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Chapter Forty-Two—The Canker-Worm of Truth
No one notices as Hermione holds the door of the Wizengamot courtroom open behind her a moment longer than should be necessary. At least, Harry thinks no one does. The noise of the people milling in the courtroom and already starting to shout at each other is more than loud enough to muffle the sound of his footsteps, anyway.
Hermione turns her head enough to watch the slight shimmer of the moving Disillusionment Charm out of the corner of her eye. Harry can see the tight line of her mouth, and smiles. She disapproves of his choice to come back to the wizarding world for a "visit" already. Even if it's to watch something that is a major part of the reason he did what he did.
But Harry is living his own life now, and he's had enough of shopping for flats in Muggle London for the moment. He wants to see some of the trials.
Hermione makes her way to a chair sitting in front of the benches. She's there as an "expert witness." Even though most people no longer remember why the Muggleborn prejudices really obtained, they know that they did. And Hermione is someone who's been fighting to change those prejudices for years.
The difference is that now she has people cooperating with her.
"I think everyone is here now," says Patricia Selwyn, an illegitimate half-blood who took her father's name just to fuck with everyone, Harry thinks. "Mrs. Granger-Weasley, will you begin with your reading of the names?"
Hermione nods and unrolls the scroll in front of her. "First, Gerard Wayfarer, a Muggleborn sentenced to Azkaban for selling powdered dragon's liver."
"Hasn't that always been the sentence, though?" Kingsley demands. Harry has to grin. Kingsley looks almost as if he'd rather be back in Harry's cellar. His notoriety as the prisoner of the dread Dark Lord Potter didn't last long enough to help him.
"True enough," Hermione says, with a small nod. "Except that the two pure-bloods working with him didn't receive the same sentence. I'm asking the Wizengamot to reconsider Wayfarer's punishment in light of the new uncovered evidence."
"I thought they simply weren't as guilty?" someone asks tentatively from the back of the room. Harry rolls his eyes a little as he sees the acid-green robes that this woman wears. She's Alette Highsmith, who moved from sinecure to sinecure in the Ministry until she got to the Wizengamot. She spends more thought on her robes than on justice. At least her being tentative is new.
"That's what the Wizengamot at the time decided," Hermione says. Harry sees her mouth twitch at the sides, but she's calmer than he thought she would be. "I simply want to bring the case before the Wizengamot again, now that things have changed."
There's a murmur, but not a rebellious one. The spell the Elder Wand cast had one side-effect Harry hoped for: people who were bigoted can remember the past decisions they made, but the memories drift through their minds as if in a dream. They still don't like admitting they were wrong. However, it's harder for them to defend their stupid choices.
The Aurors bring in Gerard Wayfarer on Kingsley's reluctant signal. The man is worn and tattered, staring straight ahead with blank brown eyes. Harry frowns a little. He hopes that the Dementors haven't already broken him beyond recognition.
"Do you know where you are?" Hermione asks, once the Aurors have settled Wayfarer in his chair with chains around his wrists.
"The—Ministry?" Wayfarer's tone wavers for a second. Harry sees several members of the Wizengamot grimace. Well, they should, as they look at what they caused for the first time.
"Yes, you are," Hermione says. "And you're being retried for your crime. New evidence has come to light that could exonerate you."
Wayfarer closes his eyes with a sob. "Don't tell me that," he murmurs. "Don't give me hope and then send me back to that awful place."
"He's exaggerating," whispers someone Harry thinks is related to the Shafiqs, though he's not exactly sure. Death and disgrace persisted so far down that line that they had to find some distant relative to sit on the Wizengamot. He knows that reliance on bloodline will change, too, but more slowly. "There are no Dementors anymore."
"But most of the damage was done before the Dementors were destroyed," Hermione says without hesitating or turning to look at the woman. "Mr. Wayfarer, I promise that we won't send you back to Azkaban."
"Mrs. Granger-Weasley, such a promise is not yours to make!" Kingsley is on his feet. Harry sighs and resists the urge to rub his forehead, which might make the Disillusionment Charm ripple in Kingsley's line of sight.
The man never was as bigoted as some of the others, but he's ashamed of admitting that he was wrong, and that kind of stubbornness is still causing him to be an obstacle.
"It is," Hermione says over her shoulder. "Or was your promise that the Ministry would be moving even the guilty out of Azkaban not true?'
Kingsley hesitates. There are murmurs behind him, most of the Wizengamot agreeing that there isn't much point to Azkaban without the Dementors. The island is simply too inconveniently far from the Ministry without some kind of guarantee that most of the prisoners can't even try to escape.
Harry rolls his eyes. Yes, the wizarding world is still fed up that it can't be as awful as it would like. You can only burn out certain parts of their minds, not the whole thing.
A pity, that. Harry knows what would have been more fun.
"Yes, of course," Kingsley mutters at last.
Hermione turns back to Wayfarer. "So, I want you to tell us exactly how much participation in the crime you had, how much powdered dragon liver you smuggled, who your suppliers were, and how you became involved in the first place. I'm the designated Questioner for the Wizengamot," she adds.
"I don't remember that being part of the justice system last time."
"Oh, it's a new role," Hermione says, with a smile like burning sugar. "The Wizengamot saw the benefit of having someone who didn't participate in the last decision ask questions."
There are more facts beyond that, but Harry watches Wayfarer take heart, and begin describing exactly how he got involved with what is frankly an insane plan to smuggle dragon liver. The man's not innocent, but on the other hand, he didn't know that his pure-blood friends could count on being given a slap on the wrist because of family connections.
If there's going to be a justice system based on true justice, Harry thinks, you can't just punish a third of the criminals.
Now that he thinks about it, that's probably another factor behind Kingsley's reluctance to hold retrials like this; he assumes that the guilty will simply walk free, instead of being given reduced sentences or additional people being arrested.
This is exactly why I had to burn shit down, Harry thinks at Kingsley in exasperation, not that the man will ever know or hear him. You simply didn't want to reconsider, and that stubbornness built up and built up until it was walls standing in my way.
In the end, Harry leaves the courtroom long before Wayfarer's questioning is done. Being here is simply reminding him of how much work still has to be done rebuilding the wizarding world, despite what he did to help.
Thank Merlin, now that work is going to be left to others.
"Frankly, what you're asking is at the outer edge of illegal, Mr. Black."
Harry shrugs a little. "I know that you do work right in the square territory of illegal all the time. Why do you think I came to you?"
Edmund Clavier draws back and gives him a look of baffled offense. Harry only watches him back. He's one of the many Muggleborns who gave up on having a life in the wizarding world and moved back to the Muggle one. Harry knows that he can forge the paperwork Harry needs to get himself accepted into various Muggle institutions, as well as informing him what qualifications Harry will need and what exams he'll have to sit to pursue further education.
"You are making insinuations I don't like, young man." Clavier fumbles with his glasses for a second. They're in his office, which is mostly dark due to being on the ground floor of a building with a huge overhang, but sunlight does come in through one leaded glass window. Clavier squints into it and holds up his glasses against it. "And you should remember that I'm one of your few lifelines. The wizarding world won't accept an illegitimate Black, even if you do choose to use the name."
Harry laughs a little. He prefers to start making a life for himself in Britain, but he can go to another country or another Muggleborn with fewer scruples if he needs to. "I'm offering you my business. I've heard you praised as a good forger. Can you do it or not?"
"I can do it. Why should I?'
"Because I'm paying you."
Clavier sniffs at him and puts his glasses back on. "Fair enough. I thought you had a sense of morality, but I see now that I might have been mistaken."
"I have the money. Either Muggle or Galleons, take your pick."
"I'll take it half and half," Clavier says. "And I'm going to charge you for your education, young man. I suppose you have some sense because you didn't show up in robes, but if you've grown up a Black, you're going to take a long time to learn about the Muggle world."
Harry smiles. He doesn't look like himself at all at the moment, but the wizarding world has such a stereotyped view of him that all it took was an illusion spell on his glasses, a Straightening Charm on his hair, and other illusions that darken his skin slightly and make his eyes more hazel than green. "That's fine."
Clavier squints at him again. "You must be a half-blood Black, at least, if you don't mind me speaking to you like this."
Harry shrugs a little. Clavier would have been affected by the fire spell just like every other wizard in Britain, but he remembers the prejudices that pure-bloods would have had against his kind well enough. "My ancestry is my own. My business is my own. The money I'm going to pay you is mine until it leaves my hands."
That finally makes Clavier abandon his pretended fussiness, and they seal the bargain for less than Harry actually expected to pay. He wanders out of Clavier's office and stands breathing in the sunlight, the shouts, and the stink of London.
He is in yet another Black family property, one that Sirius could have inhabited if he wanted to after Azkaban, but chose, probably for understandable reasons, not to move into. It's a floating cottage that moves from Muggle house to house, invisibly anchoring itself to the roof of any building tall enough. Harry didn't tell even Ron and Hermione about this one. He loves them, he wishes them all the best, and yet…
Well, there was always part of me that was mistrustful, I suppose.
Someone Apparates into the square on the other side of Clavier's office. Harry draws his wand. Sure, it could be another wizard arriving here on business with Clavier, and Harry could also be stupid if he wanted to. He doesn't want to.
He's utterly surprised when Bill comes around the corner and halts, staring at him. No one who doesn't know him well is going to recognize him as Harry Potter, but that doesn't apply to a Weasley.
Bill still breathes, "Harry?"
"Yes. Has something gone wrong?" All Harry can picture is that Bill and Fleur got blamed by the Ministry despite the prejudice against werewolves and Veela having vanished.
"No." Bill swallows. "I know that you're wondering how we found you. Fleur used a Veela spell. There are variations that let Veela locate their mates and children if they're separated. She used one for friends."
Harry nods, appeased. "Fine. What did you need?" He motions for Bill to move away from Clavier's door, where they're going to attract attention sooner or later.
Bill strides along next to him, ignoring the way Muggles sometimes turn to stare at his scars. At least they're not doing it with the horror that wizards use—used to use. Harry smiles a little. He's still proud of himself.
"We want to follow you into the Muggle world."
Harry does halt then, and ignores the people who glare at them for obstructing the pavement. "What? But you have your own lives, Bill. And where you live now…I mean, it must be better now that those beliefs are gone."
"I know." Bill stares at his hands. "But along with those things that have changed, other things have. Mum is furious with us for helping you, and so is Ginny. Those beliefs are gone, but Fleur was damaged enough by them that she doesn't want to live in wizarding England any more, or at least not full-time. The goblins have a new standing in regards to wizards, and they wanted to renegotiate my contract as a curse-breaker at a much lower rate. Oh, and they despise us for being your allies, too."
"I'm sorry," Harry says, shaking his head. He didn't anticipate the goblins turning against him so thoroughly that they would be willing to give up a curse-breaker they've worked with and trusted in the past. Then again, he has changed everything. "I can pay for a house for you in the Muggle world, of course. If that's what you want."
Bill tilts his head back towards Clavier's building. "We'll accept the house, but Fleur wants to try and fit in here, or go back and forth between the wizarding world and the Muggle one for a while."
"Really?"
"It got—bad, there, before the end, Harry. And there are always going to be people gaping at her for being as beautiful as she is, even if they don't distrust Veela on principle."
Harry clasps Bill's shoulder for a moment. He never paid that much attention. It was so easy to get overwhelmed by the problems immediately in front of him, like the lack of proper trials for Muggleborns, and the rights of house-elves. But that's not an excuse.
"Of course," he says quietly. "And I can give you the money to get the right documents. It's still going to be a long process, though."
Bill nods. "You're not the only one who's sick of it all."
Well, then, Harry thinks. Ron and Hermione ought to be happy that I'm going to have some company. Probably not Molly, though.
Harry shrugs. Even if Molly is never proud of Bill, she'll have to accept that he and Fleur are adults able to make their own decisions, or never see her grandchildren. Harry's pretty sure that he knows which one she'll choose.
"Really?" Harry says to himself as he sneaks through the Ministry. He's already been coming back here far more than he anticipated he would when he sought exile from the wizarding world.
But he didn't anticipate how stupid people would keep being.
They've arrested a wizard with green eyes and black hair from the States who happened to be visiting Britain on the weak excuse that he's probably Harry using some kind of Polyjuice. Harry read about it in the papers and reckoned they would let the man go when an hour in captivity had passed.
But they didn't, and whether that's bureaucratic incompetence or the Ministry refusing to admit they made a mistake, Harry doesn't care. He's going to do something that at least ought to make them stop arresting Harry Potter lookalikes.
Hermione was the one who owled the exact location of the man's cell to him. Harry is the one who exploited the exemption built into the Floo protections for anyone wearing Auror robes. They've revoked his ability to simply walk in through the wards, but the wizards who put up the protections on the Atrium's fireplaces were lazy and found it easier to hook the spells to the cloth of Auror robes than to individuals.
Sometimes laziness is an asset, Harry thinks as he reaches the cell's door.
He stops when he gets there, though. There's a spiderweb of blue lines crossing the cell door that he's never seen before, and that doesn't make sense. Even if some of the Ministry's lower ranks think they're holding the Dark Lord Harry Potter in there, the smarter ones, like Kingsley, would know the truth.
A trap. Well, of course it is. Harry sighs. Honestly, he probably ought to have owled Hermione back when he got the letter, because he didn't recognize the owl, but she did say that she would use inconspicuous birds to talk to him for a while instead of her own distinctive bird.
"The time has come for a reckoning," Londer's voice says behind him.
But Londer isn't the one I would have chosen for the person who betrayed me, Harry thinks, raising his eyebrows and not moving. The wards flared on the door a moment ago; that would be how she knows he's here. But she doesn't know exactly where he is as long as Harry isn't moving or making noise. His Disillusionment Charms are good enough for that.
"You went too far," Londer continues, walking towards him. "You were justified in some of what you did, but you hurt too many innocents, too. I could only forgive that up to a point. Now that it's done, I'm going—"
Harry has been casting silent charms that extend his senses up and down the corridor, and he would have laughed in relief if he wanted to reveal his position. Yes, Londer meant it when she said "I." She's the only one here.
He turns around and drops her with a casual Stunner. Londer collapses. Harry shakes his head as what must have happened comes clear to him. Londer probably announced that she had a plan to capture him and the Ministry decided to let her try, but without risking any other assets. They might have helped with the arrest of the man who looked like Harry, or maybe the story was real but Londer just had the idea to exploit it.
Either way, she's not the first to assume that a pure heart can conquer the Dark Lord Potter.
Harry works for a little while, and then departs. When the first Ministry workers come in tomorrow, they'll find Londer strung up by her heels on the wall, struck there with an enormous spiderweb, while slashing letters cut in the stone stand next to her: THUS THE DARK LORD POTTER REWARDS TRAITORS!
If she was going to betray him, Harry decided, she deserves to have anyone know that she worked with his resistance. The Ministry probably suspected it already, but Harry doesn't mind clarifying it for them. He's considerate like that.