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Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent
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Chapter Thirty
Trials
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The train swayed gently as it moved through the verdant countryside. It was a beautiful late-May day, with a cloudless periwinkle-blue sky, and not a plant anywhere in sight that wasn't green or blooming. It seemed a shame, Harry thought, to waste a day like this by going into grimy London. He would have liked to lounge about on the grass by the lake during lunch, perhaps getting some sun, lazily watching the ripples on the water made by the giant squid. That was his idea of how to spend a gorgeous spring day.
Harry leaned back in his seat, watching the scenery rush by. Hermione was sleeping with her head on his thigh; he played idly with her curls. Her hair was getting longer and threatening to be rather on the bushy side again. After he'd had his hair cut by Parvati, she'd also been getting Parvati to cut her hair when necessary, but she recently stopped. Parvati wouldn't tell Hermione why. The short-curls-style seemed to be the only way to combat the bushiness without impregnating her hair with gooey gel, as she had for the Yule Ball.
Harry combed her lengthening curls through his fingers. He'd never minded her bushy hair, truthfully. He liked that she mostly didn't care about how she looked and still managed to look wonderful. The only real vanity he'd detected was when she'd let Madam Pomfrey go on shrinking her teeth after the spell Malfoy had been aiming at Harry hit her instead and started making her resemble a walrus on steroids. On the other hand, he knew it was also quite inconvenient and painful to have orthodontia, so perhaps it wasn't vanity that had led her to do it.
She shifted slightly and mumbled in her sleep. Harry smiled at her; he'd forgotten how nice it was to watch her sleep. He also was glad that they could be as physically comfortable with each other as they liked (within reason), now that others knew about them. He could sit with her head on his leg while one of his hands played with her hair and the other rubbed her back gently. They could sit in the common room, Hermione in an armchair, reciting potions ingredients from memory or the different uses of St. John's wort for Herbology, while Harry leaned against the front of her chair to give her a foot rub.
He wasn't clear about who knew about the extent of their physical relationship (though there had only been the two times). Once he thought he saw George and Angelina giving them a knowing look. He knew about them, Harry thought. They probably recognized the signs, he reckoned.
When the train went going through a tunnel Harry looked up and met Ron's eye. He sat opposite Harry and Hermione, nearest the window. Draco Malfoy was nearest the door to the compartment and Ginny sat between them. Ron had tried to get between her and Malfoy when they'd boarded, but he wasn't fast enough. Ginny was also asleep, leaning against Malfoy's chest, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. They'd risen quite early, at two o'clock, to board the two-thirty local to King's Cross Station. The express only ran on September first, the last day of summer term, and to get students to and from home for the Christmas and Easter holidays. The Knight Bus wasn't everyone's cup of tea; many found it too jarring. The other option for wizards who needed to reach London or points in between in the morning but who couldn't Apparate, or who were traveling with someone who couldn't, such as small children, was to get the early train. It made a number of stops, so the trip to London took seven hours instead of six, as on the express. For some the ride was even longer, if they boarded before Hogwarts, up by the northern coast. Harry learned that there was even a wizarding ferry one could take from the end of the train line to Orkney.
Harry was tired at first, leaning back and closing his eyes while Hermione stretched out on the seat, but by dawn, he felt he'd rested enough. He anxiously watched the witches and wizards who boarded and disembarked from the train. He'd had the opportunity to see more of the wizarding world at the ceilidh, and the year before, at the Quidditch World Cup, and now he was seeing still more. Families traveling together, witches and wizards going to visit relatives. And soon they would arrive in London and go to the Ministry of Magic. Harry had no idea what the Ministry would be like.
"Ron," he said quietly, so as not to disturb Ginny or Hermione. Ron didn't answer, though he seemed to be looking right at Harry. "Ron?" he said again. When he abruptly moved his eyes up to Harry's, he realized that Ron had been watching Hermione sleep.
"Oh, Harry. What?"
"Has your dad ever taken you to work?"
He shook his head. "Nah. Normally he Apparates, so I couldn't have gone with him that way. And dad said the fireplaces at the Ministry aren't on the Floo network for security reasons, so that isn't an option. They're just used for communication."
"Well, it's in London, right?"
"Right."
"So couldn't you just go by Floo powder to Diagon Alley, then go from there to the Ministry?"
Ron looked thoughtful. "Well, for that matter, it isn't like we live in Orkney, or northern Scotland. I think he just didn't want to take us."
"Yeah, well, who would want a pack of Weasleys running around the Ministry?" Malfoy sneered. "Apart from Ginny, of course."
"Keep it up, Malfoy. That's the way to get accepted by my family. Bloody brilliant."
Harry thought about why Mr. Weasley might not want his children wandering around the Ministry, but he couldn't think of anything. Every time a question about the wizarding world was answered for him it seemed he had several more to take its place.
"You ever been there?" Harry asked Malfoy, who looked surprised at being addressed by Harry. He shook his head dumbly.
"No, Potter. My father—well, let's just say he may have had Ministry business at times, but he certainly never wanted me there for it. He knows a lot of high-ranking people, but—"
Harry frowned. He remembered Malfoy bragging that his dad knew all of the big movers and shakers at the Ministry. Would they try to get him off? Or perhaps they were running scared now, hoping they weren't associated with him in any way so they wouldn't also be under suspicion. If his own son was any indication, Lucius Malfoy didn't inspire selfless acts of loyalty. "You reckon he was seeing people who work for the Ministry who're Death Eaters?"
Malfoy shrugged. "Who knows? Could be he was just threatening or blackmailing someone to get them to do what he wanted. I overheard some things at home when I was younger, but it was usually luck. He never actually let me in on something big he was up to until after he took me to get—you know."
The Dark Mark. Harry nodded. Ron looked at him. "Has—has Ginny seen it?" he asked quietly. Malfoy shook his head.
"Have I seen what?" Ginny mumbled sleepily, starting to sit up and stretch.
"Um, nothing," Harry said quickly. Malfoy drew his lips into a line, looking like he didn't want Harry's help.
"Are we there yet?" Ginny asked, yawning.
Ron looked out the window. "No idea. How long's it been, Harry?"
Harry checked his watch. "It's nine. Dumbledore said seven hours on the train, so it'll be another half hour."
Dumbledore and Moody rode in another compartment. The headmaster had given the former Auror permission to cancel his lessons for the day. Harry wondered how many years Moody had wanted to get the goods on Lucius Malfoy. He would not want to miss the trial where Malfoy's own son would testify against him.
They sat quietly for the rest of the trip, Hermione still sleeping on Harry's lap. Ginny had taken Ron's hand in her right and Malfoy's in her left and grasped them firmly, clearly trying to send some of her strength into them. This day would be hardest for them. Harry wasn't sure what he would be asked, but surely it couldn't be as bad for him.
As they pulled into King's Cross Station, Harry gently woke Hermione. She sat up groggily, as Ginny had, smiling at Harry and kissing him on the cheek. He tried to smile back but all he could manage was a grim, worried look. Dumbledore appeared at the door to their compartment wordlessly, Moody behind him. They followed the professors unquestioningly, not having the least idea what to expect, except for Harry, who had at least seen the trials in Dumbledore's Pensieve.
They went through the barrier, emerging in the Muggle part of the station in pairs, except for Moody, who went last. Moody and Dumbledore had not bothered with Muggle clothes, wearing traveling cloaks that didn't look too outlandish and disguised their robes well. Harry, Ron and Malfoy wore black trousers with neat button-down shirts, Harry's black, Ron's maroon and Malfoy's white linen. The girls wore the dresses they'd used for the ceilidh, Hermione's bottle green, Ginny's black. They carried bags with their black Hogwarts robes, so they'd be properly attired for wizard court.
As they proceeded to the King's Cross/St. Pancras tube station Harry was surprised that they didn't attract more attention. He kept waiting for people to stare and point, as if they could recognize witches and wizards even in Muggle clothes, but the Muggles passed without looking them. Dumbledore gave them Muggle money for the fare. Ron and Malfoy stared at theirs but Ginny didn't bat an eye, and Harry recalled that she was taking Muggle Studies. They waited quietly on the platform, morning commuters bustling around them. When the Brixton train came they boarded.
One station after another passed; Harry gazed listlessly out the window. Euston. Warren Street. Oxford Circus. Green Park…
Suddenly Hermione grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. "Come on, Harry. Didn't you hear Dumbledore say we're switching trains here? We have to go from the Victoria Line to the Jubilee Line." He stumbled after her, just missing being mashed by the closing doors. They walked to the platform for the Jubilee Line, and when the crowded train arrived had to stand.
Several dozen American students around thirteen to sixteen years in age were crammed onto their car, one of their teachers lecturing to them loudly and non-stop about the history of the tube. She was about thirty, with that air of a slightly desperate single woman wondering how she'd become trapped in this life. Her light brown hair was escaping from a sloppy French twist barely held in place by a large plastic clip, she paused every sentence or so to put eye drops in her eyes (it mostly ran down her face, making her look as if she'd been crying) and her clothes seemed chosen to help her blend in with her students, who affected a grunge look, with lots of muddy-colored plaid shirts hanging on either anorexic or overweight frames. Only her didactic tone identified her as a teacher, and one who was alien to their culture. Harry had quickly pegged her accent as some kind of Southern American strain, having seen a number of American films, whereas the students' voices were flat and nasal, though sometimes a little sing-song.
"I think they're from Minnesota or Wisconsin," Hermione whispered. He nodded.
"Not the teacher, though," he whispered back. "She's Southern."
Hermione agreed, but didn't have an idea about a specific Southern state any more than he did. Harry noticed Ron, Ginny and Malfoy glancing with interest at the American students. Not only were they Muggles, they came from a different country. The three looked like they thought anything might happen, sharing a train with such aliens.
"Now everybody stay together as we disembark from the train," the teacher drawled to her students. Her small voice carried surprisingly well, but Harry noticed that most of her charges ignored her, carrying on animated conversations with each other about musical groups and who-liked-who, like normal teenagers. Normal, Harry thought. What's normal?
"We," she went on, "will be getting off," many giggles from the students—and Malfoy— "at Westminster, home of Parliament. Parliament consists of two houses. What are the two houses? Anybody? Anybody? Anybody?" Harry's heart had leapt into his throat. Westminster. He hadn't realized that switching trains had put them on the same line as Westminster.
The students continued to ignore their teacher. "The House of—" she prompted them, drawing out the "of" until it almost sounded like she was singing it. "Commons," she finally said, also drawing that out, as if she would be willing to give someone partial credit for the answer even after she had begun to pronounce the word. "And the House of—anybody? Anybody?" She looked round at the oblivious, chattering, walking hormone bombs. "The House of Lords," she said loudly, trying to drown out twenty different conversations and failing. "Now, the notion of a majority whip and minority whip in our government comes from the British Parliament. Can anybody tell me which party is in the majority and which in the minority right now?" She looked round at them again. They obviously didn't care a bit about British government. Harry remembered his days in school before going to Hogwarts. In his experience, British children didn't care either. "Anybody? Anybody? Does anybody know who the Prime Minister is? Anybody? Anybody?"
She was becoming so pathetic that Harry felt it was painful to watch. The train began to decelerate, and with a jerk, it stopped. The teacher had to shift gears and become a sort of shrill border collie, herding the students out of the train and making certain that no one was left behind.
As dozens of bodies shuffled toward the door in Doc Martens and holey canvas trainers, Dumbledore nodded at them and said simply, "Come on." Harry swallowed. They were leaving at Westminster too.
Harry stepped through the doors, onto the platform. The American teacher and her students moved toward the exit while she bellowed directions and periodically quizzed them about British government. As the noise from their large party receded (the repetitions of "Anybody? Anybody?" grew softer and softer) Harry looked around. There was the sign saying WESTMINSTER, just like in his dream. There was what looked like new tile on the ceiling and walls, and there—
"Oh, Harry," Hermione breathed. He nodded, walking toward it. He started to put his hand out to touch it, then pulled back. He swallowed painfully, remembering the people who had died there. Others were daily remembering them too; the spot had turned into a small shrine. There were flowers, some rather old now; photographs of people who had been killed, many of them children. The thing that broke his heart was the stuffed rabbit someone had left. Hermione picked it up, looking at it, tears in her eyes, before she replaced it.
Harry leaned closer to the wall and saw that there was what looked like paint applied over the tiles, and it appeared that the green legend POTTER was applied on top of the paint. "The paint is new," growled Moody. "But then, so's the tile. They've tried everything. New tile, new paint, everything but taking the wall down completely, and every time, that reappears, like—well, like magic."
So, Harry thought, it wasn't that the Muggles hadn't tried to eradicate it. Voldemort had seen to it that the green POTTER would continue to reassert itself no matter what.
"So why don't they just take the wall down?" he whispered.
"We don't want them to," Dumbledore said softly. "Every time it's suggested, we subtly get everyone involved to forget about it."
Harry frowned. "Why?"
Dumbledore seemed to ignore him. "Now," the headmaster said, looking around the platform. No one had yet arrived to wait for the next train. "Ron and Ginny, you go first. Walk toward the wall at a normal pace. Don't slow down, and don't tense up. We'll shield you. Go on."
Harry watched them walk toward the POTTER on the wall, as if they were approaching a doorway. Then—they disappeared. Draco Malfoy was next. Then Harry and Hermione. He stared at it. POTTER. He walked purposefully toward it, the horrifying, sickly green of the magical substance growing closer and closer. Then—he could no longer see it. He looked around at the odd corridor where Ron and Ginny and Malfoy already stood. In a moment, Dumbledore and Moody were standing with them.
Above them and on both sides was terra cotta-colored brick. Large red-orange tiles carpeted the floor. It was like being in a large sewer pipe with a flat bottom. After arriving in the corridor, Dumbledore and Moody turned left and they followed. They walked what seemed a long way from the entry point, which Harry thought, did not look particularly distinctive on this side. So, he thought, this is really why Voldemort attacked the Westminster station. He wasn't attacking the Muggle government; this is where the Ministry of Magic is—and he marked the entrance with POTTER.
"Thirty-seven," Dumbledore said suddenly, and Harry realized that he'd been walking looking at his feet because he'd been counting his paces. Dumbledore raised his wand and Harry noticed a slight indentation in one brick, which Dumbledore tapped with his wand. Suddenly an archway appeared, and they followed Dumbledore and Moody through it. Dumbledore turned to Harry. "It's been a while since I've come this way, so I'm relieved that I remember how. It's about ten-twenty. We should be in place by ten-forty-five. The trial begins at eleven. Best to put your robes on now."
They opened their bags and extracted their Hogwarts robes, pulling them on. Harry, Hermione and Malfoy wore their silver prefects' badges. Moody and Dumbledore removed their traveling cloaks. Dumbledore gestured to them and led them down a corridor identical to the first. After a few minutes it opened out into a large circular space, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, with doorways around the perimeter. It took Harry a moment to realize that the people on the other sides of the doorways didn't look right. They looked, he thought, as if they were images on a television screen. He watched a witch in deep green robes directing a pile of papers through the air with her wand. She moved from left to right, framed in a doorway with the legend IUMO on the lintel. When she disappeared to the right of the doorjamb, it seemed that she should have reappeared in the doorway a mere handspan to its right. However, an imposing sandy-haired wizard in deep sapphire robes, sporting rather prominent horns on his head, moved toward the witch, and Harry assumed that he would collide with her. His doorway's lintel was labeled COEC. He too disappeared and did not reappear in the IUMO doorway, though it seemed he should.
"That," Moody rumbled, nodding at the doorway where the witch had been, "was Mafalda Hopkirk. Improper Use of Magic Office. The horned freak was Gilbert Wimple. Committee on Experimental Charms."
Harry was soon spinning around, gazing at doorways labeled DMGS, DIMC, DRCMC, DMT. Dumbledore and Moody continued explaining that the various abbreviations were Department of Magical Games and Sports (Harry thought he saw Ludo Bagman pass by the open doorway), Department of International Magical Cooperation, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (he saw Cedric Diggory's dad and the eerie Macnair, who had almost executed Buckbeak) and Dumbledore brightly called out, "Cheers, Basil!" to the harried-looked wizard working for the Department of Magical Transportation whom Harry remembered from the Quidditch World Cup. He still looked harried, bustling by the doorway carrying a box of what looked like rubbish. Harry assumed that it was actually full of Portkeys.
They also saw the doorways for the Goblin Liaison Office, the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, where Mr. Weasley and Percy worked. Harry puzzled over the strange appearance of the doorways. The people walking past them appeared suddenly, then disappeared just as suddenly, exactly the same as people on a television or cinema screen appearing and then disappearing from one side to the other.
Dumbledore saw his perplexed look. "Oh, they're not really here, Harry."
Now Harry was really confused. "What?"
Dumbledore smiled. "These are portals. When you walk through these doorways you are immediately transported to the office on the other side. The portals are here, but the offices are spread out over the entire London Underground system."
"The Underground?"
"Old tube stations," Moody growled. "The Muggle War Office used them as military offices during World War II. Most of the ones they were in had already fallen into disuse. Made good air-raid shelters, too. We were mighty tight over here in the original Ministry offices. After the war, we made a deal with the Muggle Prime Minister to take over the old Underground Offices. They can't be accessed by Muggles anymore; you can only get to them if you can Apparate or know how to get into here from Westminster Station. Except for that damn Aldwych Station."
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes. Aldwych. That used to be where we had all the registries. Animagi, werewolves, vampires, that sort of thing. But there have been so many film crews down in the station proper, we've had to move the registries out of there. Film producers like the station for period dramas. It's very nicely preserved, looks the same as it did in 1910. The registries are sharing space now with the Goblin Liaison Office, and neither Cuthbert Mockridge nor the goblins are particularly thrilled about it. But we risked all sorts of problems with werewolves and vampires bothering film crews while trying to enter through Aldwych Station—we had to allow that originally, since most of them are not witches or wizards, and so cannot Apparate, and we didn't necessarily want them to know about Westminster and the other portals."
"So," Hermione said, nodding at the portals, "can they see us?"
"Oh, yes," Dumbledore told her. "But I expect they've learned to tune out what they see through the portal. It is very convenient, though, to be able to walk through here to get from, say, the Department of Magical Transportation to the Improper Use of Magic Office, especially if you're with a person being charged. Apparating is impractical at such a time. These offices tend to have a good bit of overlap; the DMT fines anyone who Apparates without a license, and usually the lack of license goes along with offenses such as Apparating in front of Muggles, a charge issued from the IUMO. As such, they often have to call in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad as well, to make the Muggles forget a witch or wizard suddenly appearing on their kitchen table, or what have you."
Harry remembered getting a letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office the summer before he began second year. When the witch passed by the doorway again, he instinctively ducked behind Ron, so she wouldn't see him. With his forehead scar, she would know who he was right away if she decided not to ignore the people standing in the middle of the portals. Ron peered over his shoulder and laughed at him.
"What are you doing, Harry?" He peered out from behind Ron, to check that she'd gone. Smiling feebly at Ron, he felt himself redden. Ginny, Malfoy and Hermione also looked at him strangely.
Two portals were not like the others. One did not show an office with people bustling about; it was just a black rectangle, with no sign. The other didn't look like a portal at all. It was another rounded corridor like the passage from which they'd emerged. Moody saw Harry gazing at the dark doorway. "Unspeakables. Department of Mysteries. They can get out, but no one else can go in. Except I've never actually seen anyone come out…"
Dumbledore led them down the pipe-like brick corridor, which slanted subtly downward, and after it turned a few times, Harry could no longer see the round room behind them with the portals. There were more than a few that Dumbledore hadn't explained, but he didn't question the headmaster as they continued on their way. After a few minutes the corridor came to an end. They were confronted by a large bronze door with "MoM" in raised, ornately intertwined pewter letters. Dumbledore said something Harry didn't catch and the door swung toward them. They entered and found themselves in another corridor, rectilinear rather than rounded, looking remarkably like the corridors in the dungeons at Hogwarts. They continued to follow Dumbledore.
Upon turning a corner, they entered into what could only be called a mob. Witches and wizards Harry had never seen before suddenly surrounded the seven of them, but most seemed to be trying to talk to him and Malfoy. He caught snatches of questions about the trial, about Lucius Malfoy, about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (which some of them could say amazingly fast). Many had accents that did not sound British. Harry had never considered that there was a foreign wizarding press, but obviously these were some representatives. He'd also never considered foreign wizarding schools or wizarding communities outside of Britain until the Triwizard Tournament and the Quidditch World Cup.
With a sweep of his hand, Dumbledore caused the mass of reporters to fall back. They were able to pass unmolested now, and Harry catalogued how quickly and easily Dumbledore was able to do wandless magic, like Voldemort, when he wanted to. Dumbledore looked stern and unapproachable as he walked beside Harry down the corridor. The reporters must have angered him a great deal, Harry thought, for him to do that. He usually seemed to avoid such displays.
They turned another corner and came to another large bronze door with a troll standing beside it. He wasn't a mountain troll; Harry wasn't sure what kind of troll he was, but he was about Hagrid's height, with a troll's long arms and vacant expression. He looked very strong. He must be a well-trained troll, Harry thought, for when Dumbledore nodded, he opened the heavy-looking bronze door and they entered.
Harry gasped. They were standing at the top of the room he'd seen in the Pensieve. The serried rows of benches dropped off before them, reminding Harry of a square funnel, leading to a flat, open space in the center, where he saw the familiar chair with the chains where Lucius Malfoy would sit to be tried. He swallowed, looking at that chair. He did not want to see Lucius Malfoy again. He did not want to see those cruel eyes that did not reveal any emotion. He did not want to hear the voice that casually said, "Almost forgot that," after putting Cruciatus on his best friend. Suddenly Harry felt an overwhelming impulse to run, to turn and flee from this tribunal, to flee from the wizarding world. He remembered the American students on the train. That's what Dumbledore should have done, he thought. He should have left me on a doorstep in America with a note saying that my name was John Smith. I could have grown up far away from here and lived as a Muggle and Voldemort would have no idea where to find me and I would have no clue what it is like to feel responsible for other people suffering and dying…
POTTER.
An ordinary life. Why did that seem so much to ask? He looked at Malfoy, who was visibly shaking as he stared at the chair. He hadn't had a choice about his life any more than Harry had. He appeared to take a deep breath and looked at Moody, of all people, who actually smiled kindly, nodding in what was probably meant to be a reassuring fashion. Harry couldn't help smiling a little. For all that he could see so much with that eye of his, Moody noticing Malfoy's Dark Mark through his robes didn't tell the whole story. Moody seemed to be admitting that he'd been wrong about Draco Malfoy.
Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Where is this? Really? In relation to Muggle London?"
Dumbledore pointed at the chair in the center of the room. "Directly above that chair, about two-hundred feet or so, is the chair where the Muggle Prime Minister sits when Parliament is in session." Harry's mouth hung open in shock. Dumbledore smiled. "Actually, it may be off by a few feet. My point is, Harry, this chamber was here before this city was a little Roman settlement called Londinium. This has been here for a very long time. Come."
They stepped down the rows until they were only two levels above the flat center of the room. Dumbledore indicated that they should sit all in a row, with the headmaster to their left and Moody to their right. Harry was beside Dumbledore, with Hermione to his right. Beside her, Ron glanced to his right, where Ginny held Malfoy's hand tightly. Moody leaned over to speak to Malfoy.
"One thing I should tell you before this starts, Malfoy," he said raspily. "My house. It's been many a year since I was in school—I finished in 1915—but I thought I should tell you what house I was in. I've caught a slew of dark wizards, and I think the reason is that I can think like them. Doesn't mean I act like them. But I understand how their minds work, so I'm able to be one step ahead. Understand what I'm saying?" Malfoy nodded.
"You were in Slytherin."
Moody nodded. "Aye. And we're the most cunning, the sneakiest, the hardest to catch lot of bastards there is. That's why I became an Auror. I always liked a challenge in school, and given that most dark wizards have come from Slytherin, I knew I'd never be bored. Most of them think of me as a traitor, of course." Malfoy drew his lips into a line; he was already dealing with this. "But you're strong. You can beat them. If you can come up with a plan to catch your dad, you can do damn near anything, I reckon."
Malfoy nodded again, looking terrified still, but also oddly comforted. Harry remembered Marcus Flint, who'd been killed by his own father for refusing to be a Death Eater; he remembered the girl with the impenetrable Scottish accent who'd had the nerve to ask him to the ceilidh. Lastly, he thought of Snape. He'd once considered everyone who'd been in Slytherin to be completely irredeemable, and was enormously relieved that he'd been put in Gryffindor after the Sorting Hat had briefly considered him for Slytherin. Now he found himself changing his mind, willing to be open about considering the merits of ambition and cleverness. Truthfully, he was less inclined to like Ravenclaws these days, especially considering Roger Davies and Niamh Quirke and her gossipy friends. Barty Crouch, Jr. had also been a Ravenclaw. He saw a certain arrogance there; they projected a feeling of innate superiority that grated on him. Except for Cho—she was all right. Maybe eventually, they'd even be friends. He still felt a bit smug about putting her together with Viktor Krum.
Moody leaned forward again to say to Dumbledore, "Who's the Inquisitor?"
"Bean's handling it."
Moody nodded and sat back. Harry frowned. "Who?" he said to Dumbledore.
"Eustace Bean," was all the explanation Dumbledore gave.
The door behind them opened again and witches and wizards began filling the room. Harry watched the other spectators file in, including Remus Lupin, who sat in the top row on the left. He nodded at Harry and gave him a small smile before hiding his face behind a Daily Prophet. He would not want to be recognized, Harry knew. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into the kind blue eyes of Arthur Weasley. Harry stood to face him, swallowing. Percy was beside him, and behind them were Molly Weasley, Bill and Charlie.
"Hello, Harry. Good luck," Mr. Weasley said. Harry couldn't speak. Just those few words were so moving to him. He kept his left hand on Harry's shoulder and extended his right hand, which Harry took silently, with a gratitude in his eyes that he knew Mr. Weasley understood. Harry felt that he was perhaps absolved of his part in the Ginny/Draco cover-up. Percy shook his hand and Mr. Weasley and Percy moved on to Ron and Ginny, after greeting Hermione. Bill and Charlie also wrung Harry's hand, smiling encouragingly, before they moved on to the others. Then he looked up into Mrs. Weasley's dark brown eyes, glittering with tears. She nodded and enfolded him in a forgiving embrace, making his eyes water, finishing with a kiss on the cheek. She moved to Hermione, doing the same, and Harry could see how much this meant to her.
Harry looked at Draco Malfoy; Mr. Weasley was shaking his hand grimly, without a smile. This was quite something from someone who would probably have preferred to put hot needles in his eyes to contemplating a Malfoy touching his only daughter. Harry watched Percy, Bill and Charlie, also not smiling, quickly take Malfoy's hand. Finally, Mrs. Weasley released Ginny from a tight hug, kissing her on the cheek, and turned to Malfoy. She looked uncertainly at him, but suddenly gave him a quick peck on the cheek, turning swiftly to join her husband and sons.
Malfoy touched his cheek briefly before pulling his hand away with a guilty look as he caught his own mother's eye. She sat several rows lower than Remus Lupin, staring daggers at her son. Harry saw Malfoy swallow and put his hands in his lap, staring at them. Harry shuddered as Narcissa Malfoy caught his eye; he remembered how the veela had gone from being seductively beautiful women to frightening harpies, killing machines, and he had to looked away from Mrs. Malfoy. Oddly, at that moment, he was reminded of how frightening his own mother had been during some of the episodes in Snape's Pensieve. Why should I think of that now?
He turned to look at Hermione. She was very pale. He knew she worried about the same thing he did: would the testimony reveal their physical relationship? Would they have to reveal the secret? And would their testimony put Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban?
The door in the corner opened and twelve witches and wizards filed in and took their places on the right-hand side of the room, several tiers below the Weasleys. Finally, the buzzing and chatting in the room died down and everyone seemed to hold their breaths as the corner door opened again and Lucius Malfoy was led in by two dementors. He looked exhausted, yet still defiant. He didn't look at his son. Harry shuddered from being near the dementors, but tried to focus, tried not to let them get to him. Lucius Malfoy was taken to the chair with the chains, which turned gold and snaked up the sides of the chair, encasing his arms and binding him. The dementors left, making Harry breathe a sigh of relief.
Silence reigned. Narcissa Malfoy did not look at her son or husband. Then Harry heard someone stepping down the levels, going toward the center of the windowless, underground chamber. He turned his head and saw a large, dark-haired, middle-aged man with a barrel chest and piercing light blue eyes under heavy brows. He wore the blackest black robes Harry had ever seen and a matching wizard's hat that did not wobble an inch as he descended toward the prisoner.
The prisoner.
He remembered seeing Karkaroff in that same chair, bargaining for his freedom, then on the rock at Dover, bargaining for his life. Neither setting had been particularly fair. As before in Dumbledore's Pensieve, Harry saw that Lucius Malfoy had no advocate to speak for him. He remembered that Ludo Bagman had spoken for himself, and his popularity had given him his freedom. Obviously, the concept of a fair trial in the wizarding world was still mired in a millennia-old tradition of the assumption of the guilt of the accused. Perhaps it wouldn't have done Sirius much good to have a trial, he thought. He was glad that it probably meant that Lucius Malfoy would be going to Azkaban, but he sincerely hoped he was never down there in that chair, without anyone to speak on his behalf.
"Lucius Malfoy!" boomed Eustace Bean. He sounded oddly like a bartender from the East End of London—yet he was in charge here. Cornelius Fudge was seated just behind Narcissa Malfoy. He had spoken of Lucius Malfoy's generosity to St. Mungo's at the World Cup. Fudge looked nervous and unhappy all at once. Could he override Bean if he chose? Harry did not know.
"You have been brought before the Council of Magical Law to answer to multiple charges," Bean continued. "First: Illegally training your son—an underage wizard—to Apparate. Second: Taking your son to a gathering of dark wizards for the purpose of being initiated into their number. Third: At said gathering of dark wizards, allowing your son to be placed under the Cruciatus Curse. Fourth: Also at said gathering, witnessing the murder of one Igor Karkaroff, and not divulging this to the proper authorities. Fifth through ninth: Attempting to coerce other young people to become dark wizards, namely Penelope Clearwater," Harry saw Percy cover his mouth in distress, "Marcus Flint, Percy Weasley—a Ministry employee, mind you—Roger Davies—current Head Boy at Hogwarts—and—Harry Potter."
A gasp went up from the spectators and Harry felt dozens of eyes upon him. Bean had paused for effect and seemed satisfied with the crowd's reaction. A born showman, Harry thought. He looked sideways at Dumbledore, who nodded almost imperceptibly before glaring around the room. The noise dissolved.
"Charges Ten through fifteen: conspiracy to commit murder. You ordered the murders of Penelope Clearwater's parents, Beryl and Reginald Clearwater, her grandfather, Wilmer Clearwater, and—her ten-year-old brother, Jeremy Clearwater." Another reaction from the crowd, which Bean ignored. "You also ordered the murders of Aurelia Flint and Letitia Carpenter." Harry assumed Aurelia Flint was Marcus Flint's mother, and the Carpenter woman must have been the houseguest at the Flints' that Sirius had mentioned.
"Charges Sixteen through nineteen," Bean continued, "You placed three young girls, students at Hogwarts, under the Imperius Curse, namely Kathryn Bell, Cho Chang—both prefects—and Alicia Spinnet—current Head Girl. You also used a dangerous potion that acts like Imperius on Hogwarts prefect Hermione Granger.
"Charges Twenty through Twenty-two," Bean said. "Kidnapping and detaining Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter against their will. And lastly, Charge Twenty-three: Placing the Cruciatus Curse on Ronald Weasley, son of Ministry employee Arthur Weasley."
Bean walked to Malfoy and peered briefly into his face before straightening again. "Lucius Malfoy! You have heard the twenty-three charges against you. What say you to these charges?"
Harry looked at Lucius Malfoy, startled to see him looking back directly at him. "I say: I know something you don't know," he said softly.
"What's that?" Bean said loudly. Malfoy looked at Bean.
"I know some things that you don't know. Quite a few things." He looked at Harry again, his mouth twisting in a very wicked fashion. Harry swallowed. He was getting a very bad feeling about this.
Bean saw what Malfoy was trying to do, how he was trying to shake him up. He looked at Malfoy shrewdly, saying. "I'm sure you will have the opportunity to tell us many things as we go through the charges one by one. The first four charges involve your son, so I will ask him to elucidate for us. You may respond when he is done if you feel he has been in any way inaccurate." He turned to the row where they were sitting. "Draco Malfoy! Please stand."
Draco Malfoy swallowed and stood. Harry remembered how composed he was most of the time when he was in the circle at Dover. That's right, just stand there like you have ice water in your veins. Don't let that old bastard who fathered you get the upper hand.
"Draco Malfoy!" Bean said again. "The first charge against your father is that of teaching you to Apparate. When did this begin?"
He lifted his chin and looked at the Inquisitor. "Right after I returned home from school last June."
"Were you aware of the fact that your father was breaking the law by doing this?"
He paused for a moment before saying levelly, "Yes."
"Why then did you comply?"
Draco Malfoy looked down, then at Ginny beside him, who gave a small nod. He looked at Bean again. "I complied because I had to. I always had to do whatever he said."
Bean nodded and paced slowly in front of Lucius Malfoy's chair. "Yes, yes, you were an obedient son…"
"No. That's not it."
Bean looked up at him. "It's not? You didn't just go along with everything your father asked of you to be a good, obedient son? Obedience for its own sake?"
He shook his head. "There would have been—consequences, if I had defied him."
Bean looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Consequences, you say. Punishment of some kind? Loss of privileges? Going to bed with no tea?" Bean sounded glib.
"Torture."
A low murmur rumbled through the room, and Lucius Malfoy glared at his son, as did Narcissa Malfoy. He was airing the dirty laundry in public.
"Torture, you say. What sort of torture?"
"He would put the Passus Curse on me."
"The Passus Curse? Is that all? It is painful, of course, but it is brief. Is that how he tortured you, coerced you to do things you knew to be illegal?"
"It is brief if the person casting the spell wishes it to be. If it is repeated…well, I still bear the marks."
Bean looked uncomfortable now. "Er, where are these—marks?"
"My arms."
Bean looked relieved. "Would you mind showing the jury these—marks?"
He paused for a moment before unbuttoning his robes to his waist and sliding them off his shoulders; he also unbuttoned his shirt to the waist and drew the fine linen fabric from his shoulders, revealing his pale chest, but more importantly, his bruised upper arms. He kept his forearms covered. The bruises were purplish-green and numerous on both arms. After the jury had had a chance to see this, he pulled his shirt on again, buttoning it properly once more, then replacing his robes and buttoning those as well. He continued to hold his head high, and Harry thought that perhaps this wasn't going so badly after all. It certainly couldn't look good for Lucius Malfoy to be torturing his own son to coerce him to do illegal things. Draco Malfoy was underage—surely he wouldn't be blamed.
Bean prepared to go on. "The second charge—"
"That's not all," Draco Malfoy interrupted him, still standing. Bean looked startled, then malevolent. Harry made a mental note not to interrupt him while being questioned. Then he remembered that Draco Malfoy had interrupted Voldemort himself during his initiation. He certainly has nerve, Harry thought.
"That's not all," Bean echoed, almost without inflection.
"If I really displeased him, he put the Hara Kiri curse on me."
"I am not familiar with that curse. What is it?"
Draco Malfoy sighed. "Something my father discovered while traveling. It comes from Japan. In that country, it is the ritual of suicide that is performed—or was, rather, since it's been illegal for some time—when a person was in disgrace. The only honorable thing to do was to kill yourself, in a very specific way. You were supposed to use a special knife made just for the purpose. You used the knife to ritually disembowel yourself. When the Hara Kiri curse is placed on someone, they believe that they are performing this ritual suicide, and feel all of the pain and see all of the blood as if they really were doing it. It's an Unforgivable Curse in Japan. You can be executed for using it on a human being. They do not use dementors. But there are no laws against it here."
A loud buzz erupted as the spectators considered what kind of father would put such a curse on his own son. Bean had a gleam in his eye and a corner of his mouth curled up. "So," he said. "You had ample reason for also acceding to your father in his wish to have you initiated into a group of dark wizards. The second charge. And the third charge: being complicit in the Cruciatus Curse being placed on another person, namely you, Draco Malfoy. And witnessing the murder of Igor Karkaroff—which you also did not divulge," Bean said to Draco Malfoy, "but we have heard and seen evidence about why you did not."
He stood straight and tall, his platinum hair almost blending in with his pale skin, and spoke again. "It was not just any group of dark wizards, sir."
Bean looked up at him, frowning. "How do you mean?"
Draco turned and looked at Harry, who nodded grimly at him. He turned back to Bean. "They were Death Eaters summoned by—Voldemort."
The noise rumbling through the room was completely out of hand. Harry was impressed. He'd never heard Draco Malfoy say the name before, he'd only called him the Dark Lord. Bean looked darkly at him while Fudge stood and tried to quiet the crowd, but they ignored him and the noise continued. Finally, Dumbledore stood and shot silver sparks into the air with his wand, and used the commanding voice Harry had only heard from him a few times.
"Silence! Do you wish to hear the truth or not?"
The chamber grew quiet. Dumbledore remained standing, as did Fudge, who glared at the headmaster. "We are here for the truth, yes!" the bowler-hatted wizard declared. "Not fairy tales about You-Know-Who returning!"
Eustace Bean nodded. "Yes, Minister, I quite agree. Master Malfoy, please remember—"
"He's telling the truth!" Harry had been unable to stop himself. He was on his feet, trying to steady his breathing. Every eye was on him and Bean looked astonished. Harry swallowed and looked at Draco Malfoy, who glanced at him briefly, but did not as if the outburst were unwelcome.
"And you would know this because—?" Bean prompted him.
"I was there almost one year ago when Voldemort got his body back. He used my blood to do it."
The pandemonium in the chamber was deafening. Bean tried crying out, "I will clear the room!" but it had no effect. Harry looked defiantly at Fudge, who was purple with rage. He had been contradicted by Harry Potter. He had no doubt as to whom the wizarding world would believe. Fudge sat again, as did Dumbledore.
When the noise had finally died away, Lucius Malfoy looked up at Eustace Bean and said evenly, "I told you there were things you don't know." He had a nasty smile on his face and looked up at Harry, who slowly sat beside Dumbledore again. Once more, the only people standing were Draco Malfoy and the Inquisitor.
"Let us return to the second charge, and let us also hope that not all of the charges take so long to explore. You say that this particular gathering of dark wizards was summoned by the Dark Lord?"
"Yes."
"When was it?"
"Christmas night, last year. My father and I Apparated to a spot on the cliffs at Dover where all of the Death Eaters were being summoned. Voldemort was there, with his snake and Wormtail."
"Who is this 'Wormtail'?"
He turned and looked at Harry again. "I think Potter should tell you about him. I don't really know much about him except that he's the Death Eater who took care of Voldemort until he got his body back."
"Continue."
He told the hushed assembly of the appearance of Karkaroff, of Voldemort questioning him. There threatened to be a riot again at the mention of Voldemort having an heir, but this time Bean's angry gaze was enough to quell the murmurs and Draco Malfoy was able to continue his recitation. He told of having the Cruciatus Curse put on him, of receiving the Dark Mark, which Bean asked him to display to the jury. Tentatively, he pushed up the sleeve of his robes, then unbuttoned his shirt cuff and pushed that out of the way as well. Harry watched the faces of the jury members; some were impassive, others merely looking as if they wished to appear so. Several were openly horrified, covering their mouths. Harry also watched the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley held her handkerchief over her mouth and her eyes shone wetly as she turned to look at her husband, who was very grim. They knew now; they knew what it meant to be Lucius Malfoy's son.
He covered his arm again and continued, explaining that he did not wish to break the law by using the Cruciatus Curse himself on Karkaroff, so he had volunteered to use the Hara Kiri, though knowing how painful it was. He then described Snape's arrival—and Harry was glad that he had not told him that it was Snape, so he could not reveal that now—and the attempted flight which resulted in Wormtail alerting Voldemort, and Voldemort killing Karkaroff.
Bean thanked him and bade him sit. They were only through the first four charges. He turned to the prisoner and asked him whether anything his son had said was untrue. He looked into his son's eyes and said, "No. Every word is true."
Bean looked shaken, as if he were wondering what Malfoy was playing at. "You do not wish to refute anything?"
Malfoy looked up at the Inquisitor. "I do not."
He cleared his throat. "Very well. We shall move on to the next charges. Attempting to coerce various witches and wizards to join the Death Eaters. Penelope Clearwater! Did you attempt to recruit her?"
He smiled at Bean. "You have her suicide note, do you not? Doesn't it say?"
Bean looked uncomfortable. "No. It does not. It's, er, actually—" He turned and caught Percy's eye, and Harry noticed that Percy was turning as red as his hair. "It was addressed to Percy Weasley."
Bean nodded at Percy. "Please stand. You are Percy Weasley?"
Percy's color had returned to normal again. He held himself erect. "Yes, sir."
"And you were given this note after Miss Clearwater's body was discovered?"
Percy's eyes looked wet behind his glasses. "Yes," he answered, his voice catching.
"What did the note say?"
Percy looked around the chamber, coloring once more. "It, er, said some rather personal things…"
Bean smiled indulgently. "How old are you, Mr. Weasley?"
"Twenty."
"As was Miss Clearwater, I understand. I think we can assume some of the—rather personal things. You may leave those out. Was there anything in the note which was not—rather personal?"
Percy nodded. "She said she would never do as they wished. She said they wanted to use her to get to me, to get me to be a Death Eater, too. She said she didn't know what else to do, and she thought that by killing herself, she at least might protect her family, if not me as well. But—but—it didn't work..." Percy was crying openly now, tears flowing freely down his face, and Harry saw that he hadn't shaved that morning; he had a faint orange fuzz on his cheeks that was damp with his tears. Harry turned to Hermione, whose eyes were also glistening. He fought the urge to put his arm around her and hold her tightly.
"If I may," Lucius Malfoy said to Bean, with a casual tone that reminded Harry of his comment after cursing Ron. "I had no idea that Miss Clearwater had killed herself, I only knew that she did not report as ordered. As such, the plans were already in place to eliminate her family."
The hubbub in the room grew again at the offhanded way he spoke of the Clearwaters. Bean managed to silence the crowd with a wave of his hand this time. "So you admit that you ordered the murders of Beryl, Reginald, Wilmer and Jeremy Clearwater?"
He smiled. "Of course. We couldn't have other recruits think that suicide was a way out, could we? They had to know that even though they were dead, we would still take retribution on their families."
Bean looked furious at the way Lucius Malfoy appeared to be so glib about his situation. "Who actually carried out the murders?"
"Well, I thought about just not telling you, but they were so incompetent about the pub in Hogsmeade, I don't think they'll be any great loss to the Dark Lord. Avery and Nott."
Bean furrowed his brow. "They were given suspended sentences and fined for the Three Broomsticks explosion and forced to pay the publican retribution."
"Yes, and after that I gave them work that wouldn't involve them being anywhere near that ex-Auror with the magical eye," he snarled, looking up at Moody, who glared back. "They proved much more competent. I didn't anticipate the trouble with the Flints, unfortunately. Titus Flint was already a Death Eater, I assumed his son would come into the fold as a matter of course. But he was so Quidditch-obsessed, he wanted no part of it. I understand there are witnesses to his dad's killing him? I certainly didn't tell Titus to do that."
"What about Aurelia Flint, and their houseguest, Letitia Carpenter?"
"Avery and Nott again. They didn't know which was which, who was the mother and who was the houseguest, so they just killed them both. Easier that way."
Bean looked at Malfoy suspiciously again. Harry wondered what was going on. Why is he giving up Avery and Nott? Why is he so easily admitting his involvement? Why isn't he denying anything? Bean asked him about sending recruitment letters to Percy and Roger, and he freely admitted this, saying that the Dark Lord had a bit of a weakness for Head Boys. He liked their drive and ambition. Percy looked embarrassed by this—he liked to think these were good qualities, and here he was being coveted by Voldemort because of them. He also confirmed that they were no longer potential candidates; too much publicity. Then Bean mentioned recruiting Harry.
"Yes, well, that one's obvious, isn't it?" he said cheerfully.
"Obvious?" Bean said, as if it were no such thing.
"Certainly. The triumph of the Dark Lord having Harry Potter for his servant. What could be more satisfying for him?" He didn't mention what Dumbledore had said, Voldemort's needing Harry alive to draw on his power. Perhaps he didn't know of this motivation.
"So," Bean said again, full-voiced. "You do not deny any of these charges either?"
Malfoy smiled again. "Not a one."
"Moving on!" he cried. "Charges Ten through fifteen: conspiracy to commit murder. You have already admitted ordering the murders of the Clearwaters and Mrs. Flint and Miss Carpenter. Are you expecting leniency for giving up the names of the murderers? Because I should remind you that you are also charged with numerous counts of using Unforgivable Curses on human beings."
"If you like," was all Malfoy said. Harry was genuinely puzzled. Why was he so cheerful and unconcerned about spending the rest of his life in Azkaban? Harry caught his son's eye and furrowed his brow in a silent question. Sitting between Ginny and Moody, Draco raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He was as baffled as Harry.
They both turned their attention back to Bean. "Charges Sixteen through nineteen," Bean continued, "Placing those three girls under the Imperius Curse and using a potion that acts like Imperius on another girl. Once these girls were all in your power, what did you order them to do?"
"To pursue Harry Potter romantically." Another buzz, and Harry felt himself redden. "Although my son informed me—and I think for once he wasn't lying—that I needn't have bothered as Potter seems to have become Mr. Popularity at Hogwarts. But you have been misled; though I ordered it, I didn't personally put the girls under Imperius or administer the potion to Miss Granger. Avery and Nott did those things. I only reinforced the Imperius on Miss Chang at a Quidditch match at Hogwarts. So I humbly request that the charges against me of using the Imperius Curse be reduced to that one instance."
Bean nodded at a wizard Harry hadn't noticed before, sitting on the bottom tier, rapidly taking notes. This wizard nodded back at Bean and went on scribbling. Harry didn't feel he would stop being beet-red anytime soon. "What," Bean continued, "was the purpose of ordering the girls to do this?"
"To guarantee that he would have a girlfriend. He doesn't think anything of that Muggle family of his; we needed for there to be someone he would really care about if it became necessary to—persuade him of the wisdom of serving the Dark Lord. He had best friends, it's true, but one of them is now—quite a bit more than a friend."
Hermione was shaking, reaching out her hands blindly; Ron took one and Harry the other, squeezing so that she could absorb their strength. She looked at each of them in turn, grateful, while Harry was aware of the scratching quills of the reporters in the chamber. He had no idea what to expect from them; he almost found himself missing Rita's articles for their predictably outrageous statements. Predictability was something. He wished he could see Hermione's face as she looked at Ron; over her head, he could see Ron's expression as he gazed at her. He looked as he had when she had thrown her arms around him after Harry and Malfoy had pulled him from under the debris at the Three Broomsticks. Then he met Harry's eye, and Harry remembered the conversation he and Ron had had about Hermione without saying her name. Ron had not been ready to risk his friendship with her, he'd said. Is he ready now? Harry wondered. And there was the way he and Parvati had parted ways…
"Whether it worked is not pertinent to this inquiry, Mr. Malfoy," Bean informed him, shutting down that avenue of exploration, much to Harry's relief. "And whether you used the Imperius Curse once, twice or twenty times is also irrelevant.
"Charges Twenty through Twenty-two," Bean continued. "Kidnapping and detaining three people against their will. And, charge twenty-three, placing the Cruciatus Curse on Ronald Weasley. Do you have any answer to these charges?"
Malfoy looked thoughtful. "Now that I think of it, you may have to add two more. I mean, once we had them there, we were also considering recruiting young Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that."
Harry didn't get a good feeling from the way Malfoy was behaving. Volunteering that there were charges to be added? What sane prisoner would do such a thing? Plus, he'd given up Avery and Nott for the six murders and using Imperius, and he'd revealed that Titus Flint was not just a murderer on the run, but a Death Eater who was trying to coerce his son to join—as Lucius Malfoy had done with his son. Harry was beginning to regret having left Sandy at Hogwarts. He had thought that it wouldn't be good for anyone to hear her hissing under his robes, and he didn't want his being a Parselmouth to come up, but now he wished he had some way to glimpse into the future, so he could tell what Lucius Malfoy was up to.
"So," Bean said, "When you say 'we had them there,' you mean you and your son."
"And Wormtail."
"Ah. There is that name again."
He looked at Harry. "Ask Harry Potter." Bean looked at Harry again; Draco Malfoy had said as much. Then Lucius Malfoy looked around the room and his eyes lit on Lupin. Oh no, thought Harry. "You can ask him, too. The werewolf they had teaching our children at Hogwarts two years ago."
Lupin drew his lips into a line and caught Harry's eye. Sorry, Harry said silently to him. If there were people in the wizarding world who didn't know Remus Lupin was a werewolf, they would know now. Bean looked up at him, considering the matter. "I may do just that. But right now I am more interested in the final charge. Lucius Malfoy, you placed the Cruciatus Curse on Ronald Weasley. That brings the number of unforgivable curses you cast to two. Do you have anything to say? Do you deny that you put this curse on him?"
Malfoy smiled unevenly. "Why don't you ask him? Or better still—why don't you ask him whether he put the Cruciatus Curse on his best friend, Harry Potter?"
The buzz started yet again. So that's Malfoy's game, Harry thought. Get Ron strung up as well. He knew he was stuck, they had too much on him; so he was trying to take Ron down too, and maybe Harry and Lupin if it came out that they were protecting Sirius. Which would also put Dumbledore and Snape in danger. Then he remembered that the Weasleys also knew about Sirius, and Hermione knew, and the other operatives; Dumbledore's entire covert operation could come crashing down. Does Lucius Malfoy know about Sirius? he wondered. Harry tried to remember whether he was in the crowd in Hogsmeade when Madam Rosmerta noticed Sirius after his Polyjuice Potion had worn off; worse still, had he seen the fleeing black dog and connected it to Sirius? Did he know that Sirius was an unregistered Animagus? And how could Harry and Ron and the rest of them avoid revealing all that without lying to the Inquisitor?
Ron looked at Harry and Hermione uncertainly, then down at Bean. "Very well," Bean said. "Ronald Weasley! Please stand."
Ron stood slowly, and Bean looked momentarily alarmed at how tall he was. He'd trimmed his beard neatly for the tribunal but he still looked young and frightened, despite his size and the facial hair.
"You are Ronald Weasley, son of Ministry employee Arthur Weasley?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please tell us what happened during the time leading up to Lucius Malfoy putting the Cruciatus Curse on you."
Ron was shaking. "Well," he began with a waver in his voice. "I had been tied to a tree, but Draco Malfoy convinced his dad to untie me. Before that, he pretended to tell me to put the Cruciatus Curse on Harry, and I pretended to do so as a distraction, so he could stun his dad."
Lucius Malfoy stopped being impassive now. He was livid; he screwed up his face and screamed at Ron, "You didn't fake that, Weasley! You couldn't have, not after I cursed you, and you'd heard about them," he said, gesturing with his head at Harry and Hermione. "You put the Cruciatus Curse on Harry Potter!"
Ron breathed through his nostrils, his chest heaving as if he'd gone running with Harry and Hermione for the first time all over again. Harry could see how nervous he was.
"Ronald Weasley!" bellowed the Inquisitor, suddenly looking at Ron quite menacingly. The Weasleys looked terrified; they hadn't known about this. "Did you or did you not put the Cruciatus Curse on Harry Potter?"
Ron bit his lip; when he spoke, his voice shook. "I—I wanted Mr. Malfoy to think so." Still technically a truthful response, if not a yes-no one. Harry stood quickly.
"Sir," he said as respectfully as he could, considering he was speaking out of turn. "May I?" Bean surveyed him for a few moments, then nodded. "I heard him say the curse, and he pointed the wand at me, but—I felt no pain. No pain at all. I didn't feel a thing." He was also telling the truth, technically. Lucius Malfoy looked hysterical now, struggling with his bonds as if he wanted to run into the seats and throttle Harry personally.
"I tell you, he did!" Malfoy said repeatedly. Bean observed him with a detached expression, almost pity, but not quite. After he had ranted for a bit, he put a stop to it.
"Enough! If any charges are to be brought against Ronald Weasley, that is for another time. Further, it seems that an investigation into this Wormtail person is also in order, but also at another time. Do you have any further response to the charges against you, Lucius Malfoy?"
Malfoy glared at Harry. "No, I do not," he said with his eyes full of hate.
"Very well. I now ask the jury," Bean proclaimed, "to raise their hands for conviction and a life sentence in Azkaban." Everyone looked expectantly at the jurors. Not a single hand was raised. Bean was starting to turn purple. "All who vote for acquittal, raise your hands." Still not a single movement from the jurors except to look down. Bean strode over to them. "May I remind you that you are here to serve the cause of justice! What say you?"
"What about justice for us?" a young wizard on the jury asked, then reddened and looked down again.
A witch burst out, "If You-Know-Who is back, do you think he won't be able to find those of us who were on this jury? We didn't know about that when we agreed to do this!"
An older witch stood uncertainly and said, "With all due respect, Mr. Bean, would it be possible for us to—discuss the verdict and sentence in private, and to give an anonymous vote?" She looked uncertainly at her fellow jurors, since they hadn't talked about this. Some of them nodded to her, others still looked uncertain. Harry remembered that in Dumbledore's Pensieve, the verdicts were given quite promptly after the testimony, by a show of hands, no anonymity. But all of those trials were held after the fall of Voldemort.
Bean reluctantly nodded to the witch, then went to the door in the corner and knocked twice. The dementors who had escorted Malfoy into the room went to the chair. The chains released him, and they lifted him to a standing position, escorting him out again. Harry watched through narrowed eyes; somehow, he felt looking at the dementors this way might prevent them from having any effect on him. When they were gone, the members of the jury rose and filed out. The chamber seemed to be in some disarray; everyone had expected the verdict immediately. This was an unexpected development. The rest of the crowd began moving about and Harry saw Dumbledore give an angry glare to some reporters who started to approach them. Then Harry turned and saw Eustace Bean coming toward them.
"Albus. May I speak to you privately? Perhaps Alastor can escort your students to the commissary for some tea."
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. I had hoped to speak to you as well. May I bring someone else along?"
Bean nodded and Dumbledore gestured to Lupin to descend the rows of seats to join them. When he was beside them, Dumbledore said, "Eustace Bean, may I introduce to you Remus Lupin? Remus will be our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in September. I'm afraid we cannot impose upon Alastor any longer."
Harry felt this was the first bit of good news he'd had all day. He grinned at Lupin. "Really? You're coming back?"
Lupin smiled at him. "It's all set. The board of governors practically begged me." Harry turned to Hermione and Ron, who also looked thrilled. Ginny wasn't paying attention; she was gazing with concern at Draco Malfoy, who stared at the chair where his father had been. Lupin made his way to them.
"Hello again, Draco," he said to him. Why did I think they wouldn't know each other? Harry thought stupidly. He taught all of us two years ago; of course he knows Draco Malfoy.
"Hello, Professor," he said automatically. Lupin smiled.
"Not 'Professor' again yet. In September," he said. He looked at him soberly. "You showed great courage today, Draco."
He looked down at Lupin; Harry was startled to realize that he too was taller than Lupin now, who was only of medium height. "Thank you," he said softly. Lupin nodded. He didn't seem to expect a long conversation. Dumbledore and Lupin walked off with Bean and Moody clapped a hand on Draco Malfoy's shoulder.
"Let's all see if there's anything edible at the commissary. If there is, we can all mark this day on the calendar and celebrate it in future years as a holiday." He smiled that unnatural smile of his and they laughed, even Malfoy, as they went up the serried rows to the door where they'd entered. Harry checked his watch; it was one-thirty. The trial had taken two-and-a-half hours. Harry didn't know whether that was short or long. Probably short, since Malfoy hadn't really argued with any of the charges except Imperius, and he'd still admitted to putting it on Cho Chang, plus he'd added the charges of trying to recruit Hermione and Ron to be Death Eaters. On the other hand, it also didn't seem that it should have taken that long for everything that was said to be said. Then he remembered all of the times when the chamber had erupted in noise, complete pandemonium, and the time that Malfoy had spent undressing to reveal first bruises and his Mark.
Harry was thankful that Ginny and Hermione hadn't been asked to testify. He'd been terrified; and now there might be an inquiry about Wormtail, and thus, about Sirius. Perhaps Dumbledore could convince Bean to drop that for now.
When they emerged into the corridor the reporters were there again, asking questions, taking photographs. Moody glared at them with his magical eye and they fell back, repulsed by his strange appearance. He led the five of them back toward the bronze door and they came face to face with Narcissa Malfoy.
She glared at her son, her eyes full of hate, and suddenly slapped him across the face. "That's for disgracing the family." she said icily. "That's for throwing away everything your father and I have ever done for you, for telling us how stupid we were for saving your life when you could have been killed as a baby."
He gawped at her before coming to his senses and glaring at her just as angrily. "Saving my life? Stuffing up my life is more like it! At least Potter's parents showed they loved him; they decided they'd rather die than let him serve that scum you and father call a lord. They loved him enough to give their lives for him!" Harry had never heard before exactly what it was that Draco Malfoy envied most about him. Now he knew.
"No, I didn't die for you! I lived for you! And your father did, too! But do you appreciate it? No, you're an ungrateful little whelp who deserves everything you're going to get!" She spat at his face, shocking them all, especially Draco. He put his hand to his cheek, incredulous, staring at her speechlessly.
"I should tell you," she said icily. "That regardless of the verdict and sentence, you'd better speak to that excuse for a headmaster about where you will spend your summer holiday, and your future Christmas and Easter holidays, because it certainly won't be at Malfoy Manor. You are never to darken our doorstep again. You are no longer our son. You are dead to us. You will also have to make some other arrangements for paying for your tuition and school supplies. You will never see another Knut from us. You have completely disgraced the Malfoy name. You are no longer a Malfoy!" As she spoke her hair flew loose from its carefully constructed upsweep and her face grew red. Harry thought of veelas again. "And as far as the Hara Kiri curse—it's a pity this isn't Japan. Then perhaps you would do the right thing after bringing such disgrace on your family and actually commit hara kiri!"
Draco opened his mouth to speak but he had no words. He watched her march down the corridor away from him before turning to Ginny, who uttered an inarticulate cry and threw her arms around him; he put his cheek on her blazing hair, eyes shining, the shock still on his face.
They all stood awkwardly in the corridor, uncertain about what to do after the dreadful display from Mrs. Malfoy, but when Moody spotted some reporters coming their way, he moved them along to the large bronze door and thence to the circular room with the portals. He pulled them toward a doorway Harry had noticed before; there were a number of long tables with benches, similar to the house tables in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but smaller, only seating about ten people each. After going through the portal they selected a table. Other tables were populated by Ministry employees finishing their lunches and preparing to return to their offices. Harry looked around; he didn't see a place to line up with a tray to get food. There were just tables and benches in the large underground room—which could be anywhere in the city of London, he realized, depending on the location of the abandoned tube station they had converted into the commissary. He looked uncertainly at Moody, who grabbed a plate from a stack on the table. Looking down at it, Moody muttered, "Corned beef and cabbage, boiled potatoes and a stout." The requested food appeared on his plate, and a pint of stout beside it. So Ron took a plate from the stack as well.
"Bubble and squeak," he said experimentally, "and pumpkin juice."
The food appeared. The others also procured plates and placed their orders. It took Harry a while to decide what he felt like eating. Oddly enough, the first thing that came to mind was something he'd only ever had at Mrs. Figg's. For all that her house smelled of cabbage (and more than a little like cats) the food she'd served him had been good, and certainly in more generous portions than the Dursleys. "Moussaka," he said clearly, hoping the house elves or whoever was taking the orders knew what this was. "And flatbread and ginger beer." In a matter of moments, the food had appeared, looking just as Harry had remembered it the last time he'd been at Mrs. Figg's, years before (though, as Moody had warned, the food wasn't as good as Mrs. Figg's—it was slightly bland). Ginny was having a shrimp dish that smelled garlicky (luckily, Snape wasn't present), and Hermione had chosen (without a thought to the invisible servers, he noticed) a serving of paella.
Only Draco Malfoy had no food in front of him and did not look as if he wanted any. He still looked in shock. Ginny tried to get him to try some of her lunch, and Ron did the same, but he shook his head dumbly, a vacant expression in his eyes. He wasn't truly with them, Harry knew. This was a price he hadn't expected to pay. He was suddenly disowned, cut off, destitute and alone. For someone who had led the kind of privileged existence Draco had, this would be an utter shock to the system. Harry felt confident that Dumbledore would find a way to sort things out for him, and he probably would not care about the tuition, but, having had no family really, for most of his life, Harry could not begin to imagine what it would be like to have one and then have it snatched away because he had done the right and just thing.
By the time they were finished eating it was two-thirty. Dumbledore and Lupin came through the portal and joined them after putting a hand briefly on Draco Malfoy's shoulder. Harry remembered him doing the same with the young Snape, when Sirius had given him the goblet of blood. Harry again felt the same concern about making sure that Draco stayed on the right side, that he didn't slip back into what was easy and familiar.
"We've spoken to Bean about Wormtail. He knows that he is a dark wizard who is also an unregistered Animagus, taking the form of a rat. He knows that he helped Voldemort regain his body and that he put the Cruciatus Curse on Draco." He squeezed Malfoy's shoulder again. "He knows nothing yet about—Snuffles. And for now, it will stay that way." Harry noticed that Malfoy had a perplexed look on his face. How much can we tell him? he wondered. How trustworthy is he now, really?
"He also knows that Wormtail has a distinctive silver hand, and in his rat form, a silver paw. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be on the lookout for him. That is the best we can do for now."
"Professor?" Harry said suddenly.
"Yes, Harry?"
"The silver hand—it seems to have changed him. He's different now. More confident."
Dumbledore nodded. "It is a very powerful magical object that Voldemort has bestowed upon him, and it is part of his body. And as it is silver…" He turned and looked at Lupin. Harry understood. He in particular had to be very careful if ever he encountered his old friend Pettigrew. Silver was fatal to werewolves. But apparently Dumbledore decided that they had explored this topic long enough.
"The jury isn't back yet," Dumbledore told them all. "We need to find a way to occupy ourselves while we wait." The Weasleys had come into the commissary not long after they'd commenced eating; Mr. Weasley stood and approached their table.
"Well," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "I could give everyone a long-overdue tour of my office."
Ginny looked very excited about this, as did Hermione. Ron was less excited, but Ginny pulled on his arm, reminding him how long they'd wanted to see where their father worked. She tried to pull on Malfoy's arm too, but he shook his head, looking glum. Harry might have liked to see the office but he begged off. He didn't want Malfoy to be alone. He thought of Penelope Clearwater, thinking there was no way out but suicide. He had never thought of Draco Malfoy as someone who could be suicidal (homicidal, yes), but now he decided there was a definite danger, and it made him nervous. For one thing, there was Ginny; Harry hated to think of how she would react if Malfoy killed himself. He thought he had nothing left to live for; Harry had to remind him that he had Ginny.
The others left for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, leaving only Malfoy and Harry in the commissary. Suddenly, Malfoy rose and took off his robes, folding them up hastily and cramming them into his bag after taking his wand and inserting it in a special pocket along the outside of his right thigh. Harry watched him before picked up his own bag and following. He emerged into the circular room, but there was no sign of Malfoy. Then Harry listened; he heard footsteps echoing down the curving corridor they'd taken from the station platform. Oh no, thought Harry. He's going to the station.
He ran down the corridor, and then he started to hear the footsteps before him running, not walking away. He sped up and finally found Malfoy staring at the solid wall in which Dumbledore had opened an archway with his wand. Try as he might, Malfoy couldn't seem to get it to open. He struck his wand on the bricks repeatedly, looking for the spot that would let him out. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Harry, and decided to ignore him, continuing to bash his wand on the wall, until Harry thought he would snap it. He had already snapped.
Harry stood beside him and grabbed his wrist, gently taking his wand from his hand. Malfoy stared at him as if he were a stranger, his wrist still in Harry's hand. Harry pocketed Malfoy's wand.
"You don't want to do it, you know."
"Do what?"
Harry stared at him intently, waiting to answer. "Throw yourself in front of the train," he finally said.
Malfoy looked alarmed, as if Harry had read his mind. "How did you—"
"Because that's the first thing I'd think of, if I were you. I wouldn't think of the obvious thing."
"What obvious thing? There's a better way to kill myself down here? Besides being you hacked off enough that you might do it for me?"
"No. I mean the obvious reason why you shouldn't."
"What's that?"
"Ginny."
The moment Harry said the name, Malfoy's face crumpled and he nodded, leaning against the unyielding wall and slumping down to his haunches, hiding his face in his hands. If he was crying he was doing it silently. Harry wondered how young he was when he had learned to do that, to cry so silently that his father wouldn't hear, so no one would suspect what he was doing. He remembered the years in his cupboard under the stairs… Harry also leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down to a sitting position. He stared into space, his legs stretched out in front of him, waiting.
After what seemed a very long time, Malfoy lifted his face. He sat down on the floor like Harry, his legs stretched in front of him, sighing. He sounded very tired. They sat like that for a while, not talking. Finally Malfoy said, "Potter."
"Yeah, Malfoy?" Silence. "Well, Malfoy?"
"You can't call me that."
"What? That's what I always call you."
"I know, but I shouldn't use that name anymore. I'm no longer a Malfoy, remember?"
"What are you going to do, go by just one name, like Sting?"
"Who?"
"Never mind. So I'm supposed to call you Draco now?"
"Yes."
"I don't think so. You still call me Potter."
"All right." He took a deep breath and forced out the word: "Harry. There. I said it."
Harry made a face. "Don't do that. This isn't going to work. As far as I'm concerned, you're still Malfoy."
He actually smiled a little. "And I suppose I'd better keep calling you Potter."
"So we actually agree on something."
"A miracle." They each had a small smile. They were quiet again for a little while, but it was a companionable silence this time. Finally, Malfoy spoke again. "So, Potter. What do you do with those Muggles of yours all summer?"
"Last summer I relandscaped the garden for five pounds a day."
"Oh, right. The manual labor."
"It was good exercise. And I actually had some spending money for once."
Malfoy was silent again for a time before he spoke. "How much is five pounds a day in Galleons?"
"I don't know. Probably not very much. It's not even very much in Muggle money. That's why I knew my aunt would agree to pay me that. It's so little it's laughable—but it's better than nothing."
"How do you pay for your Hogwarts stuff, then?"
"I have an account at Gringotts. My parents left me some money." Harry felt uncomfortable discussing this with him, now that he had nothing. It was even worse than with Ron.
"You could change some of your Galleons into Muggle money, you know. The Goblins don't mind. In fact, they love it. It's the chief way they make money. First, they set the exchange rates so that they're favorable to them always, then they also charge a transaction fee on every exchange—a percentage, naturally, rather than a flat fee. Since plenty of wizards and witches need to buy things in the Muggle world, they really clean up. And their loan policies are even worse. I can personally tell you of several pureblood families who think nothing of converting large amounts of gold to Muggle money just so they can put it in Muggle banks as collateral, then take out even bigger Muggle loans using that. The Goblins would kill if they knew how much business they were losing to the Muggles, but their rates are ridiculous. They're driving the wizard loan business away."
Harry listened, not really interested in what Malfoy was saying, but in how he managed to find something to talk about that didn't have a direct connection to the crisis in his life right now. He could babble about Muggle versus Goblin loan policies and Harry could sit with him, pretending to listen and understand about compound interest and how much you had to make to offset the Goblin exchange fees in each direction, and know that at least he was keeping Malfoy from winding up under a train.
Harry was actually started to doze off when he heard footsteps and looked up to see Dumbledore approaching. They each stood. Malfoy took out his robes again and Harry gave him his wand back, which he pocketed. When Dumbledore reached them, he said simply, "They're back."
They nodded and followed him down the corridor to the circular room where the others were waiting. Harry knew it wasn't worth it to bother asking Dumbledore how he'd found them. In a daze, Harry walked along beside Hermione; they went through the great bronze door again, past the gauntlet of reporters, into the ancient chamber where wizarding law had been tested, for better or worse, for more than a millennium before Hogwarts even existed.
They took the same seats they had before and waited. Cornelius Fudge seated himself behind Narcissa Malfoy again. There was no way he could keep all of the foreign press from writing about Voldemort's return, even if he continued to suppress it in the Daily Prophet.
What will he do now? Harry wondered. Which side is he really on?
The jury filed back into the room and the dementors returned with Lucius Malfoy, who was chained to the chair once more. At last, Eustace Bean walked down the rows of seats and stood beside the chair. Lucius Malfoy's jaw was set. He glared around the room. Harry met his eyes at one point; he saw him look at his son, at Bean, at the Weasleys and the jury members, who looked visibly nervous. Please, thought Harry desperately. Please let them be brave enough to do the right thing, to not fear Voldemort and the Death Eaters.
"Lucius Malfoy!" Eustace Bean pronounced loudly and deliberately. "You have heard and answered the charges against you. Do you have anything else to say in your defense?"
He stared into space, not dignifying this question with a response. Bean nodded, as if he'd expected as much. He turned to the jury and nodded. The same witch who'd requested privacy for them to reach their decision stood again, a sheaf of parchments in her hand which shook vigorously due to her nervousness. Bean looked at her intently and his voice rang out in the stone-walled chamber:
"Do you have a verdict?"
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