence, has been kept a secret all this time. Yes, a prophecy. Why else would the Dark Lord have chosen to kill an innocent toddler who had no relation to him whatsoever? But since I did not die, all of a sudden I was given the divine mission of vanquishing the greatest dark wizard of all time. When I failed to achieve that, Albus Dumbledore decided Lord Voldemort had chosen wrong and that Neville Longbottom is the actual Chosen One. But what was he supposed to do with the old, useless one? With Harry James Potter who failed to kill the Dark Lord? Well, we're here for this, aren't we?"
Scrimgeour's gaze was calculated, Dumbledore appeared unaffected by having one of his many secrets exposed, and Snape's sneer almost reached his ears. The enchanted quill of Rita Skeeter furiously scrawled in the background.
"Mister Potter," Umbridge sweetly intruded, leaning forwards in her seat for intimidation purposes. "Perhaps the words were too difficult for you to comprehend. Allow me to rephrase. Our Minister asked you how you plead. Guilty or not? Do please answer."
"Innocent. I thought my difficult words would have been understood easily enough by someone of your intellect. Perhaps I was wrong."
And now Umbridge had added herself to the list of people who burned with the need to hit him, right beside Snape. Her face borrowed the most wonderful shade of pink from her clothing, only a few tones lighter.
Scrimgeour finally decided the discussion had taken a wrong turn. "Thank you, Mister Potter." Then he turned and nodded at Dumbledore. "You have the next word."
Now all eyes were on the old man who stood, his back only a few feet from Harry.
"Thank you, Minister. Now I will have to begin by admitting young Harry is partially correct. I had a certain amount of knowledge regarding the prophecy and I did choose to maintain the secret. But not because of any ulterior motives, as he implied, but because of his very safety. To make sure he would not be hunted by the remaining loyalists of Lord Voldemort."
Harry watched him, already knowing where this was going. His fingers were about to resume their drumming when he caught sight of Lucius Malfoy slithering inside the courtroom and taking his seat in the same row as Umbridge, right at Scrimgeour's side. He met Harry's eyes but nothing could be read there. As discreetly as he could manage, Harry scrutinised the enormous hall. Searching for a familiar figure, for the raw power that seemed not to be present. His breath eased. Just because Malfoy was here, it did not mean Voldemort would be as well. The blond must have been sent to observe the trial and report the events to the Dark Lord. Yes, everything was good. It had to be.
In the meantime, Dumbledore faced Harry. "Harry, my boy," he continued, gaze soft. "It seems you fell in love with a legend. I am most sure that besides the error of calling Lord Voldemort the greatest wizard of all time, your opinion proves an obvious sign of appreciation. But as you already used half-truths, I merely beg you do it well and measure your words." Harry's nails scrapped against the arms of the chair as Dumbledore's attention left him, turning to his breathless audience; a bunch of morons. "I do not wish to bring Mister Potter any harm even if he had harmed other innocent lives. But unfortunately, great mistakes have been made and Lord Voldemort played him well. To clarify, I do not seek a death sentence or life imprisonment, but a crime remains a crime. No matter who commits it, the punishment must follow. That is justice."
There were murmurs of agreement from the vast majority of the public.
"Now to clarify what Harry has done. Most of you are not familiar with what a horcrux is… It is a most vile branch of magic that allows one to keep on living even after the body is destroyed, by splitting his or her soul and hiding it inside an object. Severus Snape and I had obliterated Harry's own and the object is already in your custody awaiting inspection. But what I desire to talk about is how one goes about splitting his or her soul. It is by murder… and unfortunately, not only murder. Heinous acts of cannibalism are involved in the ritual." Revulsion flooded the courtroom and Harry had a foul taste in his mouth. Not because of the memory but because of the sheer audacity they had to talk about that part of Harry's life. And yet, he had been expecting this approach. "And now I ask you all, can we ignore these abominable actions of The Boy Who Lived?"
"You have no evidence, no way of provi—"
"Oh, but I do," Dumbledore interrupted, no twinkle in his blue eyes. No satisfaction either. "Why not make use of the Veritaserum?"
The righteous bastard.
Harry froze while everyone watched, obviously enthralled with the idea. He saw Lucius lean in to whisper into Scrimgeour's ear but there was little Malfoy and his influence could achieve at this point. The bait had been thrown and this… this was not in the plan. If they used Veritaserum and asked all the right questions, they may find out everything and then some. That Voldemort's horcrux had been the one destroyed, all their plans and their secret meetings… their bond, everything. And Harry could not do a single thing to put an end to it. He was trapped.
As people began talking and Scrimgeour attempted to settle them, a door opened and steps echoed against the marble floors and down the stairs to where Harry was. Silence had fallen and everyone craned their necks to catch sight of the proud man strolling between their seats.
Lord Voldemort himself locked eyes with Harry as he advanced, utterly alone and in the old fool's direction. He was the only person besides Dumbledore who was standing. People watched with sheer curiosity at this man who dared interrupt such critical affairs. They didn't know who he was but they had eyes and their bodies thrummed with his magic. Voldemort's stature, his face, the power he radiated by simply breathing, his confidence… He was recognised as a menace.
And he and Harry were looking at each other through all these people. I'll save you, those grey eyes promised, like a fragment from a dream.
"What is the meaning of this?" The Minister demanded in a harsh tone while Malfoy sat a bit straighter in his seat, now awfully interested.
"I am Lord Voldemort," Harry's lover proudly said. "And I've come for my Chosen One."
A few shouts erupted and cameras flashed as people stepped on each other on their way out. A few wands raised, yet there was mostly panic. Chaos erupted as Dumbledore drew his wand — but on Harry, not Voldemort. Harry jumped from the chair to dodge yet there was no spark left after the spell, only a translucent veil separating him from the rest of the courtroom. His lover's own wand had already been raised but whatever the harm, it had already been done.
Harry made to go near the enchanted wall and probe at it when Voldemort sent a vicious spell that collided with the veil and did absolutely nothing. A moment later, Harry understood the purpose of this spell.
Harry was yanked back into a firm chest as a wand painfully dug into the side of his neck. "You'll want to stay very still," Snape viciously advised as Harry thrashed in his hold. "Voldemort, now I speak directly to you."
The few people left were watching the tense exchange while Voldemort had eyes only for Harry.
"This ends here, no—"
"You cannot harm him," the Dark Lord smirked, inching nearer the veil only to have Dumbledore cut him off. The line of Voldemort's shoulders stiffened even further though he ignored the headmaster's presence. "Such short memory you have… But as a merciful Lord, I shall remind you. 'Will you protect Harry from Albus Dumbledore and those who raise their wands to him even at the cost of your life?' These are the exact same words of your Unbreakable Vow made not too long ago."
Snape's wand was pressed impossibly tight into Harry's neck while nails dug into his upper arm, keeping him in place. Fear spread inside Harry but, against all odds, Voldemort was here and not even once gazing away from him. Not even though Dumbledore stood before him and Aurors may be on their way. Voldemort would save Harry and in a few moments Harry would be in his arms with the Dark Lord's face pressed into his neck, not Snape's damn wand. I'll save you, Voldemort had promised, and Harry trusted him more than anything. Trusted the one person who had never lied to him, the one person who loved him enough to risk everything by being here.
I love you, Harry mouthed at his handsome lover with a smile, and Voldemort… Voldemort's eyes said 'I love you too', even though his mouth would never utter those words.
"Yes, I said it. I promised you and I do remember. But you, in your vast arrogance… you made a costly mistake. Perhaps the gravest of your life. My Lord, I see you remember my words, but do you really understand their meaning? Those who raise their wands to him. But, my Lord, I do not intend to raise any wand," Snape said, oozing satisfaction. "Your human horcrux is mortal once again, so know this… This is not revenge. This is justice."
"Albus, stand aside," Voldemort said, when the wand at Harry's neck retreated and all present understood what was to follow.
Dumbledore, of course, did not.
And Harry had grasped Snape's meaning but he did not expect what came next. He witnessed Voldemort throw curses at Dumbledore in his rush to get to the enchanted veil and Harry. Then Harry was suddenly on his knees, a hand painfully taking hold of his hair as his neck was arched. He caught sight of the glass ceiling of the courtroom and the light of the afternoon sky, heard the traitor's shallow breathing in his ears and the duel taking place mere steps away from him. Then the ache of his scalp intensified as if in warning, and Snape smashed Harry's forehead against the floor.
The impact instantly made Harry dizzy, all sounds fading as if the volume had been turned off on the tv. His neck must have been craned since he saw once again the glass ceiling, and then another smash of his head collided with the ground.
There was no real perception of hurt or pain because Harry couldn't feel his body, yet he could not see either… There was something invading his eyes and preventing him from seeing. It dripped down his face like tears, tears that Harry was unable to wipe away as his body had a mind of his own, convulsing.
As if coming from underwater, Harry heard someone scream his name. A familiar voice… Tom. His Tom was calling to him. His soul must have waited for an answer that would never come. At least he knew Harry loved him.
The last time Harry was twisted back, he glimpsed only black and then the final bang came. A bang so loud that it clattered his very bones and Tom's voice did not reach him anymore.
