AN: Thanks for everyone's support, it makes me very happy and gives me inspiration to write this little story.
Please, can anyone tell me where I can find an extract of Harry meeting Hagrid for the first time? I don't have any of Harry Potter's books with me and I'll possibly need that particular passage for the chapter after next.
I would be beyond grateful if anyone can help me.
If anyone has any idea about something that they wish to see in this trial, please feel free to tell me. I'll consider your ideas and credit you if I end up using them.
The second paragraph is credited to magitech that mentioned something in her last review that I forgot last chapter. Thank you!
Now, on with story, I hope that you enjoy it.
"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."
―Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Previously:
With the first witness taken care of and the positive outcome from Mr. Ville's disturbing information, Florence felt a renewed sense of eagerness to continue this trial. If she would have her way, this day would be remembered for a long time to come as the day when the British Wizarding World started to raise their collective heads from underneath the sand and begin to understand all that was wrong in their mistakenly perfectly superior and structured world.
CHAPTER 13
After giving a few moments to everyone quiet down once more, Florence spoke up, her face still revealing nothing of her emotions and opinions about what had just been exposed.
''I would like to point out that the aforementioned wards, independently of their power or lack thereof, would only fully protect Harry around the Dursley's property. They would not have any power whatsoever to protect him outside just like any standard protection ward. Thus Harry had been left completely defenceless for ten years without any contact with the Wizarding World,'' she pointed out the bare and harsh true as if what she was saying was something inconsequential and insignificant, even though it was anything but. ''The only person from our world who he had some contact with was Arabella Figg, a Squib old lady positioned near the Dursley's house by Albus Dumbledore himself.''
At the mention of that woman's name, Dumbledore paled and his eyes widened, once more caught off guard by another unexpected turn of events. Florence knew that the old man had told of Mrs. Figg's true task to only a selected few that he could trust and it was expected that this disclosing information coming from the unknown Lady had rightly shocked him.
Ignoring him entirely, Florence continued her shocking speech with the entire audience keenly following her every word.
''Shortly before Harry passed away, he sent me several of his memories. Prior to this trial, Mr. Croaker, the Head of the Unspeakables, examined all of them to ensure their authenticity.'' She turned to Madam Bones in a graceful move. ''Madam Bones, what was the verdict from Mr. Croaker?''
''All the memories were confirmed to be completely genuine, Lady Peverell,'' the old witch stated evenly.
The courtroom exploded in a new wave of frantic whispering at this announcement. Florence could almost feel their anticipation and curiosity in finally seeing how Harry Potter lived before entering the Wizarding world at the age of eleven. She suspected that many of them still thought that the famous boy had had a somewhat normal life while growing up, despite everything that had already been said and she was looking forward to fully crush their naïve misconceptions.
From her peripheral sight, the powerful lady noticed Dumbledore open his mouth as if wanting to contest against something, however a moment later he shut it again, seemingly thinking better of it. The old man would be immensely foolish if he thought he could deny the Head of the Unspeakables' impartiality on any matter and be able to get away with it. That was surely a group of wizards and witches that were remarkably neutral on political matters and with the exception of Augustus Rokwood – who had been tried and imprisoned in Azkaban in 1981 for being a Death Eater and passing important information to Lord Voldemort – there was no other known Unspeakable that had ever openly chosen a side in the war.
''Indeed'', Florence agreed with a nod and a faint twitch of lips, slightly showing her satisfaction at this bit of news. ''I'd like to call Mr. Croaker and present the first memory to this trial.''
Seemingly out of nowhere, a tall, black-cloaked figure silently appeared with a heavy and ancient looking stone basin in his hands. This Pensieve was much larger than the one Florence remembered from Dumbledore's office or the one she had later discovered in Gryffindor's Vault. She had previously asked for this particular rare magical object to show Harry's memories because this Pensieve was very different from the usual ones. It was very rare and it was not often that the object was allowed to show a memory in a trial due to several strict rules and permissions.
This one not only displayed what had happened in a particular memory but was able to show as well what its owner was thinking in that moment. The basin was engraved with special runes that worked around a large area and made the viewers know the thoughts of the person which the memory belonged to as if they were their own for the duration the memory.
The Unspeakable proceeded to carefully drop the Pensieve in a side table and move his wand to conjure a very large blank canvas, not much unlike a muggle movie screen in the opposite wall, which was free of any people or objects.
After a nod from Mr. Croaker letting her know that he was ready, Florence spoked up once more.
''This first memory shows Harry at a young age, no more than six years old I'd say and we can clearly see that he has known his occasional babysitter for quite some time,'' she stated simply, expertly hiding her own opinions about it. She wanted them all to see first-hand what life had the precious Boy-Who-Lived had while the world acclaimed him as their saviour and blindly believed in the great lies of Dumbledore. In this particular case, Florence believed in the muggle saying: 'A picture is worth a thousand words'.
The various restless whispers that could be heard all around the courtroom gradually ceased and the silence that followed was expectant in the air.
''Mr. Croaker, please proceed.''
The man swiftly obeyed to her instruction and with a quick wand motion the memory started playing on the canvas.
Young Harry was silently and nervously seated on the edge of the back seat of his uncle's car. His hands were tightened in fists as if trying to make them not touching anywhere other than himself. He had ingrained his mind from a very young age that he was not allowed in the furniture and even though this time he was not breaking any rule he was still rather antsy about it.
It was clear at a first glance that the boy was clothed in something akin to dirty rags – he could easily pass for a homeless kid – and his glasses were damaged beyond repair with its lenses cracked and frames bended as if they had been dropped and stepped on one time to many.
His cousin Dudley was seated to his left and intermittently kicked him anywhere that he could reach with his pudgy feet. The slightly older boy had no problem in showing his dissatisfaction in having Harry so near him and, no matter how many times his mother reassured him that the Freak would not go with the three of them on vacation, it seemed he would only rest when the skinny boy was out of the car and far from his sight.
''Now listen here, Freak,'' the fat man behind the wheel said intimidatingly after stopping the car and turning back on his seat to have a better view and show a clear menacing face to his nephew. He pointed a threatening finger at him. ''While you're with that woman, you'll behave and stay with you trap shut or else you know very well what will happen when we return from our holidays. Are we clear?''
Dudley kicked him hard again for good measure as if Harry needed any type of clarification of the meaning of 'or else'.
''That's my boy!'', Vernon praised his son with an affectionate pat on his chubby head.
Harry silently nodded as he did his best to ignore and not wince at his cousin's violence against his body.
''You answer me when I am talking to you, Freak,'' the man admonished strictly as he roughly grabbed the skinny boy by his collar, squeezing his neck and shaking him a couple of times.
''Yes, sir,'' Harry shakenly said with his eyes lowered when his uncle let go of him and he could breathe again.
''Tell her that we'll be back on the fourteenth and that she is to take you to our house on the evening after six,'' Petunia ordered harshly, her lips pursing in disgust and her eyes glaring hatefully at him. ''If I hear a word about your freakiness or if you tell her some lie, you'll stay locked in the cupboard for at least a week without food. Do you understand me?''
''Yes, ma'am,'' Harry answered submissively not even batting an eyelash at what his aunt was saying. It was not like it was something new. He already knew their parting speech by heart and knew very well what was expected of him. Nevertheless, it seemed that there was always something that happened and he was punished for it later anyway.
''Get out!'', the bitter woman ordered harshly, turning in her seat and dismissing her nephew completely as she searched for a packet of biscuits to her son in the large bag at her feet. They left the house not even fifteen minutes ago and he was already hungry after a huge breakfast that Harry had cooked and hadn't enjoyed, except for a slice of dry toast and a glass of water from the kitchen tap.
Harry hurried to comply, opening the car's door and snatching his old backpack which contained a few changes of clothes for the two weeks' stay at Mrs. Figg. He shut the door and walked quickly in the direction of his temporary residence. Without even waiting for the woman to open the door, the Dursley's disappeared quickly down the road leaving the little boy alone in front of the door to fend for himself.
After a hesitant knock and a few moments, the door opened and Mrs. Figg moved aside to let him inside.
Despite the old woman never being outright mean to him and feed him appropriately every time Harry spent time in her house, the boy didn't like her. For one, she had too many cats and talked about them all the time. Harry didn't really hate cats however these seemed odd to him and they mostly ignored him when he was there. Other thing that he disliked about her was that Mrs. Figg would stare at him sometimes when Harry had a bruise in his face or he seemed sick, but never said anything about it, ignoring the matter completely.
That was something that Harry was grateful for, as he didn't have a very good enough reason for it aside that he had fell while running or something along those lines and he was expressly forbidden to tell the truth, however, he thought it was odd that she never once commented on it. His teachers at school had at least said something before aunt Petunia had come to the school and twisted the reality in something that was far from the true, putting her and her husband in a very good light. As usual, the adults had believed in every word.
This time Harry was sporting a large bruise in his left cheek. He was so used to it that he had even forgotten that it was there and only remembered because Mrs. Figg's eyes lingered a second longer on it when she first saw him. She didn't say anything about it though or how his glasses were in an irreparable state or his pitiful clothes were dirty and torn in some places; for that matter. It was not like the Dursley's could not pay for better things for his nephew, they simply didn't want to waste their money on him.
As he stepped inside the house, he could feel her gaze linger as well on his legs. Dudley had kicked him on his left knee which he had fell on the prior day when Vernon had ruthlessly pushed him into the cupboard after punished him with a back-handed slap for slightly burning the bacon. At the moment, he was trying not to limp too much but he was not being very successful on that.
''You can put your bag in the usual guestroom,'' the woman said evenly, ignoring everything she saw out of the ordinary, as usual. ''Then you can help me prepare lunch.''
''Yes, ma'am,'' Harry replied easily and politely as he was already used to the routine in this house.
When the memory ended, the canvas turned blank once more and the previous silence was shattered. Florence let the reactions go for some time as she scanned the stands, this time actively searching for certain faces among the large crowd.
The first one that she found was the red angry face of Dumbledore, his eyes glaring directly at her taking the chance on everyone's distraction and away from him to make his thoughts clear to the mysterious woman that was destroying all his carefully laid plans in a matter of minutes as if they were nothing. Unaffected, Florence simply raised an eyebrow at him and then dismissed him entirely, no doubt leaving him even more furious.
As her gaze passed quickly through the Weasley group, she found nothing unexpected on their demeanours. The five older male Weasley's were shocked and saddened as they whispered among them in clear contrast with the remaining three and Hermione Granger. Their expressions were outraged – and not about Harry's mistreatment as others may believe, but at the notion that someone was revealing truths better left concealed and denigrating the great Albus Dumbledore's impeccable image.
After a few seconds, she found Severus Snape in the last row of the stands almost hidden in the corner and near the exit door. She had been sure that he would come to this trial, even if only to confirm Florence's letter and see for himself what really kind of man was Dumbledore, whom he had trusted for the past fourteen years.
His face was its usual blank and impassive mask, however his eyes told another story altogether. Even from that distance, Florence could see that the man was beyond furious and she was certain that now he was revaluating everything that he had thought he knew about Harry Potter. How the fact he believed that the boy had been just like his bully and arrogant father had severely clouded his judgement. How badly he had let down his best friend by allowing his beloved son to be treated in that cruel fashion all his life and never attempt to get to know him better. And how ultimately, Harry had died alone after he couldn't take it anymore.
Unbeknownst to Snape, he was very near one disguised Sirius Black. Unlike the Polyjuice potion, the one she had given Harry's godfather was ready to be consumed without any other ingredient added (hair) and already had a specific person in mind when the potion was being brewed, meaning that no matter who took it, the end result would be the same.
At the moment, Florence saw a middle-aged man with wispy brown hair and short and slim stature slumping dejectedly on Remus Lupin's side. Both wizards showed miserable expressions and seemed to be fighting against tears after witnessing a glimpse of little Harry's childhood.
For the most, the audience was shocked and many women were on the verge or openly crying after witnessing such abuse against the Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore's manipulations and lies were coming to an end and Florence was looking forward for the excuse that the old man would surely find to defence his inaction about Harry's long time mistreatment at hands of his muggles relatives.
After she deemed enough time had passed, Florence turned in Amelia's direction and simply stated.
''Madam Bones, I would like to call Mrs. Arabella Figg to the stand.''