Right to Counsel

by Ember Nickel

Need a lawyer? Better call Weasley. [Increasingly canon-divergent version of Book 5. FFFX gift for FeatheryMinx.]

"Yes—well—I suppose we'll need another chair," stammered the Minister of Magic. "I—Weasley, could you—"

"Not to worry, not to worry," said Dumbledore. With a small flick of his wand, he conjured a flowery armchair, which looked quite out of place next to the imposing chains drooping from Harry's chair. The Wizengamot continued to mutter amongst themselves.

Percy had scribbled something down on his parchment. He looked up, seeming anxious, perhaps annoyed at Dumbledore for having preempted him from carrying out the Minister's orders. "Excuse me," he said. "Headmaster?"

"What is it?" Dumbledore said genially. He seemed to be avoiding Percy's gaze in the same way he had been avoiding Harry's, instead contenting himself with admiring the torches.

"Are you here as an eyewitness to the events of August second?"

"I am not," said Dumbledore.

"Then I'm afraid you're not eligible to testify," he said. "Character witnesses are prohibited under Annex 2 of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery."

Dumbledore merely twiddled his fingers. "I'm here to accompany a direct witness, whose presence should be permitted under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights."

A direct witness? Harry could not imagine Dudley addressing Cornelius Fudge and fifty other wizards, even under threat of magic.

"Then are you here as Potter's legal counsel?"

"As a former Chief Warlock of this body, I recognize that that might present a conflict of interest," Dumbledore said. "Of course, given the uncharacteristically formal nature of this trial, I would hope that Potter has been advised of his rights?"

"No I haven't," Harry blurted. "No one's told me anything—just to show up here—and they didn't get the time and place right!"

"Hem, hem," said the witch sitting on Fudge's right. She had a toadlike appearance, but a surprisingly high-pitched, dainty voice. "May I remind you that you are facing charges by the Wizengamot? This is hardly the time and place to be making outbursts."

"But it is the time and place to have qualified legal representation," said Dumbledore. "Given my recusal, I hope the court can provide an advocate for Harry?"

"The Warlocks' Amendments clearly indicate that access to a public defender is only required in situations when the accused cannot provide a lawyer due to indigence," said Percy. "While I do not have access to Potter's Gringotts statements, I believe he is financially capable of hiring his own representation."

Harry suppressed a wince. The wealth he had inherited from his parents—and which was essentially irrelevant to him since he lived at Privet Drive—was often a sore point with Ron and his family. Percy might not have approved of his father's career, but he certainly had the same prickliness when it came to money.

"I can vouch that he is," said Dumbledore. "So perhaps we ought to adjourn this session until such time as Harry can provide his own lawyer and not become a public expense?"

"Oh, really, Dumbledore," said Fudge. "We don't need any more delays, I want this over with today."

"I do sympathize with your busy schedule. I'm sure the entire Wizengamot understands the exigencies that caused a simple matter of underage magic to become the concern of the whole court."

Fudge seethed, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the amused glances of his colleagues. "We have plenty of qualified recorders, and Weasley here has a third-class certificate in magical jurisprudence. It won't cost us anything to have him handle the minutiae."

"True enough," said Dumbledore. "Is that acceptable, Harry?"

Was Dumbledore playing at something? Percy seemed as sober-minded as he'd been during his time as Prefect and Head Boy: straight-faced, mildly disdainful, but eager to play yes-man to Fudge. What good could he do, especially if Dumbledore had to leave?

Dumbledore still wasn't looking at Harry, but something in his posture, the unconcerned way he had sprawled in the armchair, seemed to suggest that things would be well. If nothing else, they could not get much worse. "Er—yeah," Harry said.

"Splendid." Dumbledore rose and paced back towards the door. "Shall I send in the witness, then?"

"Yes, yes," said Fudge irritably. "Let's get on with it."

"Of course, Minister," said Percy, then turned his attention to Harry. "Are you Harry James Potter of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?"

"Yes," Harry said. He was in no mood to laugh, but the question was absurd. Did anyone think he would try to deny the identity that every wizard knew?

"Did you produce a Patronus Charm on the night of the second of August?"

"Yes," said Harry. "But I had no choice—there were dementors."

An uncomfortable silence fell across the courtroom.

"Well," said Percy, "er, why don't you just tell us everything that happened?"

"My cousin—who's a Muggle, he couldn't have fought back—and I were in an alley. Then there were two dementors coming at us, from both sides—it all went dark and cold—and my cousin felt them, so he started running for it. One of them was coming for me, so I cast the Patronus, and then when I found my cousin, the second dementor was about to Kiss him, so I sent the Patronus at it, and it flew away."

Before Percy could follow up, Dumbledore returned, accompanied by Mrs. Figg. She was still wearing her unusual slippers. Percy blinked, apparently unimpressed by her fashion sense—or perhaps it was too similar to his father's for comfort. "And what is your name?"

"Arabella Doreen Figg."

"Where were you on the night of August second?"

"Little Whinging, where I live."

A woman with a monocle interrupted. "There are no witches residing in Little Whinging. The Ministry regards that as an area of special interest." In other words, Harry thought bitterly, they didn't want anyone offering him an escape from the Dursleys.

"Too right," said Mrs. Figg. "I'm a Squib, I wouldn't be in your records."

"Hmm," said Fudge. "Can Squibs see dementors?"

"Really, Minister," Percy said. "It's well-established in Dryden's Survey of Liminal Enchantments that Squibs can only see magical dwellings that have been enchanted to permit anyone familiar with magic to apprehend them. When it comes to living creatures, like dementors, they're just as limited as any other Muggle."

Mrs. Figg looked around nervously, as if trying to reconstruct her story.

"So you didn't see any dementors that evening," Percy pressed, "did you?"

"N-no," she stammered. "But I felt them. It went...all cold, like all the happiness had drained out of the world. And I remembered the most awful things…"

Percy nodded. "Then what happened?"

"There were two boys. The larger lad had fallen down, and the other one, that was Harry, was backing up and trying to drive off the dementor. He tried a couple times, and there were silvery sparks coming out of his wand. And then he made a Patronus, and it ran one way and another. I...it must have been chasing the dementors, but I didn't see them. But the cold went away."

"The Patronus," said the witch with the monocle. "Did it have an identifiable shape?"

"It was some kind of a deer, I think," said Mrs. Figg. "Or a moose."

"It's a stag," Harry interrupted. "It's always a stag."

"You've produced a Patronus before?" Percy asked. "In the form of an animal, not just smoke?"

"Several times," said Harry. "Professor Lupin taught me in my third year."

"Patronuses are not on the third-year curriculum."

"There were dementors posted at Hogwarts that year! You remember. They…" It was none of the Wizengamot's business what the dementors had done to him, the memories they'd summoned to life. "You know how they are, they make it cold and miserable. Professor Lupin thought I could learn."

"Hem, hem," said the woman next to Fudge. "The dementors patrolling Hogwarts two years ago were sent by order of the Ministry, to protect against a dangerous criminal." Harry seethed—Sirius had been innocent of everything he was accused of, and the dementors had been a fat load of good at deterring Pettigrew. "Do you expect us to believe that two dementors just happened to be wandering around in Little Whinging?"

"Objection," said Percy. "That speculation is outside the scope of this hearing. We are here to establish whether Harry Potter's actions contravene the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery."

"But if this dementor story doesn't hold up," said Fudge, "then the clause seven defense you're proposing falls by the wayside."

"I'm proposing?" Percy snapped. "I am here as an impartial judicial advocate. You know perfectly well that I am not an interested party—"

"Er." Mrs. Figg stammered. "Do—do you need anything more from me?"

"Just a moment," said Percy. "Are there any further questions for the witness?"

The Wizengamot glanced at each other, murmuring quietly, but no one spoke.

"I think that's all, then. Thank you for your time."

"I'd be happy to wait outside with you," said Dumbledore. "Just in case."

Mrs. Figg relaxed slightly as he escorted her out. Again, Harry wanted to flinch—had Dumbledore stood with him?—but said nothing.

"Right," Percy said. "As...unprecedented as such a formal proceeding may be, I trust you will assure everything is done in accordance with statute."

The witch with the monocle leaned over to speak quietly with her colleagues. Apparently satisfied they had heard all they needed to, she said, "Very well. Those in favor of clearing the witness of all charges?"

Harry could barely bring himself to meet the eyes of the Wizengamot, but quickly, hands were raised. More than half? Before he could count them, she continued, "And those in favor of conviction?"

Fudge raised his hand, and so did the woman next to him, but there were only a few, perhaps six or seven. Much less than half. The Minister twitched uncomfortably, then said, "Cleared of all charges, then."

The Wizengamot poured out of the benches, singly and in groups. Fudge seemed to want to ignore Harry, and busied himself with his notes, but Harry was able to catch the eye of the witch with the monocle. "Er," he stammered. "Am I—free to go?"

"Of course," she said briskly. It seemed a bit anticlimactic, given the seriousness of the messages he'd received. But maybe this was an unusually organized trial?

By the time he made it outside, Mrs. Figg and Dumbledore had already left, their services no longer required. Mr. Weasley was awkwardly weaving out of the Wizengamot's way. "Well?" he asked.

"Cleared," said Harry.

Mr. Weasley exhaled. "Thank goodness! They didn't have a case, but with the full court there, I was worried—"

Percy strode out next, holding several rolls of parchment under his arms. Strenuously ignoring his father, he looked at Harry and nodded curtly. "The Minister is making an admirable effort to standardize the format of legal disputes."

An admirable effort to deny Voldemort's return and screw Dumbledore over in the process, Harry figured. "And I suppose you're just on duty in case anyone needs more legal advice?"

"Of course!" Percy said, so promptly and earnestly he might even have believed it himself. "It would be most improper to circumvent the proper process."

"Right," said Harry. "I'll owl you if I'm locked up in Azkaban, then."

Mr. Weasley looked like he wanted to say something, but Percy was already hurrying off, probably to iron the parchment so it was crisp for the Minister. Instead, Mr. Weasley clapped Harry on the back. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get you on your way. I have a toilet to repair."

---

Harry had read his letter to "Snuffles" several times, until he felt confident that anyone snooping in his mail would deem it innocuous. Between Umbridge's sadistic "lines" and his schoolmates' response—or lack thereof—to Voldemort's return, he envied Ron's ability to get worked up about Quidditch tryouts. Dumbledore seemed to be avoiding him, and McGonagall would probably suggest biscuits and buckling down for his OWLs.

Considering that his previous professors had included Quirrell and "Moody," the fact that Umbridge was not directly attempting to kill him didn't say much. Still, while he craved his godfather's support, Harry didn't want Sirius to put himself in danger, either. He could ask Hermione for advice, but she'd probably just cite some obscure chapter of Hogwarts, A History…

It occurred to Harry that Percy, while he could make Hermione look easy-going, would probably know if there was any policy that Umbridge was circumventing. He was proud to rub shoulders with Fudge, wasn't he? He'd know as much as anyone about what was going on at the Ministry.

Of course, at the hearing, he'd effectively been working pro bono. Not that Harry was about to complain—he'd gotten off. But if he was going to seek legal advice on his own time, he'd probably need to pay Percy, and knowing how touchy the Weasleys were about money, that was a dragon's lair in itself.

Eventually, he settled on telling Hedwig to retrieve a Galleon from his Gringotts account. My owl makes a fuss if I try to make her carry multiple coins, he wrote. This was of course a lie, but it was easier to libel Hedwig than to risk a human's temper. But I value your time, so I'll pay up next Hogsmeade weekend if you can make it down. And if he'd overpaid, so much the better—maybe Percy would feel too guilty to brush him off.

He'd have to misdirect just like he had with Sirius, if more flatteringly. I reckon you know all the laws on the books. Are the professors allowed to read our mail? The twins are taking orders for their "experiments" and I've heard some of the firsties ask if McGonagall will find out. Good thing I'm not a prefect so I don't have to deal with that. This stung to write, and Harry wasn't even sure whether Percy was close enough to Ron to learn he'd been made prefect. Still, better safe than sorry.

Also, we're trying to study for OWLs but Filch keeps trying to power-trip. What's he going to do, make us do lines? Or use our brooms to sweep the halls? He seems like the sort of bloke who'd prefer corporal punishment but he's never gone that far, so I assume there has to be some rule against that.

Hope work is going well and that Fudge isn't dragging you to too many boring trials!

Innocent enough, he decided. "This one is for Sirius," he reminded Hedwig, "and that one's for Percy. Sorry I called you lazy."

She hooted softly, perhaps amused, and took the letters in claw.

Harry had plenty to keep him busy in lieu of anticipating a reply. Each of the professors seemed to believe their class was the most important and assigned homework without consideration for other deadlines. To add to that, there was Quidditch practice. While Ron was dedicated and had a sizable frame, his nerves frequently got the better of him, and Fred and George's razzing didn't help.

When mail arrived a few days later, Hermione began skimming the Daily Prophet's headlines. There was no sign of Hedwig, but Hermes the screech owl floated down to deliver a letter to Ron before preening his feathers self-importantly.

Ron began to read the letter, frowned, then passed it to Harry. "Get a load of this."

Dear Ron, the letter began,

It has come to my attention that you have been named a prefect. Please accept my sincere congratulations! Your dedication and leadership are commendable and no doubt there are further honors in your future.

I also know that you have been on close terms with Harry Potter. If so, I would caution you both that some of his behavior is not viewed charitably within the Ministry. The Minister of Magic values law and order and does not take kindly to teenage delinquents—or centenarian academics—making preposterous claims about long-vanished mass murderers. Prudence is a virtue.

Should you choose to maintain your friendship, please advise him of the following administrative policies:

-As students not yet of age, your mail is subject to monitoring by any Hogwarts faculty or staff. Being a Junior Assistant to the Minister counseling his younger brother about career trajectories, I suspect, though cannot be certain, that my correspondence would be considered unobjectionable and ignored by your professors, unless perhaps Albus Dumbledore is extremely bored and looking for other careers to sabotage. If you were of age, or had your guardians' signed approval, you could of course rent a private post office box at the Owl Office in Hogsmeade.

-Corporal punishment for students is currently prohibited under the Board of Governors' policy emendations of 1976. These policies are subject to frequent revision (as our father could no doubt tell you) and should not be treated as permanent.

-Again, as a Junior Assistant to the Minister, I am well-compensated by the standards of civil servants. Accepting money in exchange for legal advice would constitute a conflict of interest on my part. However, it would be my honor and duty to provide counsel to any wizard or witch uncertain of their rights and responsibilities. Since you are no doubt busy with your prefect rounds, I would not presume to impose upon you during the school week, but do keep me informed of your Hogsmeade weekends if you wish to discuss matters.

Your brother,

Percy

P.S. I don't know whether you remain in close communication with our parents now that you're at school. While they continue to associate with Dumbledore and his fellow conspiracists, I'm afraid they latter are quite disreputable company for any serious wizard. If you feel obliged to continue owling Mother, you might inform her that Sturgis Podmore, a close friend of Dumbledore's, was recently arrested for attempted trespass at the Ministry. Such criminal behavior puts all who know him in grave danger—though even he has shown enough sense to take advantage of his right to silence.

"I should have told you," Harry said. "I wrote to him because Hermione was saying they might be watching the mail. Figured that he'd know, after the trial."

"Percy was at your trial?" Hermione blurted, and Harry found himself explaining the whole state of affairs to them.

"He must have figured it was safer writing to me," said Ron. "In case they were watching your mail."

Harry quickly folded the letter up; he did not want Ron and Hermione asking why he'd been inquiring about the legality of corporal punishment. "Do you think your parents would let you get a post office box?" he asked. Sirius Black had provided permission for Harry to attend Hogsmeade weekends, but while that had been good enough for McGonagall and Dumbledore, Harry did not think Sirius' name would carry much weight in Hogsmeade.

"Reckon they could," Ron said. "How much do they cost?"

"I'd pay you back," Harry rushed.

Ron tensed, and Harry knew that the line about "civil servants" had to have been a jab at Arthur's expense. How much was Percy being honest with him, and how much was he Fudge's lackey? Some of each? But Ron continued: "What about Fred and George? They're of age, they wouldn't need to wait for Mum and Dad. And they've got a lot of business with their experiments, they could actually use it."

As Harry had been the primary investor in the twins' joke business, he hoped they would avoid the Weasley awkwardness with him. "That sounds brilliant. Unless they burn anything from Percy on sight."

"You're not seriously going to take his advice, are you?" Ron said.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I mean, he can be…"

"An enormous git?"

"That," said Harry. "But the Ministry can't be full of Umbridges, can it? It'd be good to talk to someone who can say if she's full of it or not."

"The Daily Prophet sides with Fudge," said Hermione. "And there's a lot of people like Seamus' mum."

"Why would he mention Sturgis Podmore?" Harry asked. "Your parents read the Daily Prophet. And they know that…" He dropped his voice, unsure who at breakfast might be listening. "That Podmore and Dumbledore are mates."

"It's a warning," said Ron. "Stay on Fudge's good side, or we'll be next."

"Maybe," said Harry. But if nothing else, he wanted it to be important. Percy was a lawyer; Podmore was a defendant. There had to be some kind of relationship there. Or maybe he was just desperate to find some wizard who was on his side and wasn't afraid of talking to him.

---

Fred and George, of course, were thrilled to set up a PO Box to share with Harry, and knowing all the secret passages marked on the Marauders' Map meant that they didn't have to wait for Hogsmeade weekends to sneak out and check their mail. "Trading in restricted goods?" Fred wondered. "We could do with some Boomslang skin."

"More likely ordering Dungbombs," Harry said, and summarized his encounter with Filch. Like him, the twins found it as amusing as they did inexplicable.

Since Umbridge had extremely firsthand knowledge of his penmanship, to say nothing of his classmates' essays, he'd need to have his message printed to remain anonymous. Fortunately, Professor Flitwick had been lecturing on Carbonic Charms, which allowed Harry to duplicate words from books or newspaper articles one at a time. He remembered seeing something similar on a Muggle show Dudley had watched, although that had involved cutting up the newspaper. Then he hired an anonymous owl from Hogsmeade, and sent it off.

Hardly had it left the office, however, than a front-page story in the Daily Prophet seemed to answer his challenge. Professor Umbridge had been appointed "High Inquisitor," with the ability to inspect fellow staff. Ministerial Educational Decrees superseded the Governors' recommendations, which meant that Umbridge had full rein over disciplinary practices.

And while the article did not quote Umbridge herself, it did feature commentary from none other than the Junior Assistant to the Minister himself. "The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time," Percy was quoted. "He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who fear that the school may be moving in directions they do not approve."

Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, it transpired, was a follow-up to Educational Decree Number Twenty-two, which had allowed the Ministry to appoint Umbridge as a professor the day before the start of term. "It's been difficult to find professors for the Defense Against the Dark Arts course," Percy continued, "particularly with many prominent mages unwilling to work within Dumbledore's unconventional parameters. But we're delighted to report that Professor Umbridge has thrived at Hogwarts, immediately revolutionizing the course and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what's really happening at Hogwarts."

"What a load of dragon dung," said Ron.

Harry paused, swallowing his breakfast, before responding. "Is he wrong?"

"Is he wrong?" Ron echoed. "Umbridge is a bloody toad, she hasn't taught us anything!"

"Of course," said Harry. "But look—the Minister is growing uneasy, the parents like Malfoy's father are afraid, Umbridge is providing Fudge with feedback. Even if it sounds like he's spouting the party line, all he's really done is say what other people think."

Ron shook his head. "If he can't be bothered to talk to our parents, I don't mind assuming he's busy brownnosing Fudge."

Umbridge's inspections enlivened Professor Trelawney's dramatics in Divination, and even though McGonagall couldn't or wouldn't prevent the horrific detentions, she at least was able to shut up Umbridge during the Transfiguration inspection. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes continued to be interminably dull, which led Hermione to propose that Harry teach them instead. So rather than checking for mail or even snacking at Honeydukes, his plans for Hogsmeade weekend consisted of waiting at the Hog's Head for potential students, which turned into two dozen of his schoolmates wanting to spite Umbridge or hear about his encounters with Voldemort.

The following Monday, however, Educational Decree Number Twenty-four announced the disbanding of all "Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs." Harry was certain this could not have been a coincidence, although Hermione claimed that none of the students who had signed the parchment would have been able to tattle on them. Either way, it was enough to make him dispirited—particularly once he realized that Quidditch teams were included in the ban, and Angelina would have to go plead her case to Umbridge before Gryffindor could practice again.

History of Magic was never likely to improve his mood, and things went from bad to worse when Hedwig returned with a damaged wing. Harry tore off to find Professor Grubbly-Plank in the staffroom and gave her the injured owl. McGonagall inspected her shrewdly, warned Harry that Hogwarts' communications were likely being watched.

"I know," Harry said. "But the Hogsmeade post office isn't, right? I mean, for wizards who are of age?"

McGonagall sighed. "Be careful, Potter."

Careful! he wanted to snap. Umbridge is carving up my hand! But she quickly stepped back into the staffroom, as a stream of students filled the hallway.

Today, read the letter, same time, same place. It could only be from Sirius, determined to meet in the fire with no regard for risk.

By the time classes were done, Neville had nearly assaulted Malfoy, Snape had endured Umbridge's inspection, and Trelawney seemed even more hysterical than usual as a result of her inspection. And while Harry wanted to ask the twins to sneak out and send an owl to Percy on his behalf, they were busy demonstrating their Skiving Snackboxes to a delighted crowd in the common room.

Since Quidditch practice had yet to be reinstated, Harry supposed he could put on his invisibility cloak and sneak down to Hogsmeade himself. I suppose by now you'll have seen Educational Decree Number Twenty-four, he wrote. What does the Minister think? Are Gobstones clubs and Quidditch teams a threat to serious education? Professor Umbridge certainly is making many drastic changes! That couldn't be too subversive, could it? It was basically what Percy had said himself in the article. Just in case, Harry added, If she gets Trelawney sacked then good riddance, Divination seems like a load of bollocks.

Like he had two years prior, he wore his invisibility cloak down the tunnel of the one-eyed witch. Honeydukes was still open, so it took a few minutes to sneak out amid the lingering customers. No witches or wizards were left on duty at the Owl Office, but fortunately, the drop box remained open all night, and the box keys would allow customer access if needed. The owls themselves were more mobile after their clients had left, and Harry caught a glimpse through the glass of a hyperactive scops owl going in circles just to burn off energy. He smiled as he dropped off his note, hoping Hedwig would make a quick recovery.

By the time he got back to the common room, it was nearly midnight, but Ron and Hermione reported there had been no sign of Sirius. He tried, unsuccessfully, to start his Potions essay, but couldn't focus after the events of the day. When Sirius finally appeared, he seemed to approve of the underground defense club, while Hermione urged caution. "It's not safe for you to be here," she said.

"You-Know-Who's back, isn't he?" Sirius snapped. "It's not safe anywhere!"

But when he abruptly disappeared into the flames minutes later, Harry could not help thinking that Hermione, for all her worries, had a point.

"He mustn't do it again," she said the next day during Charms class. "We'll need to warn him."

"He's not stupid," Ron pointed out. "He knows he almost got caught last time."

"Send him an owl," Harry said. "Through the office, I mean."

"We can't just tell an ordinary Hogsmeade owl where Sirius Black lives," Hermione said. "He's still wanted."

"You're not still writing to Percy, are you?" Ron said. "I told you, he's a git. And it isn't like he'll have time for you while he's busy shining Dear Cornelius' shoes."

Harry felt like pointing out that Percy, while pompous, at least had the potential to be helpful. But it occurred to him that pointing out Percy's strengths to someone who had grown up with him might be almost as unnecessary as Ron or Hermione noting that Dudley was far preferable to Voldemort as housemates went. And before he could give a more considered reply, Professor Flitwick told him off for nearly choking the bullfrog he was supposed to be silencing.

---

The night before the first Quidditch match of the year, George climbed into the common room late at night. "If you've invented some performance-enhancing potion," Angelina said, "can you wait until after the game? We don't need to give Umbridge another reason to get on our case."

"Why are you still awake, Captain?" George teased. "And no foul play tomorrow. Can't promise Fred won't skive off if the weather's like this, though."

Angelina sighed and began heading upstairs, seemingly more tired of George's sense of humor than merely needing sleep.

"Mail's in," said George, handing Harry a small envelope. "Er, not that one, unless you'd like to foot the bill for a load of Augurey feathers."

"I don't mind," Harry admitted, while George fumbled with the mail.

"The Ministry is writing to you? But not at Hogwarts?" he said, once he'd found the correct letter. "Blimey, Fudge isn't after you again, is he?"

"No," said Harry, thumbing the envelope open. "I was writing to Percy, actually."

George rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me my mum's got you playing go-between, too." Harry shook his head. "Figures," George continued. "She likes you too much to ask you favors."

Harry found it hard to believe that he had any real pull with Percy, but maybe he was just used to buttering up authority figures. "Night," he said. "Good luck tomorrow."

Ron was a nervous wreck before the game, barely touching his breakfast. Luna Lovegood was sporting a large hat in the shape of a lion, which roared when she tapped it with her wand; Harry thought this an unusually thoughtful gesture towards a House that wasn't even her own, but Luna did nothing by halves. And when Hermione hissed a warning about the Slytherin's badges—something Ron wasn't supposed to see?—he could at least hope it would serve as a more prominent distraction for the fans and players alike.

Beneath the clouds, the players took off. It had been well over a year since Harry had played a real game over this pitch, and he found he'd missed it—the swirl of colors as he scanned for a glimpse of gold amid streaks of red and green, the wind rushing through his unkempt hair, the voice of Lee Jordan proclaiming his steadfastly unreciprocated attraction to Angelina the same way he had for the last four years. Too soon, however, the commentary from the announcer's booth was overtaken by a loud, mocking chant from the Slytherin section. Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring…

Harry tried to tune out their jeers as Gryffindor fell behind twenty, thirty, forty-nil. If he could come up with the Snitch quickly enough, Ron's performance wouldn't matter. And when he spotted it glittering above the Slytherin end, there was no question of trying to feint or distract Malfoy. On his Firebolt, he felt, he could have outraced Viktor Krum if he had to. Moments flashed in a storm of motion, his fingers clamoring for the ball's tantalizing wings, and then it was in his grasp, Hooch's whistle sounding above the cacophony.

Before he could dismount, however, a Bludger caught him in his back and he tumbled towards the pitch, which was thankfully only a few feet below him. As he climbed to his feet, he heard Hooch remonstrating at Crabbe, and saw Angelina zooming over to check on him. "Are you okay?"

"Course," said Harry, showing off the Snitch between his fingers.

Ron, apparently drained despite the victory, was trudging off to the locker room, but the other Gryffindors were joining Harry to celebrate. The Slytherins, too, had gathered near him. "Fair play," Malfoy drawled sardonically. "There's always next time. I suppose by then we'll have come up with a rhyme for useless losers—for his father, you know—"

Fred and George exchanged glances, then turned on Malfoy. "Ignore him," Angelina said, "let the scoreboard talk."

But Malfoy continued to egg him on, insulting the Weasleys and the Burrow. Angelina was joined by Alicia and Katie in attempting to restrain Fred, who under other circumstances might have been quite pleased at all three Chasers fervently embracing him. George and Harry, however, could not help themselves, and when Malfoy took a swipe at Harry's mother, never mind magic and wands. He wanted to make Malfoy hurt, and with his filthy half-blood hands, all the better.

It must have been only seconds before Hooch's Impedimenta Jinx knocked him over. "Disgraceful, both of you! Up to your Head of House's office at once!" she thundered. As Crabbe cackled in the background, she turned her head. "And we're not done talking yet, either."

As Harry and George climbed up to the castle, the hubbub receding behind them, the energy of the game drained from Harry and he suddenly felt his exhaustion. If he could not stop himself from slugging Malfoy in plain view of the whole school, how could he expect to keep his meetings with Sirius or the DA secret?

McGonagall, being McGonagall, was thoroughly unimpressed with Harry and George's behavior, and was not willing to consider the provocation. To make matters worse, Umbridge interrupted her as she was chewing them out.

"I think," said Umbridge, with a wide smile, "they deserve rather more than detentions."

McGonagall made an effort to smile in return. "But unfortunately, it is what I think that counts, as they are in my house, Dolores."

"Well, actually, Minerva," Umbridge, went on, "I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it...I mean, the Minister just sent it. Ah, yes." After rummaging in her handbag, she produced an elaborately-rolled scroll. "Hem, hem. 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five…'"

"Not another one!"

"Well, yes," said Umbridge. "As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment. You remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form?"

"Why shouldn't she?" Harry cut in. "She's our head of house, isn't she?"

Umbridge gave a simpering laugh. "Cornelius agrees that High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or otherwise she would have less power than common teachers. And what would be the value of that?"

"Are you volunteering to be our sponsor?" Harry asked. "I'd have thought you were busy with all the—inspections and curriculum work you have to do, but if you have time, I'm sure we'd be honored."

George was gazing at him in a stupor. McGonagall looked as stern as ever, but there was a hint of curiosity, too. "What are you prattling on about, Potter?" Umbridge asked.

Harry produced a crumpled parchment from beneath his robes. "I was just curious about the authority underlying Decree Twenty-four. I mean, you couldn't have students forming, er, a Chocolate Frog Club to eat sweets when they're supposed to be somewhere important like Defense Against the Dark Arts class. That'd be silly."

Umbridge looked as if she was about to choke at the prospect of Harry agreeing her, but McGonagall only smiled and said "Quite so."

"So I did some research on the regulations, and it looks like Headmaster Gurwinkle's rulings of 1573 officially give faculty the right to sanction clubs, as long as they go on record as a sponsor. And ever since then, the Heads of Houses have taken responsibility for their Quidditch teams. I think."

Umbridge seized the letter with the same clenched knuckles that she had nearly used to grasp Sirius in the Floo. "And who exactly has been giving you this...advice?"

"My lawyer," Harry said gamely. "I inherited a load of Galleons from my mum and dad, I need someone to make sure I don't do anything illegal with it before I come of age."

Umbridge read Percy's curt message over and over again. If she had been reading his Hogwarts owls, she would have known he had not sent any such letter from the school. But would she be willing to admit to intercepting the mail in front of McGonagall?

Finally, she crumpled the letter into a fist. "Very well. An altered form of Educational Decree Number Twenty-five will be promulgated as soon as it has been...verified for compliance. And Minerva, dear, I do hope you issue stringent punishments to your, ahem, charges. Otherwise the Minister may have to take a personal interest in your decisions."

"I look forward to it," McGonagall said blandly. "Was there anything else?"

"No, no," Umbridge said. "That will be all." And she paced off down the hallway as if, like the basilisk, she could deal death with a glare.

When her footsteps had receded, McGonagall said, "As I was saying, a week's detention for each of you, with me. And as I have no doubt that I will be called upon to sign off as the Quidditch team's sponsor, you can consider your eligibility there conditional on good behavior."

"Blimey," said George. "Where can I get a lawyer like that?"

"I hear the Ministry has several," said Harry, grinning with relief. "If your joke shop turns a profit, you might need one."

"Especially in times like these, it can be useful to know your rights," said McGonagall. "But not take them for granted."

That was the rub, wasn't it? It was all well and good if Percy's knowledge of the wizard bureaucracy got Harry out of trouble. But if the laws changed, or weren't on his side—would Percy see reason? Or insist on following the rules, no matter where they led?

"My office, eight p.m., Monday night," said McGonagall, then gave another faint smile. "And congratulations on the game."

Harry and George couldn't help but smile in return as they headed back to Gryffindor Tower to celebrate their victory.

---

The rest of term passed quickly, between Quidditch practice, clandestine DA meetings, and attempting to give Hagrid suggestions for lessons that wouldn't immediately draw Umbridge's ire. After the last DA meeting had dispersed, Cho actually stayed behind to kiss Harry, which made him feel like he was walking on air. He'd have to send her an owl over Christmas...maybe some candy…

But only hours later, he jolted awake and vomited in horror. A snake had bitten Mr. Weasley. No, he, Harry, had been a snake and bitten Mr. Weasley. It was so urgent that he tell someone, anyone, that he could barely find time to chastise Dumbledore for giving him the cold shoulder all term.

Dumbledore, being Dumbledore, had no qualms about setting up a Portkey for Harry and the Weasleys to travel to Grimmauld Place. They were able to visit Mr. Weasley in the hospital the next day, which was a relief, and overhear the adults speaking on their Extendable Ears, which was not. Was Voldemort possessing Harry? Had Harry put Sirius and the Weasleys in danger just by being near them?

Only Ginny's brisk interruption several days later broke him out of his self-pity. She had been possessed by Voldemort, she reminded him; while she could not pinpoint what ailed him, she could say with confidence it wasn't that. It didn't help Mr. Weasley recover any faster, but it was enough to draw Harry out of his isolation and throw himself into decorating Grimmauld Place for Christmas.

Fred and George had brought a sample of their wares, and impressed Sirius with their Headless Hats. "D'you think Perce would like one?" George mused.

"Reckon not," said Fred, "he's sick of the Christmas sweaters as it is. What do lawyers eat?"

"Ministerial Fudge. It looks solid at first glance, but when you bite into it—"

"—there's nothing there," Fred finished, and they laughed at their shared wit. Even having a painful link to Voldemort in his head did not let Harry finish the dark wizard's sentences.

"Do you think he'll come for Christmas?" Harry asked, imagining Percy and Kreacher sharing a holiday meal.

Fred snorted. "He hasn't even come to visit Dad."

"What?" Harry snapped. He had no doubt that if Uncle Vernon had landed himself in the hospital during Harry's childhood, Petunia would have dragged him along to visit even if he would have preferred to stay on Privet Drive.

"He probably figures it was Dad's own fault he got bitten," George muttered. "I mean, it isn't like the Order can tell him what they're doing."

"That's awful," said Harry. "Shouldn't he—I dunno, at least send an owl?"

"Not here," said Fred. "We don't want him to know where Grimmauld Place is."

"Do you need more 'advice'?" George asked skeptically. "I'm sure he'd love to go on about the newest Educational Decrees."

"Can't hurt to try," said Harry. Hedwig could use the exercise, at least.

Despite his outward curiosity, part of him was still pleasantly surprised when Percy met them in the St. Mungo's lobby on Christmas Day, smelling faintly of soot—as a trustworthy Ministry employee, his Floo connection would not be watched. Mrs. Weasley embraced him warmly, to his obvious discomfort, and tutted at him for not wearing his sweater.

"Shame," Ginny whispered, "you couldn't possibly guess he was related to us."

"Happy Christmas," said Percy, stiffly, handing his mother a poorly-wrapped gift. Inside was a dress robe somewhat too small for her, which she nevertheless beamed over.

Mr. Weasley was delighted to receive Harry's screwdrivers, and even more delighted to see Percy. His "gift" was a folder full of regulations on wizards' liability if their familiars caused damage. "There's an 1887 case about a cat who triggered an allergy attack on several members of the Wizengamot," he said, "and that might be relevant in your case."

Mr. Weasley forced a smile. "I'll—er—bear that in mind." The Order members knew perfectly well that the master of the snake in question was unlikely to respond to a Ministry courtroom summons, but considering that this was the longest conversation Percy and his parents had exchanged in half a year, Harry considered it a relative success.

Percy cleared his throat awkwardly as he addressed the twins. "NEWT preparation going well, then? I was pleased to see you considering your business prospects, it's important to make sure your enterprise gets off on a firm footing."

"Oh, yeah," said Fred. "Definitely working hard. I mean, with Her Highness the Inquisitor running around, there's no time for slacking!"

Percy, of course, missed the sarcasm. "Well, I'm very glad to hear that! I hope she's been appropriately focused."

"She's a right berk, is what—" Ron began, but Harry elbowed him. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"Well...Cornelius—that is, the Minister—" Percy gave the same sort of aren't-I-blessed-to-know-him? simper that Umbridge did at the mention of Fudge's name, and Harry couldn't help but flinch reflexively. "He's thrilled that she's taken so much initiative, you know, and it sounds as if it's reaping dividends already! But Hogwarts is really too much for any one person to handle on their own. I mean, you've seen—" He broke off, looking at his parents, who were engaging in an increasingly noisy argument about the utility of Muggle stitches. Was he about to say something absurd about Dumbledore?

"D'you want to take this outside?" Ron suggested.

"That might be for the best," said Percy.

The younger Weasleys piled out, Harry and Hermione in tow. "Tea's upstairs," said Ginny, leading the group up a staircase.

"What do you suppose they put in the tea here?" Fred considered. "Can't be anything too strong, but maybe some soothing charms?"

"Sounds like placebo nonsense to me," said George.

"As I was saying," Percy said. "Dumbledore's certainly a preeminent scholar, but as an administrator, he leaves something to be desired. I mean, the sort of creatures he lets roam around campus—"

"If you're talking about Hagrid," said Ron, "he's great, and you never complained about him when you were at school."

"Ginny almost got eaten by a basilisk!"

"That was hardly Dumbledore's fault," Ginny called from in front of them, "it had been there for a thousand years."

Harry half-expected some slander against Sirius, and was ready to point out that the actual culprit in the betrayal of his parents and the deaths of a dozen Muggles had been Scabbers, Percy's old rat. But instead, Percy went on, "And the sorts of people he hires, it's a wonder anyone would take the job. Werewolves and—"

"You never had a bad word to say about Lupin either!" Ron pointed out.

"—and people like that!"

Percy froze on the landing, and Harry had to quickly grasp the railing to prevent a pile-up. Ginny stepped down and turned to the patient behind the double doors, who was grinning broadly. "Professor?"

"Well, hello!" blurted a familiar voice. "Happy Christmas! It's very nice to see so many smiling young faces!"

"Oh, blimey," said George. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Care for an autograph?" said Gilderoy Lockhart, whose loss of memories apparently had not made any dent in his incorrigible self-promotion. "Of course you would, don't be shy. What've they got you in here for? Geminio gone amiss?"

"We're twins, you nincompoop," said Fred.

"Right you are, right you are," said Lockhart. "Well, don't just all stand there, come in!"

"Are you...supposed to be walking around?" Ron asked, as politely as he could muster.

But before they could make their excuses, a beaming Healer walked by and all but demanded they indulge Lockhart's vanity. Reluctantly, they followed her into the Janus Thickey Long-Term Resident Ward.

Lockhart's quarters were decorated with magical pictures of himself. Hermione blinked, taking in the familiar book covers and mug shots. He quickly grabbed another stack of identical photos and began signing them with a motion long-buried in muscle memory.

"You see what I mean?" Percy hissed. "He was full of himself even before he wound up here. No curriculum at all, just vignettes from his tabloid interviews."

"He didn't actually do any of those things," Ron began.

"No wonder Mum got taken in by Dumbledore's rubbish, she believes the kind of puff pieces that—"

"Come off it," said Ginny. "What's it to you if he sells a bunch of trashy books? You were making a fool of yourself over Penny Clearwater that year, don't act like you're too cool for girly books."

"Anyway, Umbridge is foul," said George. "She'd have shut down Quidditch if they let her."

"Progress for progress' sake is rash," Percy echoed. "I don't think she ought to abolish a venerable tradition in one fell swoop, but at the same time—"

"Mrs. Longbottom," said the healer. "Are you leaving already?"

Harry whirled around, taking in two visitors emerging from the far end of the ward. One was an elderly witch wearing a hat topped with a stuffed vulture; the other, sulking, was Neville Longbottom. Harry suddenly realized what had brought them there on Christmas Day, and desperately tried to think of some way to distract the others. "So—er—Professor," he began, "did you get any Christmas cards?"

Percy turned around and glanced over at the Healer, who was delivering some mail to the woman with a furry head. Harry silently pled with him to be silent—wasn't it a lawyer's job to show some discretion?—but Percy froze, reaching for his wand. "What is that?"

The others turned, but to Harry's surprise, Percy was not looking at Neville and his grandmother, but rather, the man mumbling to himself. He had received a droopy potted plant, and a calendar stuck to the wall.

"Hippogriffs of the Month!" beamed the Healer. "Wonderful, majestic creatures. You ought to treat them with respect, of course, but they're perfectly safe on a page."

A tip of flame lit up at the end of Percy's wand as he strode forward. "I mean this," he said, pointing down at the plant. "What possible medicinal use could it have?"

"It's a lovely little Flitterbloom! It'll be good for Mr. Bode to have something pleasant to—"

But Hermione had approached behind him, gasping softly. "That...looks like Devil's Snare."

It was unlike Hermione, who had successfully fended off an enormous growth of Devil's Snare in their first year, to be so tentative. But where she was cautious, Percy was furious. "This is malpractice! And you call this a hospital? The Ministry will not stand for this disastrous incompetence!"

"One thing at a time," said Harry. The Healer looked like she was about to cry. "Is there any way we can—I dunno—trap the plant? So it doesn't hurt anyone, but you can examine it or something later."

"Incendio murlosi," Hermione said, and a helical swirl of flame spun around the plant, walling Bode's bedside table off from the rest of the ward. "That should hold it at least twenty-four hours."

"It's Christmas Day," Fred pointed out. "The Aurors are probably out caroling, they're not going to drop everything for what might be just a sad-looking Bitterflume."

"They most certainly will!" said Percy. "This calls for a full-scale investigation! The Minister will not condone such behavior for one moment!"

The Minister, Harry thought, was hardly likely to care. He had not seemed concerned when Dementors had attacked Little Whinging, had he?

"Professor Lupin is downstairs," Ron said, with a hint of stress. "And Bill, he's a curse-breaker, isn't he? I bet they'd be able to tell. And if it's innocuous, well, we won't have to bother the Ministry about it and they can enjoy their holiday."

"I'm sure Hermione's spellwork is quite thorough," said Percy, "but I don't think we ought to leave the scene. There could be further jinxes."

"You stay put, then," said Ginny. "Me, I'm ready for some of that tea."

Harry looked around the ward, then exhaled in relief; the Longbottoms had taken advantage of Percy's outburst to leave before anyone could confront Neville. Then they made for the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley had either come to terms with her husband's experimental treatment, or, more likely, given up the argument for the holiday. Lupin and Bill were still there, failing to make small talk with the other patients.

"There's a weird plant upstairs," he began. "I mean—Percy thinks—it's under a charm right now—"

"Start over," Lupin said, calmly.

Harry quickly summarized what had happened.

"The patient," said Mr. Weasley. "What did he look like?"

"Er...a bit younger than you, I reckon. Very pale. He didn't look sick, but he was just mumbling to himself."

"Did you catch a name?" Lupin asked.

"Toad, I think," said Harry. "Or Code or Bode or something."

"Bode?" asked Mr. Weasley, sharply. "Broderick Bode?"

"Could be. Or Roger something? Is there a Roger Code?"

Mr. Weasley exchanged a glance with Lupin. "He's a Ministry employee. Never had a problem with him, and I don't think he much cares who's in office. But you ought to have a look in."

"That's fine," said Lupin. "Thanks for telling us, Harry."

"Thank Percy and Hermione," Harry said. "Percy says the Ministry will want to investigate too, but...Well, you know how he gets."

Mrs. Weasley sighed, but Bill only smiled. "He comes by it honestly. Nobody'd get between Charlie and some ridiculous creature-wrangling case, either."

---

The rest of the break passed quickly. There was no further word from Percy, and the Order members did not have news, though they continued to murmur quietly when the students were out of earshot. On the last night before their return to Hogwarts, Professor Snape dropped by and informed Harry that they would be conducting Occlumency lessons together, whether Harry had anything to say about it or not.

Harry told himself that Dumbledore, the Order's Secret-Keeper, had told Snape where the headquarters were. Dumbledore trusted him. And yet, Dumbledore was too busy to speak to Harry in person.

"It'll be good not to see inside Voldemort's head, won't it?" Hermione pointed out.

"I dunno," Harry said. If it hadn't been for the nightmare, they might not have found Ron's father in time. And yet, even with the knowledge he was not possessed, he could not shake the feeling that he had been the snake—that if it hadn't been for him, there might not have been an attack at all.

The first lesson confirmed his fears. Not only was Voldemort apparently an accomplished Legilimens—Snape claimed that was something different from mind-reading, though Harry harbored doubts—but Snape could easily penetrate Harry's mind, bringing up memories of Dudley's bullying, Cho's kissing, even Cedric's death.

If there was any benefit from the lesson, it was not in learning to defend himself, but rather revisiting a memory pulled at random from the images Snape summoned. Mr. Weasley had hurried him along a hallway on the ninth floor of the Department of Mysteries. And then, months later, Mr. Weasley had been attacked there. When Snape was unwilling to discuss the Department, Harry knew he was onto something.

"So what's in the Department of Mysteries?" he asked, once he'd caught Ron and Hermione up.

"Dunno," said Ron. "It's a mystery, innit."

"I think that's where they keep Time-Turners," said Hermione. "When I got mine third year, McGonagall had to sign a bunch of forms and promise that I'd only use it for class. It's top secret."

"That'd make sense," Harry said. "He wants to go back...to stop himself from trying to kill me, since it didn't work?"

Hermione shook her head. "You can't change the past, only see what had really happened all along. Besides, mine only moved an hour at a time."

Harry's head hurt. Was Voldemort on the move, or were his defenses just lower after straining to keep Snape out?

"Mate," said Ron. "I know what you're thinking, and I can't do it."

"I'm not about to try the Skiving Snackboxes for Remedial Potions," Harry said.

Ron laughed. "Okay, maybe I don't. But you can't go writing Percy about this. Even if he's a Ministry employee, he wouldn't know the first thing about any department that's right under his nose. And if the Order doesn't even want us knowing about it, you can't exactly trust him."

"I hadn't considered it," Harry admitted, and Ron exhaled. "But since you mention it—"

"Harry," Hermione said.

"—what about Occlumency?"

"What about it?"

"I mean, mind-reading, whatever you call it—it can't be very common among wizards, can it? Otherwise, I dunno, the Ministry would be using it all the time." Certainly, Harry thought, Umbridge would have no qualms about invading her students' minds to make sure they were appropriately loyal to dear Cornelius. And Sirius had been sent to Azkaban without a trial. How many more miscarriages of justice had taken place because the authorities were complacent? "But maybe people on trial need to how to block their minds, so nobody can find out the truth."

"Maybe," said Ron. "Percy's head is boring enough that nobody would want to break in."

Harry snorted. "If I need to empty my mind, better him or Binns than Snape."

"What did Snape do?"

"He tried to break into my memories!" Having Voldemort be able to summon up Aunt Marge's dog at will would not be much better. But Voldemort was hidden; Snape's emnity was close enough to touch.

"Well, all the more reason to learn quickly," Hermione said, as if it was that simple.

Ron glanced down at Harry's hand. "Don't let him hurt you. Umbridge is bad enough."

"I won't," said Harry. "Reckon I'll go to bed, though...nothing like Remedial Potions to tire you out."

The next morning, Hogwarts woke to the news that ten of Voldemort's loyal Death Eaters had escaped Azkaban, including Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had tortured Neville's parents into a mindless agony. The Ministry, who still refused to accept that the Dementors were not in their control, had settled for blaming the breakout on Sirius. Harry took the opportunity to pen a general letter to Percy—"did any of those Death Eaters have their minds read? Would've made the trials much easier"—and post it from the Owl Office.

Another Educational Decree was swiftly handed down from Umbridge, which forbid teachers from giving students any information not "strictly related" to their subjects. Given that Quidditch teams and other, above-the-board, student associations now required faculty sponsorship, this led to absurd situations where, for instance, Professor Sinistra could not give the chess club any recommendations for books to read for strategy tips, but a stack of relevant publications miraculously appeared in the Ravenclaw common room the next morning.

Percy did write back, suggesting that Harry and Ron meet him early the next Hogsmeade weekend to discuss the legal ramifications of Occlumency in person. Harry reluctantly agreed, only to realize that that was also Valentine's Day and he'd planned to meet Cho. When he apologetically explained this to her during a DA meeting, she giggled helplessly, to the point where her friend Marietta felt like asking what was so funny.

"Harry has to meet with his lawyer," she said. "What else, do you need the Gringotts goblins to show you your bank account?"

"It's not like that," Harry said. Having visited Gringotts with Hagrid in his first year, inadvertently thwarting the theft of the Sorcerer's Stone, he was more than happy to leave his parents' inheritance in the bank's control. "And he's not even my lawyer, I just need—advice."

"Oh?" Cho asked, but Marietta looked skeptical. She wouldn't have come to the D.A. meetings if she believed everything Umbridge said, would she? She knew the risks of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.

Still, Harry found himself casting about, looking for some way to change the topic. "Yeah—er—I'm really sorry. Are you doing anything that Sunday?"

"No…"

His gaze flit on Angelina, who was sparring with Ron, and—judging by the ooze spreading across his arms—apparently taking out quite a bit of her frustration with their Quidditch practices on him. "D'you want to fly with me? Just for fun, I mean, not practice."

Marietta rolled her eyes, as if to suggest that Cho could do better, but Cho merely shrugged. "All right."

Harry exhaled, and turned his attention to rescuing Susan Bones from Neville's hexes; both of them were making rapid improvement after the Death Eaters who had tortured or killed their family had escaped.

Hogsmeade weekend dawned bright and pleasant. Hermione was scribbling furiously on a parchment from a gray owl who pecked at her breakfast as it waited for her reply. "Harry," she said, "when you're done with Percy, can you meet me in the Three Broomsticks? At lunchtime?"

"I suppose," he said. "Unless he wants me to practice, uh, Remedial Potions."

"It can't take that long," Hermione said. "Please, it's important."

"All right," said Harry, hoping that Percy would be able to extricate himself from whatever digression he was likely to rhapsodize about. He did not seem like the sort of person who would have Valentine's Day plans.

Sure enough, by the time Harry and Ron made it down to the Owl Office—this time without his Invisibility Cloak—Percy was already pacing, admiring the owls available for rental.

"Wotcher," said Harry.

Percy gave a brisk nod. "Occlumency's an important subject," he began, without pleasantries. "On some level, an attorney's communications with their client are privileged; the Wizengamot can't force the attorney to reveal compromising information. But in practice—where are you going?"

Ron had walked over to the door. "I'm sure this is fascinating, and all, but I'm not the one learning to block his mind. Harry can catch me up later."

Percy hurried after him, leaving Harry no choice but to follow. "You're my brother! Can't I hang out with family on the weekend?"

"You can," said Ron, "but considering you don't bother to catch up with Ginny or Fred and George or Mum and Dad, forgive me for questioning your motives."

Harry looked back and forth between them. "You don't want to be seen in public with me, do you? Even if you write to me, you still think I'm a nutter."

Percy turned an uncomfortable shade of red, but Ron said, "He's never been bothered what anyone thinks of him. Why start now?"

Harry was reminded of Hermione in their first year, when they'd barely known her. She's a nightmare, honestly—no wonder she's got no friends. If it hadn't been for the troll, would she have spiralled even more deeply into herself?

"I don't want to keep you long. Either of you," he said. "If you could just be quick about it. Or you could write—"

"—In practice," Percy continued swiftly, "we have a duty to the truth."

"Especially with Fudge in office," muttered Ron.

Percy, fortunately, didn't hear him. "It can be useful to develop some basic defenses to avoid letting outside factors cloud your judgment. Particularly as a full member of the Wizengamot, but also for lawyers. I've heard of some wizards who try reading dull texts aloud—on their own time, of course, not at work—to capture the monotony, but that hasn't worked for me."

"Probably because there's no book too dull for you."

Well, there were textbooks that would work for that. "Sounds like something Umbridge would approve of," said Harry. "She has us going over Defensive Magical Theory all the time."

"Does she?" said Percy. "The Minister thinks quite highly of her, you know."

Harry shot Ron a look that said cool it. "I've heard, yeah," he said lightly.

"Having a teacher who knows the fundamentals is very important. Especially with the...inconsistency of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. But do you think you're getting enough practical experience?"

He couldn't know about the D.A. Could he? Was it a trap? Carefully, Harry said, "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it sounds like the emphasis on theoreticals might be to the exclusion of useful practice. Are you expected to cast these charms correctly in your OWLs without prior training? As thorough as your education is, even NEWT-level students can get nervous at exam time. Practice doesn't remove this, of course, but it can alleviate it."

"Hermione thinks so, too," said Ron, catching on. "And our friend Ernie."

"I'm sure Umbridge wants you all to succeed. After all, if she can demonstrate that students do well under her teaching, that's a mark in her favor. I'd hope she's giving you the utmost opportunity to demonstrate your skills."

"We make do," Ron said.

Percy nodded. "Well, if that's all, I'd hate to keep you any longer."

"Is it safe to write?" Harry asked. "Through the PO Box, I mean? If I have more questions."

"As I said, attorney-client communications should be privileged, and I'd like to believe my willingness to assist curious wizards, pro bono, is merely an indication of my work ethic. There are—elements in the Ministry who do not always value anonymity."

"Two years ago Sirius Black escaped and the Hogwarts grounds were full of Dementors searching for him," said Harry. "Now there's ten Death Eaters on the loose, and you can't even—"

But Percy had Apparated away with the familiar crack, amplified by Ron kicking a pebble where his brother had just stood. "Coward."

"Not all of us grew up with magic," said Harry, "and I'm definitely not going to read Hogwarts: a History to know every single rule that might apply."

"Umbridge just changes the rules she doesn't like," said Ron. "And Voldemort won't care."

Harry could not argue with that. Still, there was some reason why Voldemort sought to manipulate wizards like Bode and Podmore rather than doing his own dirty work, why Umbridge ensured that a Ministerial decree was handed down for every new policy.

"D'you want to go to the Three Broomsticks?" he asked. "Hermione's expecting me."

Ron gave him an appraising look. "Is she?" he said. "Think I'll pass. Have fun."

An interview with Rita Skeeter and Luna Lovegood was not exactly "fun," Harry discovered, but it was certainly preferable to Occlumency. In some ways, the difficulty of talking about Voldemort's rebirth head-on felt like a validation he had been closing his mind, if only to some painful subjects. But the more he spoke, the easier it became, until he was rushing to recall every detail he could think of—Pettigrew's silver hand, Barty Crouch killing his father, Voldemort desecrating his own father's grave. Whether these would make a coherent story, he couldn't say, but that was Rita's job.

And the next day, he got to go flying with Cho, which was a thrill—even if he spent somewhat more time looking at her than at the castle grounds from above, or admiring the speed of her Comet 260. He wanted to make conversation, but every way of phrasing "I just gave an interview to the magazine that publishes articles about Stubby Boardman and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks" felt immodest at best. On the one hand, she did not kiss him, but on the other, she wasn't crying.

Gryffindor narrowly defeated Hufflepuff at Quidditch; despite Ron's erratic Keeping, the twins were proficient enough with their Beating to interrupt the Hufflepuff Chasers' passes, and Harry was able to come up with the Snitch when the opposing Seeker was distracted by a sneeze. With two wins, this put them in the lead for the Quidditch Cup, but it would come down to their match in May against Ravenclaw—and Cho, Harry realized with a gulp.

Harry attempted to get into the habit of reading from Basic Defensive Theory aloud before he went to bed. The common room was right out as a location for this, and even in his dorms, he did not want to have to explain to Seamus what he was doing. Madam Pince, much as she appreciated independent study, found him too loud for the library. So he made a habit of returning to the Room of Requirement, which seemed to be decorated much the same as it had been for DA meetings. Maybe it remembered what form it had taken the last time it had been occupied. Or maybe it knew that, on some level, the DA and his attempts at learning Occlumency served the same purpose; trying to defend himself and his friends against Voldemort.

Unfortunately, not only was he not making progress with Snape, but it was not deepening his understanding of Umbridge's pedagogy. He had tried—mostly as an example to Lee and the others—not to deliberately talk back to her during lessons. So it caused him some trepidation when she asked him to stay after class.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ron and Hermione lingering by the door: not challenging her directly, but ready to support him if needed. His heart warmed at their presence, but he kept his face cool. "Is everything all right, Professor?"

Umbridge gave one of her treacly smiles. "Filch informs me that a great number of unidentified owls have attempted to reach you," she said. "Do you know anything about this?"

Would Percy have forgotten the PO Box? That was hardly likely. "Well, no," he said. "Seeing as how they're unidentified."

For a moment he feared he'd gone too far and was going to get detention, but Umbridge merely pulled out a piece of parchment from her desk. "Mr. Potter, your behavior is indicative of an attention-seeking brat at best and a deranged lunatic at worst. I fervently urge you to seek the attentions of the St. Mungo's Healers at your earliest convenience. Best regards, Ethelred Bridgemeister, Wolverhampton."

"Never met him," Harry said. "Friend of yours?"

"Or this," she continued. "Dear Harry, I find your bravery and honesty to be heroic. Please accept this photograph as a small token of the wizarding world's gratitude to you. With great admiration, Amanda Morrison, Kent."

"People have been calling me famous since I was a baby. I didn't do anything, just defeated Voldemort by accident."

"And what about this?" Umbridge displayed a large magazine with—Harry realized with a jolt—a picture of his own face, scarred and hair untidy, on the front cover. HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: it read. THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN.

"Oh," Harry said. That would explain the unknown mail—had Umbridge just admitted, offhandedly, that Filch was screening every owl into Hogwarts? Well, there was no point hiding the obvious truth. "I didn't know this had come out yet. I gave an interview about Voldemort's rebirth."

"When was this?"

"Last June," Harry said. "At the end of the Triwizard—"

"When was this disgrace of an 'interview' conducted?"

"Er...last Hogsmeade weekend."

Umbridge was fuming, her simper needing more than magic to stay on her face. "How disappointing. Fifty points from Gryffindor, and a week of detentions. We'll have to see if we can curtail your Hogsmeade visiting rights, too."

Harry was not particularly worried about his ability to visit Hogsmeade through legal means, nor the House Cup, but detention would be painful to his DA meeting schedule as well as his hand. He decided against asking for his mail. "All right," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Can I go?"

"For now," she said. "I expect you back here at eight."

Which raised the question of whether she expected her detentions to take priority over Snape's Occlumeny lessons. But that was a problem for the future. He shuffled out of the classroom, beckoned Ron and Hermione down the hall, and summarized the conversation.

"You can't even get fan mail?" Ron said. "What're you gonna do without some Kent lady's photograph?"

"They can send it along to Lockhart's ward," said Harry.

By the end of the day, a new Educational Decree had appeared on the walls; Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled. Harry intercepted Luna on her way to breakfast the next morning—as the daughter of the editor, she would surely be the first in line? But she only smiled. "The Asemia Charm is very useful. Perhaps we could practice it at our next study session."

This, Hermione quickly informed him, was a spell that would make written text appear as doodles or gibberish to anyone except the caster. Somehow, despite this never appearing in Flitwick's curriculum, half the school seemed to have learned it overnight. For while no one was expelled pursuant to Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven, students could be heard gossiping about Harry's revelations in the corners of the library, the lunch table, and the bathrooms.

The detentions were painful, but knowing how many people had read the interview and believed it—judging by the reactions of the professors, who could not directly express their opinion but found ways to award him anyway—was enough to make it bearable. It took several days before he had time to sneak back down to Hogsmeade, but there was a note from Percy already.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Your education is important and I hope you would do nothing to jeopardize it. I understand the High Inquisitor has expanded the list of contraband material, which is undoubtedly her prerogative. However, I find the decision to merely outlaw one low-quality tabloid troublesome—there are entire rows of books in the Restricted Section that pose far more inherent danger than any interview you could ever give! Such an ill-considered decision is no doubt due to the stresses and pressures Madam Umbridge faces, which surely do not leave her enough time to rigorously inspect the educational value of such resources to developing minds.

I happen to be aware that Madam Pince obtains many magical periodicals, whether that be the Gazzetta della ricerca alchemica or the New York Phoenix. If you ever find yourself needing to browse a publication without it being in your full-time possession, the library may be a useful resource.

Best regards,

Percy Weasley

Harry snorted—his classmates were a good deal quicker than that—but smiled nevertheless as he made his way back to the castle.

---

Harry had started teaching Patronuses to the D.A. members; Seamus, after reading the Quibbler interview, had joined Dean. Bursts of silver illuminated the Room of Requirement, and a few of them even took clear shapes. Hermione, despite claiming that Harry was the real Defense ace, had produced a playful otter that looped around her.

But then Dobby burst in, struggling to articulate a dire warning. Harry puzzled out that Umbridge had, somehow, learned of their meetings, and quickly told the group to scatter, while ordering Dobby to return to the kitchens without punishing himself. The Room of Requirement vanished behind him as he raced towards the bathroom. He would say he'd been in there the whole time...maybe testing one of the Weasley twins' new products…

But a Trip Jinx knocked him over. When he gathered himself, Malfoy had a smug smile, and Umbridge was almost beaming. "Check the bathrooms," she ordered, "and the library. And you are coming with me to the Headmaster's office."

Harry was not surprised to find Dumbledore calmly sitting behind his desk, looking as if nothing was wrong. But he was surprised that the office was full. McGonagall looked tense, Kingsley Shacklebolt and another man stood next to the door almost like guards, and Cornelius Fudge himself smiled contentedly by the fire. And on top of that, Percy was standing at attention against a side wall, a quill and parchment in his hand. He raised his eyebrows at Harry, but did not speak.

"Potter," said the Minister. "I suppose you know why you are here?"

Harry was ready to answer "yes"—if he was to be expelled, he would at least have the satisfaction of telling Umbridge and Fudge, to their faces, exactly what he thought of them. But Dumbledore caught his eye and gave a tiny shake of his head. Dubious, but curious, Harry played along. "No, sir."

Fudge continued to press Harry, Harry continued to play the fool, Dumbledore winked, and Percy scribbled everything down. "Perhaps I ought to fetch our informant," Umbridge finally interjected.

"Jolly good," said Fudge. "There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?"

"Not at all," said Dumbledore.

Umbridge hurried out of the office. A few minutes later, she returned. Marietta Edgecombe was with her, clutching her face in her hands.

"There's nothing to be scared of, dear," said Umbridge. "The Minister will be very proud of you. Go on, tell him what you know."

Marietta attempted to glance up at the Minister, but the brief glimpse of her face revealed that her forehead had broken out in a pattern of unpleasant purple pustules that spelled the word SNEAK across her face. She wailed, and buried her head in her robes.

"All right, then," said Umbridge impatiently, and began relaying how Marietta had come to her office and announced the location and time of the meeting. When Marietta refused to elaborate, Umbridge continued by mentioning a message she had sent Fudge early in the year, about the D.A.'s preliminary meeting in the Hog's Head. This, it transpired, was knowledge she had gleaned from Willy Widdershins, who had subsequently had the toilet-hexing charges against him dropped. McGonagall, and some of the portraits on the wall, raged against this, but Dumbledore hushed them.

"As I was saying," Umbridge went on, "Potter invited these students in order to teach them dangerous and age-inappropriate curses, forming an illegal student society—"

Percy cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. "Madam Inquisitor?"

Umbridge, who seemed to have forgotten Percy was there, looked over at him. "What?"

"When did this meeting take place?"

"In October," she said.

"When precisely?"

"You have the notes," she said. "What does it matter?"

Percy unrolled another parchment. "Your original report claims the meeting in the Hog's Head took place on October 5, a Saturday."

"Yes," said Umbridge, "when they would have been at Hogsmeade."

"But Educational Decree Twenty-four was not issued until the 7th of October. So any meeting they had held would not, at the time, have been illegal. Ministry decrees are not typically enforced ex post facto."

Harry caught another, brief, smile from Dumbledore, as Umbridge sighed. "Very well," she said. "But any subsequent meetings certainly would have been."

"Absolutely," said Percy, bobbing his head.

"Quite so," said Dumbledore, "if there had been any subsequent meetings. Do you have any evidence that these meetings continued?"

"Well," said Umbridge. "Miss Edgecombe?"

This, Harry thought, was a dead end. And yet, when prompted, Marietta shook her head. When McGonagall asked her to confirm that there had been no secret meetings, she nodded, to Umbridge's increasing dismay.

"Well, usually when a person shakes their head," McGonagall said, "they mean 'no.' So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign language as yet unknown to humans—"

Umbridge in a rage, seized Marietta's robes. A moment later, she fell back, her arms shaking. Dumbledore had stepped towards her, his wand raised, and Kingsley had approached from the door.

Umbridge glanced down at herself, then up at Dumbledore. It was then that Harry saw her wand floating near the wall; a silent charm had disarmed her.

"Miss Edgecombe behaved very gallantly bringing this meeting to our attention, and is clearly greatly agitated," said Percy, in a clipped voice. "It would be improper to harass her."

Dumbledore had no time for such niceties. "I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores," he said, looking angry for the first time.

Umbridge gathered herself, and Percy gingerly handed over her wand. Marietta remained still, having not seemed to take in Umbridge's attack nor Percy's praise.

"Dolores," Fudge said. "The meeting tonight?"

"Yes," said Umbridge. "A trusted student was able to re-enter the Room of Requirement after these miscreants had scattered, and produced this." She handed Fudge the list of names that had been pinned on the wall, and Harry's heart sank again.

"Merlin's beard," said the Minister. "Dumbledore's Army?"

Dumbledore, radiating no surprise, gently reached for the parchment. He looked up and down the list of names, paused, and then crumpled it in his hand. "Well, the game is up," he said, and smiled. "Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius, or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?"

McGonagall and Kingsley looked at each other, both nervous. "Statement?" Fudge echoed.

"Dumbledore's Army," the headmaster repeated. "Not Potter's Army; Dumbledore's Army."

And as Fudge interrogated him, Dumbledore confessed—with pride—to having recruited students to a subversive organization in order to destabilize Fudge's Ministry. Harry realized, too late, what he was trying to do, but when he tried to protest, McGonagall glared at him and Dumbledore merely chided him.

"It's like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon," Dumbledore summarized.

"Weasley!" Fudge cried. Harry supposed this a sign of progress that he was no longer referring to "Weatherby." "Have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?"

"Yes, sir!" said Percy excitedly. "Every word!"

"Very good! Duplicate the notes and send it to the press at once."

"Yes, sir," he said. "Every reputable outlet!"

As Percy dashed from the room, Harry almost thought he saw Dumbledore wink at him. Given how Dumbledore had reacted to everything else that evening, it would hardly be the strangest occurrence.

To Harry's relief, Dumbledore refused to be taken into custody, and with a bolt of sound and light, singlehandedly stunned Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley, and the other Auror, while McGonagall flung herself at Marietta and Harry to keep them out of the fray. Before Harry could apologize to Dumbledore, the headmaster spoke briefly about the need for his Occlumency lessons, then followed Fawkes out of the castle.

Umbridge and the Ministry men came to only moments later. Dawlish, Kingsley, and Umbridge raced to the stairs, assuming that Dumbledore had fled on foot, while Fudge waited a few moments to regain his composure and sneer at McGonagall before leaving.

As McGonagall was ushering Harry, and a dazed Minerva, out of the room, they ran into Percy, who was panting after having sprinted from the tower. "Minister?"

"Minister Fudge is indisposed," said McGonagall, icily. "You will no doubt be disappointed to know that the headmaster has turned abscotchalater rather than be taken to Azkaban."

Percy glanced around the corridors, then said, "I would expect nothing less from such a dissident."

"Miss Edgecombe, as you can see, is unwell. Would it be beneath your position to escort her to the hospital wing?"

"Of course not!" Percy snapped. "Er—come along, then."

Marietta shuffled after him, and Harry caught Percy's eye. Who are you? he wanted to ask. Do you stand with your family, deep down? Or are you just as blinded by rules as Umbridge is, even if you follow them to different ends?

But Percy only said "Stay safe, Harry."

Harry nodded, and glanced back at the crumpled parchment now lying on Dumbledore's desk. The headmaster's authority could not keep him safe at Hogwarts, and the Ministry were no use. But laws or no laws, he had friends he could trust. That would have to be enough.