"I don't like this," he muttered to himself. Ranone's last order, Come alone, weighed more and more heavily upon his mind. Why isn't she meeting me in a Ministry office, like a normal witch?
Still, Harry didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He swooped about the block once or twice more. A breeze was picking up, and the flying was becoming quite pleasant. Harry reluctantly dove to the ground, out of sight of the coffeehouse's parking lot. He reached around his broom and undid the safety pins that held the two edges of the invisibility cloak fastened together. He felt a moment of awkwardness as he leapt to the ground and straightened, a feeling of heavy wrongness in his legs that always happened after flying. He paced a few steps, shaking out his legs, before bundling his Firebolt in the cloak and lying it on the ground flat against the wall.
Harry walked to the door but hesitated with his hand on the handle. Through the glass he could see that the Neo Café, as always, had good business. He relaxed slightly. This was a public place, after all, and therefore probably the safest place to meet. But he wondered how he could find Laura Ranone among the many patrons in the house. That's all right, she'll probably recognize me, he thought dryly, remembering his first day in Diagon Alley with Hagrid. Even so, for the first time he brushed his hair aside and checked his reflection to make sure his scar was visible.
The rich aroma of coffee greeted Harry as he stepped inside. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked about uncertainly. Many of the people were here alone, so even though half the tables were filled, the café was very quiet. Only a couple low conversations and the sound of customers placing their orders reached Harry's ears. He glanced at the counter, where a short line was forming. The woman at the end, with her brown hair pulled back into a bun, turned her head and scanned the room. Harry saw that she wore a pair of small, very fashionable glasses. Suddenly, he realized that her eyes had stopped on his. She gave a tiny nod, throwing the inevitable glance to his forehead. Harry walked to stand beside her as nonchalantly as he could.
"Harry?"
"Yes," he replied quietly, trying not to fidget.
She smiled, extending her hand. "I'm Laura Ranone. It's nice to finally meet you. I hope this isn't too inconvenient."
Harry did a faint double-take as he took her hand. Her voice was warm and pleasant, not at all what he had expected (even though he didn't really know what he had expected). It contrasted sharply to the briskness of her grip. "Oh, no. No, it's okay."
"Can I help you?" asked the boy behind the counter, as though reciting a mantra.
Laura Ranone gave the board menu a quick examination before telling the young man, "Decaf and the Caesar salad, please." She reached into her small purse. "What about you, Harry, do you want anything?"
"Oh," said Harry, once again caught off guard. He dug into his pocket, slightly embarrassed. "No, I mean, I can...I have--"
"Don't worry about it," she said with a friendly laugh that instantly put Harry at ease, in spite of himself. "I arranged to have us meet here, after all."
"Oh, well..." Harry withdrew his hand. He had brought along a few pounds to buy breakfast, but he didn't have nearly as many pounds as he did Galleons, and he was starving. "If you don't mind."
"Of course not. Anything you want."
Harry ordered a ham croissant and orange juice. He watched with faint surprise as the witch paid the cashier and thanked him with practiced smoothness. She must be Muggle-born, he thought as they walked away from the counter with their food. "Thanks, Ms. Ranone."
"Laura," she corrected him lightly, "and you're welcome."
By the time they sat down at a table in the corner, Harry had already decided that he liked her. His stomach growled painfully. He took a bite of his croissant, which tasted wonderful, and waited for Laura to speak as she took a sip of her coffee. Instead, the lawyer surprised him once again. "Well, I'm sure you've got a lot of questions," she said conversationally. "I do, too. But you first."
Harry blinked and took a sip of his own drink to buy himself a moment of time. "Um, well...." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "I don't know where to start. Why'd you want to meet me here? I thought you would want to be in your office at the Ministry or something...you know, where you could use magic."
Laura smiled again, but this time the expression held a hint of dryness. "I thought that perhaps your...relatives..." the emphasis she placed on that word told Harry that Dumbledore had indeed told her everything about the Dursleys, "would be more comfortable with your meeting in a Muggle location."
"Ah." Harry's mouth twitched. "They don't know that I'm here."
Laura's mouth twitched in return, and Harry decided that he definitely liked her. He took the opportunity to study her more closely as she mixed her salad and took a bite. She was a young woman, perhaps Sirius's or Rysk's age, with strong but pleasant features and brown eyes. Harry fought a frown, wondering where he had seen those eyes before, then felt a flash of uneasiness as he remembered: Paul Ranone. He was suddenly burning to know how she was related to the Death Eater.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Harry," she began, leaning forward slightly, "this isn't going to be an easy trial to win."
"No," he agreed quietly in a voice full of meaning, "We already have several strikes against us."
Laura Ranone paused and studied him. "Tell me what you know already," she said mildly, folding her hands.
Harry hesitated. He didn't want to offend her, but her relaxed demeanor and the professionalism he sensed beneath it seemed to indicate that she would not take anything personally. "Well...there's me, for one thing." Laura raised her eyebrows slightly. Harry suddenly heard himself say in a reprimanding voice, "Don't look so surprised; you know Fudge doesn't like me."
The lawyer's eyebrows shot up further before she flashed an apologetic smile. "And do you know why?"
"I shattered his little world of complacency?" returned Harry, lifting his glass to his lips.
"Very good," she laughed, sounding ironically delighted. "You're going to be an excellent witness. What else?"
Harry looked down at his plate and picked little flakes off of the croissant. "There's you." He swiped his tongue over his lips nervously before looking up to gauge her reaction. He mentally winced as a quick, subtle tightening of her jaw darkened her face. Then it cleared but Harry was wary once again, sensing that this discussion had begun in earnest.
"There's me," she agreed calmly, nodding.
"I'm sorry--" started Harry, but Laura Ranone cut him off with a wave.
"Don't be sorry; facts are facts. So. We, the defense, face the opposition of the Minister of Magic, its ace witness is someone whom Rita Skeeter has slandered--"
"So you read the Daily Prophet, too."
"--and its attorney is a Squib."
"What?!" Harry caught himself only just in time and lowered his yelp to a whisper, and the result was something between a hiss and a squeak. He nearly slapped his hand over his mouth an instant later, ashamed of his reaction.
"Yes, but I make sure to note who's writing the article, and didn't you know?"
"I...I meant that you were related to...to that Death Eater, Paul Ranone..." he stammered, desperately hoping that he hadn't offended her.
Laura reached for her coffee, using Harry's earlier tactic of getting one's bearings. "I am his sister," she replied evenly, putting down her cup with a soft clink on the glass table top. "His older sister."
"I see." Harry thought of Percy in Azkaban and squashed the ridiculous urge to say, I'm sorry. He picked up his sandwich and took another bite, reducing it to less than half. His chewing sounded loud in the awkward silence. Thankfully, Laura filled it so tactfully that it was as though it had never been.
"But while we're on the subject of the Death Eater, tell me: you're testifying for my client. Why?"
"He's my friend," said Harry without thinking.
"I can't work off of that, Harry; give me something else."
Harry clenched his teeth, having to hold back sudden anger. "Because he's not guilty of being a Death Eater; he doesn't have a bloody tattoo on his arm; he didn't know what he was doing! And he's not guilty of aiding Vol--You-Know-Who. Not on purpose." He hesitated, not sure if it would be wise to add that if this case were lost, then Fudge would win. McGonagall's terse words echoed through his mind: "We must win this trial, Potter. Do you understand? Percy Weasley must not be found guilty."
He was suddenly aware of an edge in Laura Ranone's gaze, an unsettling calculation reminiscent of both Dumbledore and Carmen Rysk. It disappeared a heartbeat later.
Harry shut his mouth and reached for his orange juice.
"All right then," she said, apparently satisfied, "We can work with that. You realize that Percy Weasley faces a long list of charges. Breaking and entering, for instance." Her mouth twitched dryly. "I'm afraid the best we can hope for is an acquittal on the charge of being a Death Eater. Possibly on the one of knowingly aiding Vol--You-Know-Who."
Harry blinked, feeling as though he had been verbally winked at. "I can get him acquitted there," he said fiercely.
Laura tilted her head, then reached into her purse and pulled out a ballpoint pen and a notebook that was at least twice the size of the little handbag. Harry opened his mouth silently in confusion. The older woman saw it and explained lightly, "You don't have to be a witch to use pre-Charmed objects."
"Oh."
"I'm going to be using shorthand, so don't worry about going too fast. Tell me." She leaned forward, pen poised. Harry felt as though he were sitting in the broom closet with Rita Skeeter once again, and yet not. Laura was everything that the ridiculous reporter was not; her face was cleanly made-up and open and honest; the small blue mark she had made on the paper was a sharp contrast to Skeeter's self-writing, lying green ink.
He began recounting in a low voice how he had been walking down the stairs that night, the night everything had started, when he had begun to discover Rysk's past and Snape's torment and so much more he never wanted to know, when he had heard a sound from behind him (he decided it was best to leave out the pain in his scar) and turned, still standing in the middle of the flight of stairs, and seen--he faltered.
The ballpoint pen, which had been flying furiously but with complete precision, also halted. The lawyer raised her head. "Go on," she said quietly, watching with her brown eyes, "What did Paul do?"
Harry stared at her for a moment, feeling new respect. Something in the way she said his name so steadily was heartbreaking; perhaps the glimmer of anguish in her expression or voice.
"I didn't recognize him at first," he continued, hearing sympathy change and soften his tone subtly, "but he...Ranone...he was standing at the top," he gestured, "and--"
"Recognize him?" she interrupted sharply, "You met him before?"
"Once. A couple months before that...he was with another wizard from the Ministry. They wanted to talk to Dumbledore about something." She nodded slowly, relaxing and scribbling those words down. "Anyway, he threw the disarming hex at me." He paused for a moment, wondering if a Squib would know what that was. She seemed unfazed, and so he went on. "I tried to get my wand back. With Accio. You know, the dueling method--"
"Yes, I know."
"Okay. Well, it fell down the side of the stairs and then I saw Percy. He...he was shouting something like, 'What are you doing?'. Then he just came flying at Ranone from the side and knocked him down."
"You saw all this? You heard all this?"
"Yes."
"What happened next?"
Harry sighed, remembering. "I don't know after that. I ran to get my wand but I got stunned before I even made it down the rest of the way."
"And not by my client," said Laura, sounding excited but still careful, "Someone will testify that he was found unconscious."
Harry glanced down at her notebook. It was filled with what looked to him like illegible scribbles, with a few recognizable letters standing out. "Can you really read that?"
The other followed his gaze and chuckled. "Looks like another language, doesn't it? Don't worry, I could read it in my sleep. In any case, this is excellent, this is really very excellent. I think you're right; we have a chance at getting him cleared of the two most serious charges. It should be enough to keep him out of Azkaban."
"Keep him out?" echoed Harry, feeling surprised but pleased. "There's another jail."
"Oh, yes. Similar to the Muggle types." Her voice hardened for a moment. "Something that doesn't involve the sadistic torture of a living death." Harry dropped his gaze downwards. Laura gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry. I've never agreed with the use of Dementors."
Oh, if only you knew, thought Harry darkly, thinking of the Summoning ritual Voldemort was no doubt performing right this instant. He fought a shudder as the image of a thousand black cloaks draped over rotting corpses flooded through London and into his room, a hood falling back to reveal only a gaping, shriveled, screaming mouth with the impossible power to extinguish his soul, his will, his...
"Harry?"
He started and looked up into Laura's concerned face. The lawyer reached across the table and laid her hand over his, a familiar gesture that would have made him uncomfortable had it come from anyone but her. Somewhere in the back of his mind Harry wondered at her ability to become an instant friend. "Are you all right? You went pale."
He shook his head. "I'm fine."
"All right," she said, the line between her brows slow to disappear as she drew back. She reached up to tuck a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "There are a lot of things to get planned out, and not a lot of time, but you've given me new information. I'm going to go back to plan things out, then we'll need to meet again." She began putting her things away.
"When is the trial going to be?" said Harry, draining the last of his orange juice and collecting himself.
"It's set tentatively for the middle of July. I don't have an exact date yet. Either that or they're just not telling me," she added with a telltale hint of ire. "In any case, I'll be in touch." Harry took this as a cue to go and pushed his chair back. Laura Ranone rose with him.
"Um, thanks for the breakfast."
"Don't mention it," she said with a wave, giving him her most winning smile yet. Harry smiled back and moved past her to leave. Suddenly, just as he brushed her shoulder, something finally caught up with his mind: Ron and his family. He swung back around.
"Oh...! Ms. Ra--Laura," he exclaimed, more abruptly than he had intended, "Do you...do you know anything about Ron? He's Percy's younger brother."
Laura raised her eyebrows. "Ron Weasley? Only that there was an attempt on his life...nothing else."
"You don't know who tried it? Why?"
She pursed her lips. "I wish I did. It's frightening, really. If I find anything out, I'll let you know, but..."
"Thanks," said Harry quickly, berating himself for an idiot. If Dumbledore was not entirely sure of Ron's situation (or at least, that was what he said), than it was doubtful that a lawyer who was being used only as a pawn in a game of greater powers would know a thing.
But as he walked out into the parking lot of the Neo Café, where the late morning sunlight glinted off of the cars, he was still bothered by how Laura Ranone's eyes had flashed at the mention of Ron's name.