Vibrating Strings Chapter 10
They sat in a semi-circle beneath the great statue of Salazar Slytherin; Hermione reached into her pocket and carefully positioned three runestones that she had prepared.
"Now," she nodded to Harry, "place the knife atop the stones, and the runes will light and form a name. But we'll have to do the spell three times."
"Why?" Daphne inquired.
Harry grimaced. "Once will be Neville, once will be the idiot auror who originally placed the knife in the evidence room. And the last spell will reveal the killer."
Hermione nodded, Harry did as she bade him, the runes glowed, and displayed the name John Dawlish.
"Auror," grunted Harry.
The next name was that of Neville Longbottom.
The trio exchanged a long look and braced themselves, leaning forward eagerly.
"This will be the one," Hermione breathed.
One final time, letters began to form in the air above.
Daphne gasped. Beside her, Harry went rigid as his face drained of color; for an instant he failed to breathe.
Hermione turned away and vomited on the cold stone floor.
Daphne never knew how long they crouched there. Instinctively she reached out to Harry, but he was frozen in place. Her arms dropped; embracing him would not help with this.
Hermione began shaking and sobbing, and Harry roused enough to vanish the mess with a simple wave of his hand.
"What…" Daphne faltered but tried again. "What should we do?"
Harry gave her a look of disbelief. "Nothing's changed. Our priority is Neville!"
Hermione whimpered, and he turned his attention to her. "All right?"
"How can I be? I'll never be all right!"
Harry's face tightened into grim determination; Daphne thought he must have looked like that when he faced Voldemort.
"Never is a long time, Hermione. We need to go!"
Hermione still couldn't speak, so Daphne did. "Where?"
"The Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt."
"No, Harry! First we need to talk to…"
He cut her off. "Neville takes priority…and his trial is tomorrow! Let's go!"
Hermione could scarcely stand, but she'd stopped arguing.
Harry put a comforting arm around her, and Daphne felt a flash of jealousy.
"Kreacher! Winky! Binty!
Three house elves popped in.
"Take us home, " Harry ordered.
The house in which they stood was very dark, with peeling wallpaper and tattered drapes, but Daphne took note that it was spotlessly clean.
She caught Harry's eye. "Renovating," he said by way of explanation.
She nodded; she could see the proportions of the house were superb…a Georgian townhouse, right in London! She wondered how Harry could afford it, even in its current decrepit state. Then she remembered that the Potters were reputed to be well off.
She shook her head. She was here to help Harry and Hermione, not to ponder home decor. Daphne followed the others into the kitchen,and took a gulp of the steaming chocolate one of the elves placed before her.
"Did you…?"
"I called Kingsley, he'll be here soon."
Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, glared at the three teens seated in front of him.
"You realize that a stunt like this could land you in Azkaban?"
"Where Neville might be sent if we did nothing?" Harry returned. "Look, Shack, I know it wasn't the best recourse, but we didn't know what else to try. We only wanted to save Neville!"
"And my sister," interposed Daphne, annoyed that everyone else seemed to be disregarding Astoria.
Kingsley's anger faded as their misery registered.
"Right, I can understand that. It's true that some of the old family votes on the Wizengamot will be eager to find any excuse to convict the famous Snake-Slayer. But this was not the way to proceed! Now give me the knife; I'll return it to the evidence room before anyone notices it's missing!"
"And?" prompted Daphne softly, seeing that Neither Harry nor Hermione wanted to speak.
The Minister nodded slowly. "The trial is tomorrow. We need a strategy."
Harry's eyes were resolute. "I believe I have one."
Harry donned the plum robes of the Wizengamot for only the second time in his life.
The first had been his investiture, when he'd taken the hereditary seat belonging to the House of Black. That crest, along with the Potter and Peverell crests, now ornamented his robes.
Neville looked pale, but Harry was glad to note he held his head up. For just one moment, his eyes met Harry's, and brightened just a trifle.
The Chief Witch, Augusta Longbottom, had been recused for the trial. That formidable lady had had much experience in handling adversity, but a slight tremble of her mouth showed her distress.
Astoria Greengrass was seated in the witness chair; all of her father's influence had not been enough to keep her from having to testify, and he was rigid with anger.
Daphne's eyes were fixed on her sister, while beside her Hermione just looked sickened.
The Weasleys filed in together and sat in the first row. They looked somber, all except Ron, who trained an ugly glare at Astoria.
Kingsley took his seat, and the trial began.