Chapter VI : To Hell and To London
[ colloquial title : moning has broken ]
Author's Notes : Sorry for the delay -- this chapter simply didn't want to be written, and I wasn't going to post it until it was up to par.
***
Jonathan Dove's owl came very early in the morning; it rapped sharply at the windowpane with it's beak until Harry, who was a much lighter sleeper than Ron, woke up and climbed over his best friend to open the bedroom window and let him in. Harry untied the roll of parchment from the bird's leg and flopped down on a gaudy orange beanbag chair in the corner, unrolling it with an unsuppressed yawn.
The owl had come every day for the past two weeks at just about the same time, and he was used to it. Dove's morning messages were worth waking up before dawn for; ever since their first meeting, they'd kept up a detailed correspondence. Harry had found that it was easier to pour out his life onto paper than into words. He never read over what he wrote to Jonathan; simply folded it, sealed it, and let go of it.
In a way, Dove had become a bit like his diary. Before leaving the Weasley residence two weeks ago, the lawyer had bestowed an armful of parchment and a brand new quill on him -- telling him that anything and everything he could possibly write down for him would be appreciated.
"You never know there the nuts and bolts for a case lie; it's usually the little things that people don't think are important that end up screwing the whole thing together, in the end. If you feel it, write it. If you remember it, write it. Don't think too hard, just write; I'll sort out what I need."
And so Harry - who had never been much of a writer -- had done just this; dubiously, at first, but the more he wrote the easier he found it to do so. He would lie awake in the camp bed long after Ron had fallen asleep, writing by wand light while his best friend snored across the room. His thoughts seemed to sort themselves out more easily under the cover of darkness, and Harry found that he felt lighter after getting them out of his head and onto the parchment. The memories didn't swim around in his head, after. They left him alone for a while, sent off into the night with Hedwig and out of his hands, now. When he curled up to sleep, afterward, the nightmares rarely followed him.
But even though he slept quite well, Harry always woke up with a hollow, empty feeling in his chest at the thought of another day without Sirius. The predawn owl post fed his desperate craving for news, for progress, for light at the end of the tunnel. Dove's letters not only included every detail that the lawyer could give him, but a decent amount of personal correspondence as well. Dove told Harry more about his family, and his own years at Hogwarts as well. He'd been in Slytherin; which had greatly surprised Harry at first, but made perfect sense when he thought about it - Dove was, indeed, a master of getting what he wanted, however he had to do it. That, indeed, was his job as a lawyer; it was no wonder that he did it so well.
"Slytherins are made to be lawyers, journalists, or spies," Jonathan had joked in one of his letters. "Quite seldom will you find the likes of a Slytherin marriage counselor."
Harry shoved his glasses onto his nose, now, scanning Dove's most recent correspondence in the dim gray light seeping through the window. It was much shorter than usual, and the fine, looping handwriting that had become so familiar to Harry's eyes seemed rushed. Settling back in his seat, he began to read in earnest:
'Harry,
'I received some news this evening that has forced me to rethink everything.
'Lucius Malfoy will preside as Inquisitor on behalf of the Ministry at Sirius's trial.
'The decision was made today by the Ministry, and though I have not had the chance to speak to who have made it, I am quite sure that it is nonnegotiable. Malfoy subsidizes more Ministry projects than I can count on my fingers, and I have no doubt in my mind that he paid more than a fair sum to get his hand in the boiling pot on this one.
'This changes everything.
'Subsequently, I have been forced to make a few hard pressed decisions of my own concerning Sirius's case. There is no room for a margin, anymore; Malfoy will pull out all the stops, I'm sure, which means that I'm going to have to as well.
'I didn't want to have to do this, Harry - but I'm afraid that I need to put you on the stand. I'll need it all from your own mouth, in front of the jury, or I am quite positive that Malfoy will manage to make Sirius out like a monster. There's only one person in the world who can testify on his behalf and make a difference, and that's you. I'm sick of saying this myself, but you're just going to have to trust me.
'I would like very much to meet with you in London the day before the trial, to tie up all the loose ends and get you ready for the stand. I'll answer all of your questions then -- but please feel free to write to me with any express concerns before then. The trial has been set for Thursday, August 8th, as you are well aware already. I can arrange for your transportation to London the morning of the 7th, and you needn't worry about a place to stay. Send a reply back with Lionel if he's bothered to stay for breakfast.
'Regards,
Jonathan'
Harry felt as though someone had frozen his insides solid, then shattered them with a mallet. He stared at the letter for a good long time; not rereading, just looking, letting the letters and the words blur together on the page, then separate themselves neatly once again when he finally blinked.
Dove's handsome tawny screech owl was still picking through the remains in Hedwig's feed trough; hastily, Harry scribbled a reply on the nearest piece of parchment in a numb, shaky hand;
'Jonathan,
I can get to London. See you then.
- Harry'
Feeling very numb, he attached the scrap of parchment to Lionel's leg and watched numbly as the owl took off into the pre dawn stillness once again. Today was Saturday, August 3rd. In less than a week, it was his word against Malfoys. In less than a week, Sirius's fate would be thrown right into his hands. The bottom of his stomach seemed to have dropped out, and the pit that replaced it was bottomless.
Folding Dove's letter carefully and setting it on the night stand, Harry crouched down beside Ron's bed and shook his best friend by the shoulder.
"Pssst. Ron. Wake up, will you?"
"Huhwhahmmm?" said Ron cleverly, rolling over lazily and cracking an eye at Harry. "Whatimeisih?"
"Early. Listen, Ron - I've just received a letter from Jonathan."
Ron rolled over again, drew the quilts up over his head. "You get those nearly every morning. Wake me when breakfast's on, eh?"
Harry pulled the blankets patiently away from his best friend's face. "This one's different. Important. He wants me to testify at Sirius's hearing."
Ron sat up as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. Eyes wide, he gaped at Harry in the meager light. "What? Testify? I thought you weren't even supposed to *go*."
Harry took a seat at the end of Ron's bed and jerked his chin towards the nightstand to indicate the letter. "I wasn't. That's why we've spent the past two weeks planning how to go anyway. Now I almost wish we hadn't."
"Nonsense," said Ron. "This is the best thing that could have happened! Now not only do you get to be there for Sirius, you get to defend him with your own mouth! I mean, don't get me wrong - Jonathan's doing a splendid job, we all know that -- but Harry, this is our *chance*!"
Harry, who still hadn't caught Ron's usually contagious enthusiasm and who still wasn't feeling so keen about the whole idea, only forced a smile and said, "Wish I could send Hermione in my stead. Now *she'd* know what to say."
"It's not like giving a speech, Harry," Ron said, reaching for Dove's letter. "Jonathan's asking the questions. He'll set you up perfectly. All you have to do is answer him. I'm sure he'll make you make Sirius look like an angel."
"You forgot about Lucius."
"What?"
"Lucius. Go on. Read."
And read Ron did -- his eyes growing progressively wider until he reached the end and looked up at Harry, open mouthed.
"But--"
"But were bloody nailed, Ron. Jonathan can't save me during Lucius's cross examination. It'll be me, and him, and he's going to do everything in his power to ruin this."
Ron grew quiet for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip. For a moment the silence grew thick with their thoughts, until Pig came shooting through the open window, hooting excitedly and carrying a dead rat in his beak.
"Oh for chrissakes, Pig! Eat it somewhere else!" Ron snapped, swatting at the hyperactive ball of feathers as it tried to drop the rat in his lap. Harry sighed and leaned back against a bedpost, watched dawn break over The Burrow through the window. Downstairs, the tea kettle was whistling. No doubt Mrs. Weasley had just risen. Breakfast would be cooking before they knew it.
The quiet, predawn stillness was over. Morning had broken; shattering into a thousand pieces that Harry would spend yet another day pasting back together into the semblance of normal routine. With another heavy sigh, he rose from the end of the bed, picking up the dead rat by it's tail and tossing it through the window as Ron continued to scuffle with Pig.
"Wax the bird, mate -- we might as well help your Mum with breakfast."
"And we'll write to Hermione again, as soon as we've finished," Ron said decisively as they clambered down the rickety staircase.
But writing to Hermione didn't seem to be the answer, anymore. Hermione couldn't help Sirius, now. No one could.
Except him.
***
[ colloquial title : moning has broken ]
Author's Notes : Sorry for the delay -- this chapter simply didn't want to be written, and I wasn't going to post it until it was up to par.
***
Jonathan Dove's owl came very early in the morning; it rapped sharply at the windowpane with it's beak until Harry, who was a much lighter sleeper than Ron, woke up and climbed over his best friend to open the bedroom window and let him in. Harry untied the roll of parchment from the bird's leg and flopped down on a gaudy orange beanbag chair in the corner, unrolling it with an unsuppressed yawn.
The owl had come every day for the past two weeks at just about the same time, and he was used to it. Dove's morning messages were worth waking up before dawn for; ever since their first meeting, they'd kept up a detailed correspondence. Harry had found that it was easier to pour out his life onto paper than into words. He never read over what he wrote to Jonathan; simply folded it, sealed it, and let go of it.
In a way, Dove had become a bit like his diary. Before leaving the Weasley residence two weeks ago, the lawyer had bestowed an armful of parchment and a brand new quill on him -- telling him that anything and everything he could possibly write down for him would be appreciated.
"You never know there the nuts and bolts for a case lie; it's usually the little things that people don't think are important that end up screwing the whole thing together, in the end. If you feel it, write it. If you remember it, write it. Don't think too hard, just write; I'll sort out what I need."
And so Harry - who had never been much of a writer -- had done just this; dubiously, at first, but the more he wrote the easier he found it to do so. He would lie awake in the camp bed long after Ron had fallen asleep, writing by wand light while his best friend snored across the room. His thoughts seemed to sort themselves out more easily under the cover of darkness, and Harry found that he felt lighter after getting them out of his head and onto the parchment. The memories didn't swim around in his head, after. They left him alone for a while, sent off into the night with Hedwig and out of his hands, now. When he curled up to sleep, afterward, the nightmares rarely followed him.
But even though he slept quite well, Harry always woke up with a hollow, empty feeling in his chest at the thought of another day without Sirius. The predawn owl post fed his desperate craving for news, for progress, for light at the end of the tunnel. Dove's letters not only included every detail that the lawyer could give him, but a decent amount of personal correspondence as well. Dove told Harry more about his family, and his own years at Hogwarts as well. He'd been in Slytherin; which had greatly surprised Harry at first, but made perfect sense when he thought about it - Dove was, indeed, a master of getting what he wanted, however he had to do it. That, indeed, was his job as a lawyer; it was no wonder that he did it so well.
"Slytherins are made to be lawyers, journalists, or spies," Jonathan had joked in one of his letters. "Quite seldom will you find the likes of a Slytherin marriage counselor."
Harry shoved his glasses onto his nose, now, scanning Dove's most recent correspondence in the dim gray light seeping through the window. It was much shorter than usual, and the fine, looping handwriting that had become so familiar to Harry's eyes seemed rushed. Settling back in his seat, he began to read in earnest:
'Harry,
'I received some news this evening that has forced me to rethink everything.
'Lucius Malfoy will preside as Inquisitor on behalf of the Ministry at Sirius's trial.
'The decision was made today by the Ministry, and though I have not had the chance to speak to who have made it, I am quite sure that it is nonnegotiable. Malfoy subsidizes more Ministry projects than I can count on my fingers, and I have no doubt in my mind that he paid more than a fair sum to get his hand in the boiling pot on this one.
'This changes everything.
'Subsequently, I have been forced to make a few hard pressed decisions of my own concerning Sirius's case. There is no room for a margin, anymore; Malfoy will pull out all the stops, I'm sure, which means that I'm going to have to as well.
'I didn't want to have to do this, Harry - but I'm afraid that I need to put you on the stand. I'll need it all from your own mouth, in front of the jury, or I am quite positive that Malfoy will manage to make Sirius out like a monster. There's only one person in the world who can testify on his behalf and make a difference, and that's you. I'm sick of saying this myself, but you're just going to have to trust me.
'I would like very much to meet with you in London the day before the trial, to tie up all the loose ends and get you ready for the stand. I'll answer all of your questions then -- but please feel free to write to me with any express concerns before then. The trial has been set for Thursday, August 8th, as you are well aware already. I can arrange for your transportation to London the morning of the 7th, and you needn't worry about a place to stay. Send a reply back with Lionel if he's bothered to stay for breakfast.
'Regards,
Jonathan'
Harry felt as though someone had frozen his insides solid, then shattered them with a mallet. He stared at the letter for a good long time; not rereading, just looking, letting the letters and the words blur together on the page, then separate themselves neatly once again when he finally blinked.
Dove's handsome tawny screech owl was still picking through the remains in Hedwig's feed trough; hastily, Harry scribbled a reply on the nearest piece of parchment in a numb, shaky hand;
'Jonathan,
I can get to London. See you then.
- Harry'
Feeling very numb, he attached the scrap of parchment to Lionel's leg and watched numbly as the owl took off into the pre dawn stillness once again. Today was Saturday, August 3rd. In less than a week, it was his word against Malfoys. In less than a week, Sirius's fate would be thrown right into his hands. The bottom of his stomach seemed to have dropped out, and the pit that replaced it was bottomless.
Folding Dove's letter carefully and setting it on the night stand, Harry crouched down beside Ron's bed and shook his best friend by the shoulder.
"Pssst. Ron. Wake up, will you?"
"Huhwhahmmm?" said Ron cleverly, rolling over lazily and cracking an eye at Harry. "Whatimeisih?"
"Early. Listen, Ron - I've just received a letter from Jonathan."
Ron rolled over again, drew the quilts up over his head. "You get those nearly every morning. Wake me when breakfast's on, eh?"
Harry pulled the blankets patiently away from his best friend's face. "This one's different. Important. He wants me to testify at Sirius's hearing."
Ron sat up as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. Eyes wide, he gaped at Harry in the meager light. "What? Testify? I thought you weren't even supposed to *go*."
Harry took a seat at the end of Ron's bed and jerked his chin towards the nightstand to indicate the letter. "I wasn't. That's why we've spent the past two weeks planning how to go anyway. Now I almost wish we hadn't."
"Nonsense," said Ron. "This is the best thing that could have happened! Now not only do you get to be there for Sirius, you get to defend him with your own mouth! I mean, don't get me wrong - Jonathan's doing a splendid job, we all know that -- but Harry, this is our *chance*!"
Harry, who still hadn't caught Ron's usually contagious enthusiasm and who still wasn't feeling so keen about the whole idea, only forced a smile and said, "Wish I could send Hermione in my stead. Now *she'd* know what to say."
"It's not like giving a speech, Harry," Ron said, reaching for Dove's letter. "Jonathan's asking the questions. He'll set you up perfectly. All you have to do is answer him. I'm sure he'll make you make Sirius look like an angel."
"You forgot about Lucius."
"What?"
"Lucius. Go on. Read."
And read Ron did -- his eyes growing progressively wider until he reached the end and looked up at Harry, open mouthed.
"But--"
"But were bloody nailed, Ron. Jonathan can't save me during Lucius's cross examination. It'll be me, and him, and he's going to do everything in his power to ruin this."
Ron grew quiet for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip. For a moment the silence grew thick with their thoughts, until Pig came shooting through the open window, hooting excitedly and carrying a dead rat in his beak.
"Oh for chrissakes, Pig! Eat it somewhere else!" Ron snapped, swatting at the hyperactive ball of feathers as it tried to drop the rat in his lap. Harry sighed and leaned back against a bedpost, watched dawn break over The Burrow through the window. Downstairs, the tea kettle was whistling. No doubt Mrs. Weasley had just risen. Breakfast would be cooking before they knew it.
The quiet, predawn stillness was over. Morning had broken; shattering into a thousand pieces that Harry would spend yet another day pasting back together into the semblance of normal routine. With another heavy sigh, he rose from the end of the bed, picking up the dead rat by it's tail and tossing it through the window as Ron continued to scuffle with Pig.
"Wax the bird, mate -- we might as well help your Mum with breakfast."
"And we'll write to Hermione again, as soon as we've finished," Ron said decisively as they clambered down the rickety staircase.
But writing to Hermione didn't seem to be the answer, anymore. Hermione couldn't help Sirius, now. No one could.
Except him.
***