Most people would have thought the twins to be the type to like to sleep in late, but it was actually the opposite. They often rose early in the day, eager to get started on their next invention, or plan their next big prank.
So when Winona woke at five the next morning, the alarm clock beside her bed ringing loud and unwelcome in her room, Fred got up with her, looking perfectly wide awake.
"Really, Fred," she said, pushing him back towards her bed even as she changed from her pyjamas into a cream and floral sundress that her friends had bought her one year for her birthday. It wasn't something she wore often, but it was the least paint-stained thing she owned, and Mrs Weasley was sort of right – first impressions mattered. "Go back to bed. You've had barely any sleep."
"Neither have you," he argued. "Besides, I'm not coming downstairs for you. I'm just hungry."
Winona rolled her eyes fondly but didn't bother arguing. Hands linked, the pair made their way down a floor, pausing by Fred's room so he could duck inside and change into some proper trousers.
The kitchen was more full than Winona had expected, and she looked around at the people gathered, trying not to frown. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Tonks, Remus and her dad were all sat round the table, mugs of tea in front of them, worried looks on their faces that they were doing nothing to hide.
"Winnie," said Tonks, the first to notice her and Fred stood awkwardly in the doorway. The others turned to look, and Winona felt strangely scrutinised – like they were trying to memorise her features before she left today. As though they half thought she might not be coming back.
"Is that coffee I smell?" Fred wondered, striding into the room and tugging her in fearlessly after him. She shouldn't have been surprised – Fred didn't have an awkward bone in his body.
"The last thing you need is coffee," she told him even as she reached for the kettle, pouring them both a cup. "You're hyper enough as it is."
The others were watching them carefully, like they half expected her to burst into tears of terror at the reality of the coming day. "How'd you sleep, Pup?" Sirius asked her gently.
"Like hell," she replied without missing a beat, eyes flickering to Fred, who caught her stare and smiled. "Didn't think I'd ever see you up this early, Tonks," she added, handing Fred his mug and cupping her own in tight hands.
Tonks was midway through a loud yawn, and once her face had relaxed, Winona couldn't help but notice how tired she looked. Like she'd spent more of the night awake than Winona had. "Easy to wake up early when you never went to bed in the first place," Tonks said lightly, picking a piece of toast from the pile in the centre of the table.
"What can I get you for breakfast, Winona?" Mrs Weasley asked quickly. Winona turned to face her, finding the Weasley matriarch to look just about a hair's breadth away from a complete nervous breakdown. She was wringing her hands in front of her and she had purple circles under her eyes, betraying her night of restless sleep.
Had any of them had even a half decent night's rest?
"I can fetch it," Winona said, turning to the cupboard. But before she could so much as reach for the handle, Mrs Weasley was there, blocking her from it.
"Go sit down," she insisted. "I'll fix something up – whatever you want."
The look in her eyes was haunted and afraid, and Winona realised she was trying to make up for the current tension between them. Trying to fix things before Winona inevitably died today – as everybody except Sirius and Dumbledore seemed sure was going to be the case.
"Why do you look ready to lay an egg?" Fred demanded, eyes narrowed at his nervous mother.
Remus shifted where he sat. "Winnie didn't tell you-?"
"The Vow," Winona reminded him flatly. "I have to choose my words with great care, these days."
Fred began to look alarmed. "Didn't tell me what?"
Winona held up her hands in the universal sign of surrender, and Fred turned impatiently to Remus, who looked like he was rather regretting speaking up at all. "The price that You-Know-Who has set on Winnie's head has increased by…well, by rather a lot."
"How much?" Fred demanded.
Remus looked uncomfortable again, but Winona stared at him intently, trying to tell him to be honest – because as much as she'd have loved to shield Fred from the truth, what was the point? They were in this together, and he should know the facts. And it wasn't like she could tell him anything herself.
"Nearly three thousand Galleons," Remus revealed grimly.
Fred turned to stare at her, eyes the size of dinner plates. "Win," he said, sounding a little bit breathless. "That's easily the kind of gold anyone would kill for."
"Well, I won't go quietly," she replied, trying to stay cheerful. "My current worst-case-scenario plan is to be so horrendously frustrating that putting up with me ends up not being worth the gold."
Fred couldn't help but smirk. "Well, you're certainly up to the task."
"Don't you make light of this, Fred Weasley," said Mrs Weasley sharply, putting a plate of bacon and eggs down hard on the table. Winona had been so focused in the conversation, she hadn't even realised Mrs Weasley had been making it for her. "This is no laughing matter."
"Hang on – why're you going today, then?" Fred asked as Winona took a seat at the table, pulling the plate towards her and beginning to eat. "Surely it's safer to be here than out at the Ministry."
"Safer, yes," she said. "But that's not part of the plan."
"Whose plan?"
Winona said nothing. "Dumbledore's," her dad spoke up, sounding particularly bitter as he did.
"And what is it?"
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," interjected Mrs Weasley, more stern than ever, if that were possible.
"Bit late for that," Fred argued, scowl set deep on his face. "About seven years too late."
Winona knew he was talking about her, and even as someone who didn't easily blush, she felt her cheeks growing warm at the passionate exclamation of his affection. She reached out, laying her hand on her boyfriend's leg. He covered her hand with his own, threading their fingers together, and when she glanced over at him he had a cheesy smirk ready and waiting.
"I assure you, Fred, we're taking every precaution when it comes to Winnie's safety," said Remus when it looked like Mrs Weasley was about to blow her top at her son's sass.
"Let me come with you," Fred said, and Winona groaned aloud, letting go of his hand and instead tucking into her breakfast. She wasn't particularly hungry, she just wanted something to focus on other than the train wreck happening in front of her.
"Out of the question," snapped Mrs Weasley.
"Come on – you'll need backup, someone you can trust-"
"You're not a part of the Order, Fred," his mother hissed, fire in her eyes. "You'll stay right here, where it's safe, and I won't hear a thing against it."
Fred opened his mouth to argue some more – because of course he wasn't going to take that lying down – but before he could speak, Sirius spoke up.
"As glad as I am that you're willing to brave the Ministry and all manner of gold-hungry wizards to keep my daughter safe, your mother's right," he said, successfully managing to avoid the loud argument that no doubt would have occurred.
Mrs Weasley went about sweeping the floor, if only to keep herself busy, but Winona could tell all of her attention was on the conversation at hand. Fred was frowning but he didn't yet argue, staring at Sirius, evaluating the situation.
"Winnie needs to be focused today, ready for anything. You'll only distract her."
At that, Fred wanted to argue, fire in his eyes as he opened his mouth to retort. But Sirius held up a hand, stopping him.
"I'm not saying it's a bad thing. In fact, it's about the best thing there is," he said, eyes distant and clouded, and somehow Winona knew he was thinking of her mother and the too-short amount of time they'd had together. "But it's not what we need today," he continued, coming out of his stupor quickly. "Besides, the less people involved in this case, the better. And we already know the Minister has his suspicions about your family. It would prove do harm than good to have a Weasley in that courtroom today."
Fred opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Even he didn't have a good counter argument for that, which was certainly saying something. He sighed, the tension reluctantly melting from his shoulders, a scowl marring his handsome face.
"Fine," he said begrudgingly, nose wrinkled like he smelt something bad.
Winona swallowed her mouthful of bacon and reached for his hand again, holding tight. "I'll be okay," she promised him. "This is nothing I can't handle. And besides; I'll have your dad with me the whole time."
"Right," said Fred scathingly. "Because all wizards cower in fear from a man who collects plugs."
"Oi," said Mr Weasley in response, but it was without feeling. He looked strung out, and Winona knew he was as worried about today as everybody else was.
"Ignore him," she told Mr Weasley even as she squeezed Fred's hand. "I think you're properly terrifying, Mr Weasley. A real threat."
Mr Weasley smiled, and it was a great deal more genuine than his scowl had been. "Thank you, Winona," he said gently, holding up his tea as if toasting her, then taking a deep sip.
Winona was about to ask Tonks where she would be today when there was a creak from the direction of the stairs. She turned in her seat to see Harry had arrived, dressed in his freshly pressed clothes with a look of dread spread across his familiar face.
"Morning, Boy-Wonder," she called before anyone else could pick something to say. Harry attempted a smile that ended up more of a grimace, and she kicked the chair beside her out of its spot, gesturing for him to take a seat.
"M-m-morning, Harry," yawned Tonks, running a hand through today's curly blonde hair. "Sleep all right?"
"Yeah," said Harry, awfully lacklustre, and Winona watched as he sat in the seat beside her, hands restless in his lap. She placed a hand on his back and rubbed in a few small circles, trying to comfort him without words. He didn't want her to tell him everything would be all right; not unless she actually knew it would be.
And not even she could say for certain that today would end well for any one of them.
"I've been up all night," Tonks continued around another yawn.
"What do you want, Harry?" Mrs Weasley called before anyone else could speak. "Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?"
Harry hesitated, and Winona knew he was going to say he was fine. She poked him in the ribs and he sighed. "Just – just toast, thanks," he said reluctantly. Winona nodded once, content.
Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, "What were you saying earlier about Scrimgeour?"
"Oh, yeah … well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions…"
Tonks continued on, but Winona stopped listening. She turned instead to Harry, glad to have a moment without the entire room's attention. "How do you feel?" she asked him in an undertone only Fred, next to her, could hear.
He glanced up at her, a storm of discontent in his eyes. "Like I'm on death row."
He was so afraid, and she hated it. She wished she could make it disappear, wished there was some spell she could cast that would undo all this shit and just leave him a normal boy. But she knew there was no such spell, and all she could truly do was be there for him in every way she could.
Keeping that in mind, Winona scoffed. "Okay, Mr Melodramatic," she teased, poking him again in the ribs.
Harry attempted another smile, but he didn't really succeed. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice even more. "You have any visions?" he asked, the hope in his voice breaking her heart. Furrow in her brow, Winona shook her head. "None at all?"
"Everything still undecided," she told him quietly. "If I knew anything…"
"So would I," he finished. She nodded, and his shoulders slumped as he went back to chewing despondently on his piece of toast.
"Cheer up, mate," said Fred, leaning around Winona to grin at Harry. He looked so bright, Harry couldn't have possibly suspected the worry she knew sat in his chest. "Want me to slip you some Fainting Fancies?"
Harry looked confused. "What's a Fainting Fancy?"
"New joke product – for the shop. George and I have been developing them in our spare time. Look just like any old Honeydukes sweet, but when you eat it, it makes you faint," Fred said brightly. "I figure, if you lose the trial, you can hand them out to the Wizengamot then run once they start hitting the floor."
Harry looked like it didn't know whether to laugh for scream, so Winona pressed a hand to her boyfriend's chest, sensing her cousin needed a moment of quiet. "Kind of an offer as it is, I think Harry will be fine," she said, lips twitching up at the corners. "Especially because he's not going to lose."
"Course he's not," Fred agreed cheerfully. "Don't worry, mate, you've got this in the bag!"
Harry still looked rather green, so Winona just squeezed his shoulder once before turning her attention to Fred and starting up a quiet conversation about the updated order forms they were working on in their free time.
Eventually the others' conversation came to a natural end, and then the attention turned back to Harry, who rather looked ready to climb beneath the table and set up camp there forever. "How are you feeling?" Mr Weasley asked him kindly. Harry's only response was a halfhearted shrug. "It'll all be over soon. In a few hours' time, you'll be cleared."
Harry still said nothing, staring at his plate of half-eaten toast like it held all the answers. Mr Weasley seemed uncomfortable with his silence, blathering on.
"The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you."
"Amelia Bones is okay, Harry," added Tonks, looking particularly earnest. "She's fair. She'll hear you out."
Harry swallowed – probably at the thought of having to be 'heard out' at all, and nodded again.
"Don't lose your temper. Be polite and stick to the facts," Sirius interjected, a fierce look on his face. Winona knew it was killing him not to be there for them, and she wished there was some way she could make it happen. Even though, deep down, she knew Dumbledore was right. Sirius wouldn't really be of any use, and he was better off here, where he couldn't be exposed.
Harry nodded yet again.
"The law's on your side," Lupin added quietly. "Even underage wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations."
Mrs Weasley began attacking Harry's hair with a wet comb. "Doesn't it ever lie flat?" she asked desperately. Once more, Harry only shook his head.
"He looks fine," said Winona, unable to help the scorn in her voice. Mrs Weasley looked surprised by the attitude, but really, what did she expect? Harry had a pained look on his face, and Winona knew in an instant that none of this was helping. She turned to look at Mr Weasley. "We ought to be going, don't you think?"
Mr Weasley checked his watch, frowning in consideration, then nodded his head. "We're a bit early, but I think you'll both be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here."
Harry dropped his toast and flew to his feet, all too eager to get out of there. The attention was too much, Winona could tell. She took a final bite of bacon, then wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up next to him.
"You'll be all right, Harry," said Tonks, patting him on the arm.
"Good luck," added Lupin. "I'm sure it will be fine."
"And if it's not," said Sirius grimly, "I'll see to Amelia Bones for you…"
He was mostly joking, but the idea of Sirius breaking out of this prison they called a home just to murder a woman for kicking Harry out of Hogwarts was an amusing one. Winona snorted while Harry just smiled weakly. Mrs Weasley pulled him into a stubborn hug. She murmured something to him and he nodded, then pulled away.
Winona turned to Sirius, who had stood from his chair, a look of anxiety on his face that was impossible to mask. "I'll see you later," she told him, and he lifted an arm. Relenting, Winona slipped under his arm and wrapped her arms around his middle.
"Any hint of danger – any at all, Winona – and you Apparate directly back here. No exceptions," he said into her hair. She nodded, squeezing him tight before letting go and smiling up at him. It was a better attempt at cheerfulness than Harry had given, but still just about as unconvincing.
She turned to Fred, who held out a hand for her to take. She stared at it in confusion.
"Fred Weasley-" his mother began hotly.
"Relax, Mum," Fred snapped. "I'm just going to walk them to the door."
And not even Mrs Weasley could argue with that. Harry and Mr Weasley left first, heading up the rickety staircase, and Winona took Fred's outstretched hand, his fingers warm and calloused against hers. He led the way up the stairs after the others, and Winona waved at those of them still left in the kitchen. Tonks grinned brightly as she waved back, but the others didn't look half as cheerful.
Harry's comment about death row suddenly didn't seem so silly after all.
Mr Weasley had unbolted the door and stepped out into the icy bite of the dawn. Harry hovered in the doorway, waiting for her, and she paused in the hallway, looking up at Fred with wide eyes. Her boyfriend leaned down so their faces were level, a tiny furrow in his ginger brow.
"Promise me you're gonna be okay," he whispered.
"I don't like making promises I don't think I can keep," she whispered back.
His frown deepened. "Promise you'll be careful?" he tried again.
"I promise," she smiled softly, a barely-there stretch of her lips, and Fred closed the space between them in a heartbeat.
His lips pressed to hers, still sweet from the syrup he'd poured onto his bacon, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his own hands curled at the jut of her hips. They kissed languidly, time seemingly stopped, their breaths intermingled, and it was only when Harry awkwardly cleared his throat that they pulled apart.
"I'll see you later," Fred whispered, lifting a hand to gently run his fingertips down the length of her blonde hair.
Winona grinned. "Not if I see you first."
Mr Weasley stuck his head back inside the entryway. "Come on now, Fred, Winona really does have to get going," he said reproachfully.
Fred didn't even glance up at his father, and Winona felt warm at the total focus in his eyes. "Bye, love," he said softly.
Unable to resist, she hopped up onto her toes just quickly enough to press a chaste kiss to his sweet lips, then she pulled herself unceremoniously from his arms, knowing that if she didn't leave now, she never would.
The door to Grimmauld Place shut behind the three of them, and Winona saw it for exactly what it was; a barrier between safety and danger. A barrier she was on the wrong side of.
"Come along," said Mr Weasley, doing his best to seem jolly, but against the dreary grey of the London morning, and their equally sombre attitudes, it fell terribly flat.
They set off at a brisk walk across the square, and Winona tucked her hands into the pockets of the jacket she wore over her sundress. It wasn't quite cold enough to need one, but she wanted something over her shoulders and draped around her today. A small but necessary comfort, particularly as her wand was stuffed in her pocket, ready to be used at a moment's notice.
"You don't normally walk to work, do you?" Harry asked as they walked. He didn't quite sound conversational, but certainly a little curious.
"No, I usually Apparate," said Mr Weasley, "and if it was just Winona and I, that's how we'd get there today – but obviously you can't. And besides, I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion … makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for…"
Winona was barely listening, too focused on scanning the streets they passed, looking for any sign of a threat. She felt like they were being watched, but she knew it was likely just her own paranoia eating away at her. Fingers curled around her wand, she scanned windowsills and doorways, searching for anything out of place.
They arrived at the underground station without issue, and she let herself relax just a fraction. So far, so good. They could do this; she wasn't going to get kidnapped.
"Simply fabulous," Mr Weasley was whispering as he stared at the automatic ticket machines in rapture. "Wonderfully ingenious."
"They're out of order," said Harry, pointing at the sign.
"Yes, but even so…"
Winona made her way to the payment window instead. A sleepy guard sat behind the desk, and when she handed over their Muggle money he handed her back their tickets sluggishly, as if under the Imperio Curse. But again, her paranoia was just making her edgy; making her see threats where there were none.
The train was only three minutes out, and soon enough they were boarding it. It rattled and shook as it took them off towards the centre of London. Mr Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows.
"Four stops, Harry … three stops left now … two stops to go, Winona…"
No apparent threats on the train, other than a pair of girls who looked like they were on their way home from a wild night out. They wore sparkly dresses and the most conscious of the pair shot Harry a flirtatious smile that made him uncomfortable, and he leant closer to Winona as though he were a bear cub hiding behind his mama from a threat.
Ten minutes later they were stepping onto a street in the very heart of London. The streets were busy, and Winona gripped her wand even tighter, because any one of these businessmen or women could have been a dark wizard in disguise. Her throat was tight and her eyes hard.
She was startled out of her heavy concern when Harry's arm slipped through hers. Hooking their arms together, he kept his eyes forward and kept walking. But the simple comfort was there, warm and real, and she leant closer into her cousin's side, reminding herself that she wasn't alone. Not now, not ever.
"Here we are," said Mr Weasley brightly as they made their way towards an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. "After you."
He opened the telephone-box door and gestured the cousins inside. Winona unwound her arm from Harry's and stepped inside, Harry close behind. Mr Weasley folded himself in beside them both, and then closed the door behind him. It was a very tight fit; Harry was jammed against the telephone apparatus and Winona splayed against the glass like a bug on a windshield. Mr Weasley reached past Harry for the receiver.
"Mr. Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too," Harry said, frowning at the way the receiver hung crookedly off its perch.
"No, no, I'm sure its fine," said Mr Weasley, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. "Let's see… six … two … four … and another four … and another two…"
As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
"Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Harry Potter, who has been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing, and Winona…er…" he faltered over her last name.
"Black," she supplied, feeling an unexpected flare of pride as she said it.
"And Winona Black, who is to be called as a witness at said hearing."
"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."
Little silver badges appeared from the place where the coin slot should be, and they each took them, pinning the badges to the front of their clothes.
"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."
Winona grit her teeth as they began to sink, the telephone-box going down, down into the ground beneath London. She'd never been to the Ministry before, and she'd rathered not have been going there now. But a phone box sinking slowly beneath the surface of London…it was just a little bit cool.
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the woman's voice once they'd reached the very bottom of the chute, the Ministry of Magic spread out before them in all its dignified glory.
Winona took in the dozens of fireplaces lining the long and fancy hallway they had arrived in. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would step from a burst of green flames, checking their watches and rushing off to work. At the end of the hall was a grand fountain with a witch and wizard, a goblin, a centaur and a house-elf, water spurting from their accessories. It was made of solid gold, and the water glittered like none she'd ever seen.
She thought it was kind of pretentious, and that the male wizard looked disconcertingly like Fudge, but Fred and George weren't here to make the scathing comment to, and Harry wasn't in the state to appreciate it, so she kept her lips sealed wisely shut.
"This way," said Mr Weasley.
They joined the throng of witches and wizards on their way into work. Winona reached up to fiddle with the little silver badge on her chest. Winona Black; Witness in Disciplinary Hearing, it read in elegant script, and it was cool to the touch.
A pair of goblins walked by, muttering loudly in Gobbledegook, and when one of them looked up at her with its beady little eyes, Winona's restless hands went back to her wand. Just because she was in the Ministry, it didn't mean she was any less in danger than she was up in Muggle territory. If anything, being down here was even more of a risk; but it was one she had no choice but to take.
Winona wrapped her arm through Harry's again, just to feel him beside her. He didn't complain.
"Over here, you two," said Mr Weasley, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates at the very end of the seemingly endless hall. Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying SECURITY, a badly-shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his copy of the Daily Prophet.
"I'm escorting two visitors," said Mr Weasley in a formal sort of voice, gesturing towards Harry and Winona.
The wizard had a scowl on his face, and Winona got the feeling he wished he were anywhere else right about now. He hated his job; she could appreciate that. "Step over here," said the wizard in an utterly bored voice.
Harry hesitated, and so Winona stepped forwards. "I'll go first."
The wizard still looked bored as he dragged some kind of long, golden rod up and down the length of Winona's body, much like an immigration officer at an airport. "Wand," he grunted, holding out a hand.
This time Winona was the one to hesitate. She didn't realise someone would be taking her wand – the thought made panic gather like a lump in her throat. She hesitated long enough that the wizard grew annoyed, and Mr Weasley leaned towards her.
"It's all right, Winnie," he said patiently. "It's protocol. You'll get it back."
Grinding her teeth together, Winona very reluctantly handed over her wand. The wizard snatched it from her hand, then dropped it onto some kind of brass instrument that looked like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore it off and read what it said aloud.
"Twelve inches, unicorn-hair core, been in use six years, correct?"
"That's right," she murmured, staring at her wand on the scale. She didn't like being parted from it, and her hands curled around the strap of her ever-present bag. Unfortunately, that brought his attention to it.
"I'm going to have to check your bag," he informed her tonelessly.
Her eyes flashed. "Is that really-"
"Winona," said Mr Weasley, patient and gentle. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then lifted the strap from her shoulder, setting her beloved bag on the table between them.
The personality-deficient wizard opened the front of the satchel, beginning to root around inside. He looked surprised by what he'd found. "What's all this meant to be?" he asked rather rudely, holding up her travel-sized palette with a frown.
"Art supplies," she said.
"What for?"
The look she sent him was unimpressed. "Art."
Perhaps sensing the oncoming storm, Mr Weasley stepped in. "Winona's an artist, never goes anywhere without her things," he said with a small smile on his face that Winona supposed was rather charming. Funny, she'd never wondered where the twins had gotten their effortless charm from – but looking at Mr Weasley right then, she realised it definitely came from somewhere.
The wizard sighed like this were all awfully tiresome, then shut her bag and pushed it across the desk back towards her. "Very well," he said flatly. "It checks out. Here's your wand."
He handed it back, and Winona shoved it into her pocket with a sigh of relief, then threaded the strap of her bag over her shoulder again.
"Now you, Harry," said Mr Weasley, gently pushing her cousin forwards.
"Wand?" the bland wizard asked without tone, holding a hand out expectantly.
Harry copied what he'd seen her do, handing over his beloved wand.
"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?"
"Yes," said Harry, sounding about as nervous as Winona had felt.
"I keep this," said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. "You get this back."
"Thank you."
The wizard opened his mouth to hurry them along, but then his beady eyes caught sight of the badge pinned to Harry's front. "Hang on…" he said slowly, eyes flickering immediately up to the famous scar that sat, clear as day, on Harry's forehead.
"Thank you, Eric," said Mr Weasley firmly, and grasping Harry by the shoulder he steered him away from the desk. Winona cast the wizard a glare as she left, noting that he hardly looked bored now, staring after them with excitement in his eyes.
They made their way to a circular room with at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. It was a grand sort of an area, and Winona watched as one of the nearby lifts shut and disappeared out of sight. Mr Weasley led she and Harry to a small crowd around one of the other lifts. Nearby stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises.
"All right, Arthur?" the wizard greeted Mr Weasley amiably.
"What've you got there, Bob?" Mr Weasley replied, eyeing the box with a hint of wariness.
"We're not sure," said the nameless wizard, and Winona's eyebrows shot upwards. "We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me."
The lift arrived and they all piled into the small box, Harry and Winona squished against the very back. A bunch of the witches and wizards on the lift with them were eyeing Harry with unrestrained curiosity, and Winona watched as her cousin nervously tried to flatten his hair over his forehead.
"Can we help you?" Winona asked loudly, stepping in front of Harry and meeting the eyes of a tall, skinny witch with deep purple hair and a pair of earrings that looked like tiny broomsticks. She averted her gaze, properly chastised, and Winona caught Harry smiling at his feet.
The lift began to move, ascending slowly, and that same voice from the telephone-box began to speak again, just as cool and detached as before.
"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 and a wizard juggling an armful of broomsticks shuffled awkwardly out. The doors shut again and they kept moving up.
"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Centre."
Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards shuffled out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. They flapped idly around above their heads, a pale violet colour with MINISTRY OF MAGIC stamped along the edge of their wings. Winona reached up to touch one and it compensated by floating higher, up out of reach.
"Just inter-departmental memos," Mr Weasley muttered to them. "We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable … droppings all over the desks…"
"Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats."
When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it.
"Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."
"S'cuse," said the wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again.
"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee."
Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr Weasley, the cousins, and another witch. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement.
"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."
"This is us, you two," said Mr Weasley, and left the lift, making their way down yet another corridor lined with doors. "My office is on the other side of the floor."
"Mr. Weasley," said Harry suddenly, "aren't we still underground?"
Winona followed his line of sight, finding a nearby window which had beams of golden sunlight streaming through it. She wanted to go to the window and breathe the fresh air, but then Mr Weasley spoke up and dashed her dreams.
"Yes, we are. Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were angling for a pay rise… Just round here."
They walked through a pair of heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read AUROR HEADQUARTERS.
Harry looked curious as they made their way past open doorways.
The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything from pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. Nobody seemed to notice Harry Potter was in their midst, and for that Winona was grateful. She wasn't sure if Harry was the kind of famous to get mobbed over, but when it came to her family, she didn't like to take any risks.
"Morning, Weasley," said Kingsley as they drew nearer. "I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?"
Mr Weasley checked his watch. "Yes, if it really is just a second. I'm in rather a hurry."
They were acting like they hardly knew each other – and doing not such a bad job of it, too – and when Harry opened his mouth to say hello to Kingsley, Mr Weasley stood on his foot. Her cousin looked alarmed, and Winona wrapped an arm around his to get him to look at her. When their eyes met and she shook her head, he got the message loud and clear.
The three of them followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle. Winona and Harry both froze in the doorway to the cubicle, because Sirius' face was blinking down at them from every possible direction.
Newspaper cuttings and old photographs papered the walls. Winona untangled her and Harry's arms and wandered towards one of the nearest photographs. It was Sirius and Jessica – they looked young, only about fourteen. They weren't dressed in school robes, so Winona guessed it must have been taken at the Potters' house.
Jessica was laughing at something Sirius had just said, and he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Jessica slapped him playfully on the shoulder, then looked at the camera and rolled her eyes. She was so pretty, all pearly teeth and dazzling eyes, and Winona turned away to find the image of Sirius that had been plastered all over his WANTED posters two years before.
He was laughing maniacally, and Winona grimaced at the image, crossing her arms and looking away. The only space free of her father's face was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels.
"Here," Kingsley said brusquely to Mr Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. "I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle."
Kingsley shot Harry and Winona an obvious wink and added, in a whisper, "Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting." Then he said in normal tones, "And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month."
"If you had read my report you would know that the term is 'firearms'," said Mr Weasley coolly. "And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment." Then he dropped his voice and whispered, "If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs."
With that he beckoned Harry and Winona out of Kingsley's cubicle. Before Winona could leave, the tall wizard held out his fist. Smirking to herself, Winona bumped her fist against his, shooting him a wink before winding an arm around Harry's once more and following them out into the next passage.
They made their way through several halls and down multiple corridors, until finally they reached a dead end where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.
Mr Weasley's office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks were shoved inside, and there was barely any room to move. Winona shuffled inside and eyed his cluttered desk. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray, and Winona's eyes were instantly drawn to Fred. He was making a face behind Ron's head, while George snickered beside him, and Winona smiled fondly. She couldn't help but notice Percy had apparently decided not to remain in the photograph, either.
What a prat.
"We haven't got a window," Mr Weasley told them apologetically, taking off his jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. It squeaked with the added weight, and Winona thought it might collapse from just that alone. "We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, you two, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet."
Harry and Winona glanced to the single other chair in the room, and Winona quickly pushed Harry towards it. "You sit, I'm all good."
"No, Winnie-"
"Sit or I'll make you," she warned him. Rolling his eyes, Harry sank into the chair, which also squeaked dangerously, but didn't quite collapse.
"Ah," said Mr Weasley as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled The Quibbler from the file Kingsley had handed him. "Yes…" he flicked through it absently. "Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing – oh dear, what's this now?"
A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr Weasley unfolded it and read aloud, "Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately." He paused and sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "This is getting ridiculous…"
Harry looked disgusted, and Winona didn't blame him. "A regurgitating toilet?" he asked warily.
"Anti-Muggle pranksters," Mr Weasley frowned. "We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing – well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those – pumbles, I think they're called – you know, the ones who mend pipes and things?"
Harry and Winona exchanged an amused glance. "Plumbers?"
"–exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed. I only hope we can catch whoever's doing it…"
"Will it be Aurors who catch them?"
"Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol – ah, Harry, this is Perkins."
An old wizard with fluffy white hair skidded into the room with a truly astounding amount of speed for someone his age. He was panting like he'd run a marathon, and Winona was vaguely concerned about his heart.
"Oh, Arthur!" he panted. "Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it–an urgent message came ten minutes ago-"
Mr Weasley sighed again. "I know about the regurgitating toilet."
"No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter boy's hearing – they've changed the time and venue – it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten-"
Mr Weasley gaped at him, and Winona stood straighter, heart pounding in her chest. "Down in old – but they told me – Merlin's beard-" stammered Mr Weasley. He glanced down at his watch and yelped, leaping from his chair like a middle-aged, ginger jack-in-the-box. "Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!"
Poor old Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr Weasley sprinted out of the office. Harry was close on his heels, reaching back with his hand to make sure Winona kept up. She caught his hand, holding tight as they sprinted wildly through the halls of the Ministry.
"Why have they changed the time?" Harry called ahead to Mr Weasley. People stared at them as they hurtled past, but Winona didn't care, although it took a great deal of restraint not to hold up her middle finger as she ran.
"I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early," Mr Weasley panted, "if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!"
Mr Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the 'down' button. "Come ON!" he shouted at the lift like it might make it move any faster. Anxiety gripped Winona's insides, and in return she gripped Harry's hand tight.
"Those courtrooms haven't been used in years," Mr Weasley was muttering angrily as he impatiently jabbed at the button for level nine. "I can't think why they're doing it down there – unless – but no…"
Before Winona could press him for more, a witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr Weasley could say no more. Winona held Harry's hand tightly, her heart in her throat. She'd expected there to be more time – she'd thought she'd get to warm up for this. To give Harry a much-needed pep talk and make sure he was okay before this all began.
Anger welled inside of her; anger at He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, at the Ministry, at the goddamn Minister himself. It was all so unfair. Harry was just a kid, and they were treating him like some kind of deranged leper!
"The Atrium," said the robotic female voice and the golden grilles slid open, showing Harry a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The goblet-holding witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in.
"Morning, Arthur," he said in a gloomy voice. Winona had an Addams Family quip on her tongue, but she swallowed it back. "Don't often see you down here…"
"Urgent business, Bode," said Mr Weasley, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at Harry. Winona gripped his hand tighter, ignoring the sweat gathering on his palm.
"Ah, yes," said the wizard named Bode, eyeing Harry unblinkingly. "Of course."
His thin, milky eyes flickered to Winona, and she held his stare. He looked at her like he could see through her, and although she didn't like it one bit, she'd suffered through much worse.
"Department of Mysteries," said the cool female voice, and left it at that.
"Quick, Harry," said Mr Weasley as the lift doors rattled open, and they sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above.
The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. Mr Weasley seized Harry by the arm and dragged him – and Winona – to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps.
"Down here, down here," panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. "The lift doesn't even come down this far … why they're doing it down there…"
They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.
"Courtroom … ten … I think … we're nearly … yes…" Mr Weasley gasped for air, stumbling to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest.
"Mr Weasley, are you-?" Winona tried to ask, but he ignored her, pushing Harry through the door.
"Go on," he panted, pointing his thumb at the door. "Get in there."
Harry froze where he stood. "Aren't – aren't you coming with–?"
"No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!"
Winona was still gripping Harry's hand, and as he opened the door to go through, with her following, she was stopped by Mr Weasley's hand.
"You either, Winona," he hissed, and her eyes went wide.
"But I'm-"
"He's got to go in alone," Mr Weasley said, and when she glanced back at Harry, she found him looking frightfully pale. "You'll be called in soon enough," Mr Weasley assured her.
Knowing they didn't have much time, Winona gathered Harry in a tight hug, pressing a hand to the back of his head. "You'll be okay, Boy-Wonder," she told him, eyes burning even though she knew there was no reason to cry. "You've faced dragons; this is nothing."
Harry laughed once, a pitiful little huffing sound, and squeezed her back.
"Harry, you've got to go," Mr Weasley insisted, and Winona grit her teeth as she pulled back, gently pushing her cousin through the doorway.
He met her eyes and she nodded once. She watched as he straightened himself to his full height and walked determinedly through the door, which shut after him with a foreboding click.
Winona immediately began to pace a hole in the floor, her heart swelled up into her throat. Her hands gripped at her neck as if she might be able to dislodge the lump with her bare hands. "He's going to be okay, Winnie," Mr Weasley told her quietly.
"This is all so wrong," she hissed, not acknowledging his attempt to soothe her. "Why would they bring the trial time up? And why all the way down in this creepy dungeon? It doesn't make any sense."
"It makes perfect sense," he said, and she turned to look at him desperately. "They were hoping Harry would not arrive at all. It's easier to convict someone when they don't even show up for their trial."
Winona felt like it was hard to breathe. "So then they've already made up their minds."
Mr Weasley looked grave. "I don't know."
She went back to pacing. "But if they'd made a decision, I would have Seen it. I've been keeping my eye on the trial, I'd know if – if-"
Mr Weasley's hand fell onto her shoulder, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. "You're very brave, coming here for Harry," he told her fervently. Winona was so confused by the abrupt change of topic that her panic began to recede. "He's lucky to have you."
Winona's mouth felt dry. "He's my family," she whispered.
Mr Weasley's smile was somehow both sad and happy at the same time. "I know."
He pulled her into a hug, then, and Winona gripped him with unexpected strength. She was so scared for Harry – Fudge had some kind of sick vendetta against him, and the whole Wizengamot was practically at Fudge's beck and call. Did he even have a shot at winning this? He was playing a game that was rigged from the start.
Footsteps hit the shiny black floor, and Winona let go of her embarrassing grip on Mr Weasley to spin to face the intruder, her wand outstretched and ready to attack. Only it wasn't a Death Eater, come to snatch her away from her family and keep her in a cage like some kind of psychic gerbil.
It was Dumbledore.
"Oh, thank fuck," she exhaled with sheer relief. Dumbledore looked as though he hadn't even heard her swear, while Mr Weasley snorted once in wry amusement. "What're you going to-?" she tried to ask, but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop her.
"Wait here," he said, voice like thunder. "We'll call you inside in a moment."
With that he swept into the court without so much as a glance backwards. Winona went right back to pacing, her fingers itching to get out her sketchpad and draw something, if only to keep herself busy. But she held back – she didn't have the patience to draw, and besides, she needed to be ready at any moment. Harry was counting on her.
"Dumbledore's here now," Mr Weasley told her. "He'll sort it out."
"Yeah," she murmured, trying to make herself believe it.
The minutes ticked by, and Mr Weasley seemed to sense that Winona was beyond the point where words would be of any help. She paced and she paced, mind going to all the worst-case scenarios she could conjure.
Finally, after so long that Winona thought she might literally wear a hole into the floor, the door creaked open and a familiar head poked out through the crack.
Percy opened his mouth to speak, but the whatever he was going to say died on his lips when he realised who was outside the door. His brown eyes flickered between his father and the anxiety-ridden Winona, speechless for a long second before he shook his head and snapped himself out of it.
"Miss Andrews, they're ready for you," he said, sounding perfectly cordial, although the concrete glint to his eyes was hard to miss.
"It's Black," she corrected him tartly. Percy didn't react, and he certainly didn't look at his dad again, he just held the door open wider and gestured for her to walk in.
The courtroom was cavernous and round, with at least fifty witches and wizards in plum-coloured robes sat in rows on one side. Their eyes bore into her like lasers, and she lifted her head higher in response.
She'd been the subject of scrutiny before; she could handle whatever the Wizengamot could throw her way. She wouldn't be afraid.
Dumbledore was sitting beside Harry in a comfortable-looking armchair, and when Winona appeared he stood, gesturing for her to sit and conjuring himself another one on Harry's other side. Her instincts made her want to smile at Harry, but she forced herself to stay expressionless and proper, sitting in the squishy armchair with as much dignity as she could manage.
Fudge was staring her down, but she couldn't help but notice he looked just a little too pale. "Full name?" he asked her darkly, as if trying to scare her into leaving with his voice alone.
"Winona Jessica Black," she said in a clear, ringing voice, and instantly a loud murmuring rippled through the Wizengamot.
"Sirius Black's daughter?" hissed one of the plum-coloured jurors. "I thought she'd died."
"Did you see the article?" another said loudly. "She's a confirmed Seer!"
Fudge had to bang his gavel to bring order back to his underlings, and slowly the conversation dispersed, leaving a gaping hole of hungry silence.
"And who exactly are you?" Fudge asked, and it sounded like he were struggling to get the words out around gritted teeth.
"I'm heir to the House of Black, and I'm going into my seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she said, keeping her voice steady. She folded her hands in her lap, hoping nobody noticed them shake.
The woman beside Fudge leaned forwards, and Winona desperately wished Fred or George were here, just so she'd have someone to make fun of her monocle with. "If you're Sirius Black's daughter, that would make your mother Jessica Potter," she pointed out the obvious in a cool, crisp voice. "Which would make you-"
"Harry Potter's first cousin," said Dumbledore in a booming voice.
Yet another ripple of whispers travelled through the Wizengamot. Fudge was scowling so hard that Winona thought it would have to hurt. "You bring the defendant's only living relative as witness?" he asked, doing his best to sound unimpressed. "Miss Andrews-"
"Black," Winona corrected him, and he paused, eyes narrowed. She caught his stare and held it, unflinching. Because she might have been afraid, but damn if she wasn't still a Gryffindor at heart.
"Right," said Fudge, lip curled like he smelt something bad. "Miss Black. How can we trust your testimony when you, more than anybody else, have a vested interest in the acquittal of Mr Potter's case?"
"Nowhere in the Wizengamot Charter of Rights does it state that an eyewitness cannot be a blood relative of the defendant," Dumbledore reminded the Wizengamot plainly, keeping his voice light and casual. Judging by tone alone, anyone would think they were discussing knitting patterns. "Is that not correct, Madam Bones?"
The witch with the monocle nodded her head once. "That is correct."
Fudge looked like someone had just told him he had to eat glass. But Dumbledore wasn't finished.
"And, as I'm quite sure it is common knowledge by now, thanks to Rita Skeeter's article back in November of last year, Miss Black is a verified Seer," he continued in that perfectly pleasant voice. "While it's been several decades since a Seer of her authenticity has appeared, I'm sure none of you on the Wizengamot have forgotten how valued the word of a True Seer can be, particularly in matters such as these."
"We haven't forgotten," said Madam Bones carefully, eye narrowed behind her monocle.
Grimacing so deeply that it gave him a second set of lips, Fudge turned his attention back to Winona, as though Dumbledore weren't even there at all.
"What is your story?" he asked Winona tartly.
She bristled. "It isn't a story," she snapped. Some of the Wizengamot looked aghast at her display of disrespect, so she took a deep breath and reined herself in. "I was planning to visit Harry," she began in a much more gentle voice. "I Apparate into that alleyway sometimes – the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk – to avoid being seen by Muggles. I only arrived a little before the attack."
"Attack?" Fudge barked, eyeing her shrewdly.
She lifted her chin, daring him with her eyes to defy her. "There were two dementors. They came at us from either side of the alley."
Another ripple of discontent spread throughout the crowd. "Describe them," said the woman named Bones.
"Describe them?" she echoed, wanting to snap that they all knew what they looked like, but from the corner of her eye she saw Dumbledore twitch – a simple, barely-there movement – but it was enough to get her to rein her sass in.
She had to be polite, no matter how much she wanted to flip off every single one of them and tell them all exactly what she thought of their precious Minister.
"They were large, cloaked in dirty tatters, and they smelt like something rotting. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, as if there was ice on my lungs. All the happiness in the planet disappeared, and I was left with nothing but the things that haunt me most in this world."
There was a brief moment of silence, and for once nobody was whispering or laughing or wondering where she'd been all these years. Finally there was just thoughtful quiet; and it occurred to her that maybe they actually had a shot at coming out of this on top.
"What did the dementors do?" Madam Bones asked thinly.
"They went for Harry and his other cousin," she told her, meeting the woman's eyes confidently. "Harry tried to cast the Patronus Charm twice, but it didn't work until the third time."
"And why didn't you cast it yourself?" interjected Fudge, a smug glint in his eye, as if he'd just proved her whole recount false. "Surely if you care so much for the boy, you would have cast your own Patronus and saved us all this…mess."
Winona ground her teeth together. "I've never cast the Patronus Charm before," she said, voice hard and as pretty as diamond. "I don't know how. As I'm sure you remember, it's very advanced magic, and – traditionally – we're not taught until our final year in school."
It was a perfectly valid response, but Fudge was still desperately searching for holes to punch in her story. "And what were you doing visiting Mr Potter in the first place?"
Dumbledore's hand twitched again, just barely a fraction, and only for her to see. She knew, suddenly, with startling clarity, what he wanted her to say. And she hated him for it, just a little.
"I'd had a vision of the dementors," she said, and yet another flurry of gasps and whispers broke out amongst the witches and wizards gathered. "I went to check on him."
"You willingly inserted yourself into a dementor attack?" Madam Bones asked, looking appalled. "Why would you do such a thing? Why not alert the Ministry immediately?"
"Because I was scared for my cousin's life, and – in all honesty – I didn't trust the Ministry to handle it in a…timely manner," she worded her response carefully. Madam Bones' expression was shuttered, impossible to decrypt, while Fudge was slowly turning a frightful shade of purple.
"You didn't trust us, so you took the law into your own hands?" Fudge snarled.
"I can't change the past," she snapped back, eyes flashing with a warning that he ignored. "I showed up when my cousin needed me. That's what I did. That's what happened. That is the truth."
Nobody said anything for a long few moments, Fudge stalling for time by needlessly shuffling the papers sat on his desk. Even though he wasn't looking at her, Winona still stared him down, hoping to make him uncomfortable anyway. Finally, when he looked up, it was with a twinge of uncertainty in his eyes. He wasn't sure he could control this anymore. He wasn't sure he could win.
But he still scrambled to try and retake some semblance of control. "So, we're to believe you had a vision-?"
"Are you calling into question the veracity of Miss Black's precognitive abilities?" Dumbledore asked point-blank. Fudge spluttered a moment, speechless, but Dumbledore wasn't done with him yet. "Was it not you, Cornelius, who met with Miss Black in my office at Hogwarts this recent February to ask for her aid in the Ministry's affairs?"
The room broke out in another round of gossipy whispers, and by now Fudge was a truly concerning shade of purple. Winona desperately wanted to laugh, if only from sheer hysteria. His eyes were hard and cold – like little flakes of frozen coal – when he turned to Winona and spoke with venom in his voice. "You may go," he snarled.
Winona didn't doubt he'd gut her like a fish, should the opportunity present itself.
Winona finally looked away from the Wizengamot, glancing at her cousin. He wasn't smiling, but he certainly looked a great deal more optimistic than he had when she'd hugged him out in the hall. It seemed like he thought they were in with a shot to win this thing, too.
She asked him with her eyes if he was all right; and she wondered if he knew that, should he say no, there wouldn't be a hex that could stop her from getting him out of there in one piece.
"You may go, Miss Black," said Fudge again, suppressed rage in his voice. It was all Winona could do not to drop into a sarcastic curtsy. She settled for simply winking at her cousin, then turning on her heel and leaving the room.
Nobody spoke until she was all the way out of the room, but by then the door was shut and their words muffled. She had no idea what was happening, and she hated it.
"How'd it go?" Mr Weasley asked eagerly.
"Unclear," she said, returning her to furious pacing like no time had passed.
Mr Weasley stood by the door, wringing his hands in worry, while Winona paced and tried not to let panic overwhelm her. The minutes ticked on, seeming to crawl by at a snail's pace. She focused on taking deep breaths and compiling all the funny things from the trial so she could tell the twins. The list wasn't very lengthy, but it kept her occupied.
Finally the door burst open and Dumbledore strode out. He paused next to Winona. "If anybody from the Wizengamot tries to talk to you, be calm and removed, and tell them nothing," he ordered her, tone leaving no room for argument.
"Yes sir," she said obediently. "Is Harry-?"
But Dumbledore was already gone. If time crawled at a snail's pace, Dumbledore walked at a cheetah's, halfway down the hall before she could get the question out.
Another few moments went by, and just as Winona was considering charging into the room – propriety be damned – the door opened again and a breathless Harry tumbled out.
She gripped him by the shoulders, spine aching with tension. "Well?" she demanded anxiously.
"Cleared," said Harry with a bright grin, "of all charges!"
And the relief she felt was almost enough to send her to the floor.
A/N: Hey guys, it's me! I hope you enjoyed this one; I know a lot of you were looking forwards to the courtroom scene. I wanna take a moment to thank you all for the kind reviews and messages you've been leaving me, and even some of the messages on my instagram which have been such a pleasant surprise. Every time I get one it just brightens my entire day, and I'm so grateful for all your patience and support while I've been taking a break from posting.
Unfortunately, I won't be going back to weekly updates just yet – I'm not quite as far ahead in the story as I like to be when posting, and I've still got some things going on in my person life that leave me busy. But I have never – and will never – forget about you or this story, and just know that your continued support has left my break full of motivation and creativity!
I know this is a really rough time for all of us, and while some days things look like they're changing for the better, others aren't quite as kind. I hope you're all keeping safe and well, and I hope my stories are a ray of sunshine in your otherwise cloudy days.
Also, I realise I've forgotten to do Review of the Week a few times recently – that's how hectic things have been. Here's my response to one that made me so incredibly happy to read:
readingtilldawn – I really can't thank you enough for your kind words. The fact that you can escape into this story and forget your "woes and boredom" makes me endlessly happy, and I hope I continue to entertain and entrance you with this story. Hope you liked this one, too!
See you all (hopefully) soon with another chapter. xx
