Yay! Another update in a reasonable amount of time.
Although I have resolved to get this fic finished ASAP, per my resolution to have November be Finish the Fics Month, my updating schedule is still up in the air. (Thank you Thanksgiving, thank you finals, thank you term papers, thank you Two Towers EDVD...) If you want to actually know when I'm updating without having to guess -- although guessing's always fun -- check out my LJ at http://aesc.livejournal.com for updates, links, and progress reports.
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+Mens mea cupit cantare formas versas in nova corpora.+
(Ovid )
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was largely due to the intervention of Professors Sinistra and Sprout that the students stayed inside, but as it was the cheers followed them out the main door. Lavender, still striding along next to Harry, had a look on her face that suspiciously resembled a smile, and she reached up to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, an old gesture Harry remembered from their school days as being an incredibly annoying habit. Fortius, whom Harry could see in the corner of his vision, showed absolutely no reaction. He didn't even look at Sinistra as the witch ran up alongside them.
"Harry!" Celeste gasped as she finally caught up, straightening her hat with one hand and her robes with another. She glared over her shoulder at Fortius, and hiked up her skirts, which were tangled awkwardly about her legs. "Harry," she repeated, somewhat more calmly, "what is going on? Minerva said... Minerva said something about Ron, and Draco, but not what had happened to them. Can't you tell us anything? Is it true that..." She stopped speaking, and instead gazed at him beseechingly.
"Gag order," Lavender said.
"Lavender!" Harry stopped. The momentum of the other three carried them past him, and they stopped. Lavender was looking at him. "You can't do this," Harry continued. "If there's any way we can help... shouldn't we help?"
Lavender was silent for a moment. She glanced at Fortius, who peered down at her inscrutably. At length, she nodded.
As quickly as he could, Harry told Sinistra everything that had happened since she had received news of Ron and Draco's arrest from McGonagall. There had been nothing, apparently, after that day; with each word, Sinistra's face, which had been flushed with exertion, grew paler. The arrest, Azkaban, Ron's condition, the Dementors, Draco, the trial - everything poured out of him, a flood beyond the point of recalling, and though Sinistra's shock was painful, Harry could not stop the words from coming.
But at length there was no more to be said, save, "And we're going to the Ministry now, to see if there's anything we can do - at least for Ron."
"I see." Sinistra drew a ragged breath and straightened up. Her hat was askew, and her dark hair disordered about her face. "Well," she said, "there's no point in holding you up any longer. Professor Potter - Harry - good luck."
"Thank you, Prof - Celeste."
She nodded to him, once again the self-possessed Astronomy professor he remembered so well, and stepped aside so they could continue on. Lavender took the lead, walking swiftly, and it was effort for Harry to catch up. By the time he made it alongside her, her face was a mask once more. He wondered if there would be any figuring her out, ever, or if he could ever understand her, the way she was determined to free Ron at one moment and then the next backing away from any help she could get. He wanted very badly to ask her, and the urge gnawed at him for the rest of their walk, another nagging annoyance next to the ache in his leg. He wished he had thought to fly.
But they did make it to Hogsmeade, and to an alley a few blocks down from Honeydukes. Lavender found their Portkey immediately, a filthy Muggle tennis shoe covered with a dozen varieties of mold. Harry touched it carefully and waited with the same sick anticipation he had whenever he waited for a Portkey to activate.
"Lavender," he said, surprising himself and her. She turned toward him.
"You can't back down after this," he said, just as he felt the familiar, wrenching tug behind his navel and the world vanished in a vortex of color.
They materialized, to Harry's astonishment, in Diagon Alley - and just outside of Liber's. They were standing right in front of the cloudy, grimy windows and Harry, who was facing them, could barely discern blurry figures moving behind them. The sign hanging lopsidedly overhead creaked in the breeze.
"What happened to the Ministry?" he asked impatiently. He could *feel* time slipping through his fingers.
Lavender slipped the shoe into a pocket, making a face as she did so. After wiping her fingers fastidiously on her robes, she turned to Harry. "There were two Portkeys in that alley; I had one arranged as a back-up, just in case - and I'm glad we did. We need to stop here first," she said, gesturing at the sign. Her voice lowered, and she bent close to him, and her next words were of iron resolve.
"I wasn't backing down, Harry - and I have no intention of backing down. I meant what I said back at Hogwarts. Sinistra *needs* to know that Fudge has been keeping this covered up. *I* need Sinistra to know that. She doesn't like him, and I know most of the other professors don't either - and I know that they won't have heard anything. Minerva will have had to abide by Fudge's orders to keep quiet about the trial, or else he could accuse her of trying to subvert justice. But now that all the other professors know, I'll bet that it's only a matter of time until the owls start going out; in fact, I'm sure they've gone out already."
And with that she spun on her heel and marched into Liber's right behind Fortius.
Stunned, Harry followed her inside. He thought, somewhat guiltily, that he would never have thought Lavender could get one over on him. /What do you expect? She's an Auror... she's used to all of that intrigue stuff. She's not just... Lavender. And she can probably do more good for Ron now than you can./ That was somewhat lowering.
Thoughts, guilty, lowering, and otherwise, were dispelled by the peculiar stench of the pub. Harry coughed once and wiped at the tears that had come to his eyes. A wave of what smelled like fermented liver and onions rolled over him, overpowering in the pervasiveness of its presence. Harry gasped, coughed again, and forcibly reminded himself to breathe through his mouth. Lavender favored him with an irritable look, as did the other figures populating the shadows of the room.
Fortius was looking around from his great height, and Harry realized that the denizens of the pub were now not looking at him at all, but instead their eyes were fixed on the Auror. He had only a moment to wonder what this meant before a bellow made the walls tremble.
"FORTIUS!"
It was Aurel Jotunwulf, huge and wild-haired, pushing through a back-room door, boots thundering on the floor. Harry tensed, ready to go for his wand and wondered wildly why Lavender and Fortius weren't doing the same.
For such a huge being, Aurel covered the distance between himself and Fortius with astonishing speed. Before Harry's hand was halfway to his wand, Aurel had reached the Auror and swept him up into an embrace that would have crushed any other person. And Fortius, far from appearing distressed, returned the embrace, and for the first time Harry could recall in their short acquaintance, there was genuine emotion on Fortius' face.
"Fortius my lad!" boomed Aurel joyously. "It's been ages! Where've ye been, boy?"
"Here and there," Fortius mumbled, now seeming somewhat abashed. Aurel released him and stepped back, an expectant look on his craggy face. "Uncle... ah, you know Lavender, of course. And Harry Potter?"
"Lavender, darlin'!" Aurel's voice made the crockery rattle. "'Course I know her. And Harry Potter, o'course - pleasure to see you again, Mr. Potter, sir." He leered happily at them. "And where's Ron Weasley now?"
"Ron's who I need to talk to you about, Uncle," Fortius said, his voice dropping. Aurel's brows drew down in concern, and his expression darkened at the change in Fortius' tone. But as Fortius began to speak, detailing the arrest (glossing, Harry noted, over his role in it), Azkaban, the trial, and his fears that Fudge would find a way to make Ron pay for his suspicions, Aurel's face became as dangerous thunderclouds, dark and dangerous.
"No one knows," Fortius went on. "The Ministry's under strict orders not to say a word to the press - and there hasn't been anything in *The Daily Prophet* about it. This is supposed to be Fudge's way of sweeping everything under the carpet - and we can't let him do that."
"Damned right we can't!" Aurel said forcefully.
"I need your help, Uncle," Fortius said.
"I'll help," Aurel said. "I'll tear down their damned Ministry building myself, is what I'll do!" He turned to the rest of the room, which was watching in tense and dangerous silence. "You hear that, boys? Ron's in trouble! Who's with me?"
The answering chorus of voices sent chills up Harry's back, and he glanced reflexively at the door. There were few words he could make out; many of the shadowy, half-seen figures seemed to speak a different language, or only to howl, snarl, or growl, although they plainly understood Fortius' words. And even as he watched, they drew into the light - huge, misshapen figures, some gruesome parodies of men. There were half-giants among them, some the fair-skinned relatives of the northern frost-giants, and some dark fire-giants from the south; there were vampires, slender and deathly pale and wincing in the sunlight; a Cyclopes and a Cynocephalus who growled and snarled with his dog's mouth; there was even a Veela, but her hair was cut short and a great scar ran down her face.
Harry could remember when Ron had started helping the first giants and the giant-kin who had come over under the Ministry asylum, and though that had been years ago it struck him for the first time what his friend had created. When he had met Aurel just those few days ago (was it really only a few days back?) he had thought the half-giant simply grateful, and not... not ready to endanger himself to save Ron's life.
/Doesn't Ron deserve it, though?/ Harry asked himself. He thought uncomfortably of Ron's own confession - /You're always worth it./ - but there was little time for reflection. The mass of half-giants and other beings gathered speed and howled past him in a great rush of robes, fur, and howls, with Aurel at the front. His wife Yasmina, brandishing a rolling pin the length of Harry's arm, was close behind. All the building resounded with the thunder of massive feet, and above it all the Veela's silvery voice rose in something like a war cry.
When the stampede passed, leaving Liber's empty save for the three wizards, Harry turned to Fortius.
"That's your *uncle*?"
"Great-uncle, on my father's side." Fortius did not seem inclined to pursue the issue. Instead, he straightened his robes and glanced almost uncertainly at Lavender and asked, "Do you think we did the right thing?"
Lavender shrugged. "We'll have to see... and count on the Ministry remembering that they owe the giants and all the other races a debt for not helping Voldemort. As for us, we'll need to spread the word ourselves."
"Hold it!" Harry shouted. The two Aurors, who had begun to move in the direction of the door, paused and looked back at him expectantly. He drew a breath and tried to moderate his tone. It wasn't easy. "Shouldn't we get over to the Ministry?"
"We have some time," Lavender said. If it hadn't been for the slight quaver in her voice, and the anxiety in her eyes, her words would almost have been reassuring. "Because Fortius, Undine, and I were... involved in Ron's arrest" - she had the grace to look ashamed of this, Harry thought spitefully - "we probably shouldn't be too involved, directly anyway, in his trial. But we can stir things up; the Weasleys are pretty popular, and people won't take kindly to the Ministry trying to pull stuff behind their backs."
"But what... what if Fudge finds out that you've been going behind *his* back?"
"I never said it was going to be a fool-proof thing." Lavender scowled at him. "It's too late to worry about it; Fudge will probably have the judge's bench rigged in his favor. The only way we'll be able to get at him is by changing his belief that getting rid of Ron would be a good thing for his image."
"The only thing Fudge fears more than Death Eaters coming back is not being Minister of Magic anymore," Fortius said bitterly. "He's pretty good at forcing people to go along with him by ones and twos, but there's no reasoning with a group of giants who have their minds set on pulling someone limb from limb - and if we can get other witches and wizards on our side, Fudge *can't* bully them."
"He can accuse two or three people of having Death Eater sympathies," Lavender said. "That's what he did with you, you know... and - " She broke off, her lips thinning dangerously. "Maybe he did that with Draco, too. But at any rate, he kept you quiet and Ron in prison because of it. But he won't be able to accuse everyone in Diagon Alley of being Death Eaters, because they don't want Ron put on trial."
Harry nodded bleakly. It was a horrific chance, and he found himself caught between taking it and backing away. In years past, he would have seized on it, no matter how slender it was - even if it seemed a chance with no hope, he would have taken it because it *was* a chance, and a chance was better than nothing. But now, beaten by years and taught the lessons pain had to teach, he could not summon up the courage to admit that Lavender was... He took a deep breath and steadied himself.
/You told Lavender not to back down... don't back down yourself. You're going to have to do this; there's no other way./ Finality swept over him; standing there, with Lavender and Fortius waiting, he grasped at the old truths he had held as a child - that this was a desperate case, fallen to him and now these unlikely companions to make right, simply because there were no others who might do so, and without them there was no other hope.
"Right then," he said. "Let's go."
Cynewulf Ansericarnosus' print shop, attached to *The Daily Prophet* offices, was a cramped and bustling space in all places save one: Cynewulf's office on the second floor. Like the chaos of the shop itself and the minor disaster of his offices, Cynewulf was himself somewhat disordered; his robe was an unfortunate shade of grey dappled with black spatters and a streak of dry ink adorned his nose where he had apparently tried to push his spectacles back up.
The editor-in-chief, head sports writer, and printer of *The Daily Prophet* received them with a somewhat amazed expression on his face and apologies for the mess. Frowning distractedly, he cast several shrinking spells to reduce the piles of papers to manageable sizes and deposited them on an already overflowing side table. "You'll forgive me if I don't shake hands," he said, pausing in his work to display fingers covered with ink and smudges from the printing press. "Now, Mr. Potter, Ms. Brown, Mr. ah - "
"Fortius."
"Right, Mr. Fortius." Cynewulf gazed skeptically up at Fortius' massive figure, which blocked the doorway and part of the window overlooking the printing presses. "Now, what can I do for you all?"
Lavender began to talk, and as she did Cynewulf lost his distraction. His eyes gleamed behind smudged lenses, and he snapped his fingers for a QuickQuotes quill, which obediently began to dance over the parchment on his desk.
"You don't say!" he said in a tone so marveling that Harry wondered if he wasn't being sarcastic. "So Fudge is actually going to put Weasley on trial?"
"Today," Lavender said.
"You realize that by coming to me you're placing yourselves in danger. This is, I'm guessing, confidential information?"
"It is," Fortius rumbled, "and it shouldn't be. It shouldn't even be happening."
"I see," Cynewulf said thoughtfully. "And how did it come to be happening?"
Lavender and Fortius exchanged uncomfortable looks. At last, Lavender sighed and shook her head. "We made a mistake," she said simply. A faint, bitter smile creased her lips. "We got the wrong man."
"The wrong men," Harry broke in. Cynewulf, who appeared to have forgotten about him, glanced at him in surprise. Even the Quill halted briefly in shock, but at a word from Cynewulf continued to write.
"Men?"
"Draco Malfoy is involved as well," Harry said. He gazed defiantly at Cynewulf. "I was too, for a time; Fudge had me incarcerated, because he believed I was willingly consorting with known Death Eaters."
"Were you?"
"Do you think I would be here, with two Aurors, having them tell you these things if I had been?" Harry demanded. "Seriously, do you honestly think that?"
"I have to say I've never met Draco Malfoy - I had enough experience with the father to want as little as possible experience with the son," Cynewulf said, "and I can't say as I've ever met you, Mr. Potter, although Merlin knows I've run enough stories about you that I feel like I should." He paused, picking up a spare quill and turning it over meditatively. "But considering that you're here... I would say that no, you weren't. That kind of suspicion is only for... well, it's not for me."
"You were going to say for Fudge," Harry replied. "Why not admit it?"
"It's bad for people in my position to admit things like that - leads to all sorts of problems getting stuff past the Ministry. You saw what happened to us during the first Voldemort scare." Cynewulf snorted and rubbed the bridge of his nose, which left another trail of black smudges. "But this... well, the last time it happened was with Death Eaters, and we have laws against this sort of thing now.
"What I need now from any of you, though, is proof." Cynewulf sat forward in his chair. His eyes, black as ink, fixed on each of them is turn. "I'd like to help get the word out - "
"There are a dozen half-giants and assorted beings rampaging down Diagon Alley as we speak, and I think they're doing a fairly good job of 'getting the word out,'" Fortius said dryly. "And isn't that enough proof?"
"For a giant, I guess it is," Cynewulf answered, "and I have to confess that I was wondering what that terrible loud racket it was that just went by - like a damned steam engine, it was. But as for myself, I won't be out rampaging any time soon, and if you want me to write anything, I'll need something to go on."
Lavender sat back, frowning fiercely. Even Fortius, whom Harry could see in the corner of his eye, looked discouraged. They had talked for nearly thirty minutes, thirty minutes during which anything might have happened, and to have it wasted...
"I have Severus Snape's journals."
The words exploded from Harry before he knew he said them. In the sudden, atrocious silence that followed he became painfully aware that he *had* said them. He felt the weight of the journals against his body, where he had stowed them in his robes as he had before when he had taken them from Draco's tomb. /Severus... I'm sorry./ The thought flitted through his brain, another apology in the endless litany he owed to Snape.
After the first shock, Lavender picked it up. "The diaries were part of a top-secret project," she explained as Harry pulled the journals from their place in his robes. "When they were found, originally Fudge wanted them burnt, but then it occurred to him that there might be some way to decode them and find out if Snape implicated anyone in the Ministry of being Death Eaters... so Fudge could prosecute them, if they were still alive."
/Oh, God./ Harry's hand shook as he handed the journals over to Cynewulf. His stomach clenched violently and for a moment he feared he would be physically ill. /...Originally Fudge wanted them burnt, but then it occurred to him that there might be some way to decode them and find out if Snape implicated anyone in the Ministry of being Death Eaters.../ Lavender's words echoed cruelly. He hadn't known the real reason why Fudge had wanted the journals decoded, and Draco had almost walked into even more damning evidence than had been presented against him already. It was, he thought dully, like giving a person medicine, only to find that it could kill them.
Cynewulf was leafing through the journals, an intent frown on his face.
"I know it doesn't connect directly," Lavender said. She was leaning forward now, her dark eyes intent on the editor's face, "but it proves that Fudge isn't interested in the rights of the wizarding world when it comes to finding and imprisoning people he suspects of being Death Eaters. You were right: there *are* laws against wizards getting sent to Azkaban without trial... but Fudge is ignoring them. At first I thought he was justified for doing it - that his personal suspicions were more reliable than my own experience. But Ron's been our leader for years... and more, he's been my friend. I can't ignore that."
Cynewulf set the journals down and placed a hand atop them. His face, adorned with its deep wrinkles, was creased in unreadable thought.
"You have our word on it as Aurors," Fortius said. His voice seemed to come from some place either far away or very deep. "Whatever it takes, we'll do it."
"Hm." Cynewulf's ink-dark eyes swiveled in Harry's direction. "And what of you, Mr. Potter?"
"Ron's my friend," Harry said. "And whatever Fudge may try to shove down your throat, Ron would never be a Death Eater. He's had ifamily/i die because of them." Dimly, Harry heard his voice rising, but was powerless to stop it. "Do you honestly think someone who had helped destroy Voldemort's supporters would be friendly with them now?"
"Ah, well, as to that..." Cynewulf shrugged and stood up. Harry leapt to his feet, Lavender and Fortius right behind him. "We haven't had a good scandal here in some time," he continued placidly. "I'll run it."
Harry's heart surged in relief; for a moment, he felt decidedly lightheaded. Behind him he could hear Lavender's barely muffled squeal of triumph - the high-pitched, girlish noise was not something he had been able to associate with her anymore. There was nothing from Fortius, but when Harry managed to turn around, the huge man was fairly radiating satisfaction.
"It'll take just a bit to write something down," Cynewulf was saying as he ushered them out of the office. He had gathered the journals up and placed them into Harry's hand, and Harry felt a rush of relief at having it back in his possession. Cynewulf leered knowingly at him and said, "Of course I'll have to set the print, and get the elves ready for an unscheduled delivery, but I'll see what I can do to get the word out myself. Where are you off to now?"
"The trial," Lavender said calmly, her self-possession having been regained. "We'll storm the thing if we have to."
"Hm! Well, I would be careful about that - Fudge will be looking for anything to hold against Ron, you know." Cynewulf paused. "Did you ever think that turning those giants loose would make things worse? The Minister doesn't exactly like them still, you know."
"We considered that," Fortius said calmly, "and decided it was worth the risk - and they deserved to be told."
The shop all around them was silent, and Harry become aware that the workers were paused in their duties, some by the presses and some hovering at the bags half-full of *Daily Prophet*s. Scents of ink and old, heavy paper filled the air, along with a strange sense of anticipation. A few dozen elves clustered about the main press, staring at the small group with huge eyes, and in the strangely quiet setting Harry looked at Cynewulf and saw something very like to a king surveying his domain.
"Boys!" Cynewulf shouted, "Special edition!"
All at once the press exploded into action, and it was in this flurry of activity that Cynewulf saw them out of his shop. Hearing the whirr and grind of the machinery and the shrill cries of the elves, suddenly, seemed to be the best sound Harry had heard in a long time. Glancing to the side, he saw Lavender's Auror-mask slip to reveal the beginnings of a wide, victorious grin, and he knew that much the same expression had to be on his own face.
"We'll just slip into this next alley down," Fortius was saying as he prowled ahead. "We've a Portkey we can take directly to the Ministry."
"We're going to do it!" Lavender whispered to Harry. It looked very much as though she wanted to clutch at his sleeve or bounce in excitement much as she used to do. "We're going to do it, Harry!"
They were almost to the alley when a voice, breathless with exertion, called out to them.
"Mr. Potter, one thing if you will!"
Harry whipped around, half on the defensive already, only to see Cynewulf jogging toward him. The wizard's face was already very red, despite the short distance, and he wheezed uncomfortably as he skidded to a stop "Yes?"
Cynewulf straightened his robes around him and took a deep breath. "What about Draco Malfoy?"
Harry tensed. "What about him?"
"I heard an awful lot of talk about freeing Ron Weasley," Cynewulf said and the light in his black eyes was suddenly very shrewd and knowing. "However, I did not hear so much about Draco Malfoy. Is he included in this... operation of yours?"
"Why wouldn't he be?" Harry asked. Then, realizing how that must sound - and not knowing how discreet about this Cynewulf was going to be - he added, "We have laws remember? Laws against imprisoning a wizard in Azkaban without a trial?"
"Of course, of course," Cynewulf said, but something in his tone said that he was agreeing merely to humor Harry. "I wish you best of luck then, Mr. Potter."
tbc.
NOTES:
1.) Cynewulf Ansericarnosus: The editor's name is an amalgamation of the name of an Anglo-Saxon poet (Cynewulf) and the Latinized form of the German surname Gutenberg. The first is in honor of the Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf, one of the few identifiable composers of Old English poetry (he works his name into his poems using Old English runic characters), and well, I think Cynewulf is a damned cool name. The second is from the ever-beloved Gutenberg of printing press fame.
2.) I'm not sure what the ethics regarding the confidentiality of sources is in British journalism. Apologies if Cynewulf is being decidedly American in his concern.
Next time: The Ministry of Magic vs. Ronald Weasley... and Draco Malfoy.
Although I have resolved to get this fic finished ASAP, per my resolution to have November be Finish the Fics Month, my updating schedule is still up in the air. (Thank you Thanksgiving, thank you finals, thank you term papers, thank you Two Towers EDVD...) If you want to actually know when I'm updating without having to guess -- although guessing's always fun -- check out my LJ at http://aesc.livejournal.com for updates, links, and progress reports.
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+Mens mea cupit cantare formas versas in nova corpora.+
(Ovid )
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was largely due to the intervention of Professors Sinistra and Sprout that the students stayed inside, but as it was the cheers followed them out the main door. Lavender, still striding along next to Harry, had a look on her face that suspiciously resembled a smile, and she reached up to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, an old gesture Harry remembered from their school days as being an incredibly annoying habit. Fortius, whom Harry could see in the corner of his vision, showed absolutely no reaction. He didn't even look at Sinistra as the witch ran up alongside them.
"Harry!" Celeste gasped as she finally caught up, straightening her hat with one hand and her robes with another. She glared over her shoulder at Fortius, and hiked up her skirts, which were tangled awkwardly about her legs. "Harry," she repeated, somewhat more calmly, "what is going on? Minerva said... Minerva said something about Ron, and Draco, but not what had happened to them. Can't you tell us anything? Is it true that..." She stopped speaking, and instead gazed at him beseechingly.
"Gag order," Lavender said.
"Lavender!" Harry stopped. The momentum of the other three carried them past him, and they stopped. Lavender was looking at him. "You can't do this," Harry continued. "If there's any way we can help... shouldn't we help?"
Lavender was silent for a moment. She glanced at Fortius, who peered down at her inscrutably. At length, she nodded.
As quickly as he could, Harry told Sinistra everything that had happened since she had received news of Ron and Draco's arrest from McGonagall. There had been nothing, apparently, after that day; with each word, Sinistra's face, which had been flushed with exertion, grew paler. The arrest, Azkaban, Ron's condition, the Dementors, Draco, the trial - everything poured out of him, a flood beyond the point of recalling, and though Sinistra's shock was painful, Harry could not stop the words from coming.
But at length there was no more to be said, save, "And we're going to the Ministry now, to see if there's anything we can do - at least for Ron."
"I see." Sinistra drew a ragged breath and straightened up. Her hat was askew, and her dark hair disordered about her face. "Well," she said, "there's no point in holding you up any longer. Professor Potter - Harry - good luck."
"Thank you, Prof - Celeste."
She nodded to him, once again the self-possessed Astronomy professor he remembered so well, and stepped aside so they could continue on. Lavender took the lead, walking swiftly, and it was effort for Harry to catch up. By the time he made it alongside her, her face was a mask once more. He wondered if there would be any figuring her out, ever, or if he could ever understand her, the way she was determined to free Ron at one moment and then the next backing away from any help she could get. He wanted very badly to ask her, and the urge gnawed at him for the rest of their walk, another nagging annoyance next to the ache in his leg. He wished he had thought to fly.
But they did make it to Hogsmeade, and to an alley a few blocks down from Honeydukes. Lavender found their Portkey immediately, a filthy Muggle tennis shoe covered with a dozen varieties of mold. Harry touched it carefully and waited with the same sick anticipation he had whenever he waited for a Portkey to activate.
"Lavender," he said, surprising himself and her. She turned toward him.
"You can't back down after this," he said, just as he felt the familiar, wrenching tug behind his navel and the world vanished in a vortex of color.
They materialized, to Harry's astonishment, in Diagon Alley - and just outside of Liber's. They were standing right in front of the cloudy, grimy windows and Harry, who was facing them, could barely discern blurry figures moving behind them. The sign hanging lopsidedly overhead creaked in the breeze.
"What happened to the Ministry?" he asked impatiently. He could *feel* time slipping through his fingers.
Lavender slipped the shoe into a pocket, making a face as she did so. After wiping her fingers fastidiously on her robes, she turned to Harry. "There were two Portkeys in that alley; I had one arranged as a back-up, just in case - and I'm glad we did. We need to stop here first," she said, gesturing at the sign. Her voice lowered, and she bent close to him, and her next words were of iron resolve.
"I wasn't backing down, Harry - and I have no intention of backing down. I meant what I said back at Hogwarts. Sinistra *needs* to know that Fudge has been keeping this covered up. *I* need Sinistra to know that. She doesn't like him, and I know most of the other professors don't either - and I know that they won't have heard anything. Minerva will have had to abide by Fudge's orders to keep quiet about the trial, or else he could accuse her of trying to subvert justice. But now that all the other professors know, I'll bet that it's only a matter of time until the owls start going out; in fact, I'm sure they've gone out already."
And with that she spun on her heel and marched into Liber's right behind Fortius.
Stunned, Harry followed her inside. He thought, somewhat guiltily, that he would never have thought Lavender could get one over on him. /What do you expect? She's an Auror... she's used to all of that intrigue stuff. She's not just... Lavender. And she can probably do more good for Ron now than you can./ That was somewhat lowering.
Thoughts, guilty, lowering, and otherwise, were dispelled by the peculiar stench of the pub. Harry coughed once and wiped at the tears that had come to his eyes. A wave of what smelled like fermented liver and onions rolled over him, overpowering in the pervasiveness of its presence. Harry gasped, coughed again, and forcibly reminded himself to breathe through his mouth. Lavender favored him with an irritable look, as did the other figures populating the shadows of the room.
Fortius was looking around from his great height, and Harry realized that the denizens of the pub were now not looking at him at all, but instead their eyes were fixed on the Auror. He had only a moment to wonder what this meant before a bellow made the walls tremble.
"FORTIUS!"
It was Aurel Jotunwulf, huge and wild-haired, pushing through a back-room door, boots thundering on the floor. Harry tensed, ready to go for his wand and wondered wildly why Lavender and Fortius weren't doing the same.
For such a huge being, Aurel covered the distance between himself and Fortius with astonishing speed. Before Harry's hand was halfway to his wand, Aurel had reached the Auror and swept him up into an embrace that would have crushed any other person. And Fortius, far from appearing distressed, returned the embrace, and for the first time Harry could recall in their short acquaintance, there was genuine emotion on Fortius' face.
"Fortius my lad!" boomed Aurel joyously. "It's been ages! Where've ye been, boy?"
"Here and there," Fortius mumbled, now seeming somewhat abashed. Aurel released him and stepped back, an expectant look on his craggy face. "Uncle... ah, you know Lavender, of course. And Harry Potter?"
"Lavender, darlin'!" Aurel's voice made the crockery rattle. "'Course I know her. And Harry Potter, o'course - pleasure to see you again, Mr. Potter, sir." He leered happily at them. "And where's Ron Weasley now?"
"Ron's who I need to talk to you about, Uncle," Fortius said, his voice dropping. Aurel's brows drew down in concern, and his expression darkened at the change in Fortius' tone. But as Fortius began to speak, detailing the arrest (glossing, Harry noted, over his role in it), Azkaban, the trial, and his fears that Fudge would find a way to make Ron pay for his suspicions, Aurel's face became as dangerous thunderclouds, dark and dangerous.
"No one knows," Fortius went on. "The Ministry's under strict orders not to say a word to the press - and there hasn't been anything in *The Daily Prophet* about it. This is supposed to be Fudge's way of sweeping everything under the carpet - and we can't let him do that."
"Damned right we can't!" Aurel said forcefully.
"I need your help, Uncle," Fortius said.
"I'll help," Aurel said. "I'll tear down their damned Ministry building myself, is what I'll do!" He turned to the rest of the room, which was watching in tense and dangerous silence. "You hear that, boys? Ron's in trouble! Who's with me?"
The answering chorus of voices sent chills up Harry's back, and he glanced reflexively at the door. There were few words he could make out; many of the shadowy, half-seen figures seemed to speak a different language, or only to howl, snarl, or growl, although they plainly understood Fortius' words. And even as he watched, they drew into the light - huge, misshapen figures, some gruesome parodies of men. There were half-giants among them, some the fair-skinned relatives of the northern frost-giants, and some dark fire-giants from the south; there were vampires, slender and deathly pale and wincing in the sunlight; a Cyclopes and a Cynocephalus who growled and snarled with his dog's mouth; there was even a Veela, but her hair was cut short and a great scar ran down her face.
Harry could remember when Ron had started helping the first giants and the giant-kin who had come over under the Ministry asylum, and though that had been years ago it struck him for the first time what his friend had created. When he had met Aurel just those few days ago (was it really only a few days back?) he had thought the half-giant simply grateful, and not... not ready to endanger himself to save Ron's life.
/Doesn't Ron deserve it, though?/ Harry asked himself. He thought uncomfortably of Ron's own confession - /You're always worth it./ - but there was little time for reflection. The mass of half-giants and other beings gathered speed and howled past him in a great rush of robes, fur, and howls, with Aurel at the front. His wife Yasmina, brandishing a rolling pin the length of Harry's arm, was close behind. All the building resounded with the thunder of massive feet, and above it all the Veela's silvery voice rose in something like a war cry.
When the stampede passed, leaving Liber's empty save for the three wizards, Harry turned to Fortius.
"That's your *uncle*?"
"Great-uncle, on my father's side." Fortius did not seem inclined to pursue the issue. Instead, he straightened his robes and glanced almost uncertainly at Lavender and asked, "Do you think we did the right thing?"
Lavender shrugged. "We'll have to see... and count on the Ministry remembering that they owe the giants and all the other races a debt for not helping Voldemort. As for us, we'll need to spread the word ourselves."
"Hold it!" Harry shouted. The two Aurors, who had begun to move in the direction of the door, paused and looked back at him expectantly. He drew a breath and tried to moderate his tone. It wasn't easy. "Shouldn't we get over to the Ministry?"
"We have some time," Lavender said. If it hadn't been for the slight quaver in her voice, and the anxiety in her eyes, her words would almost have been reassuring. "Because Fortius, Undine, and I were... involved in Ron's arrest" - she had the grace to look ashamed of this, Harry thought spitefully - "we probably shouldn't be too involved, directly anyway, in his trial. But we can stir things up; the Weasleys are pretty popular, and people won't take kindly to the Ministry trying to pull stuff behind their backs."
"But what... what if Fudge finds out that you've been going behind *his* back?"
"I never said it was going to be a fool-proof thing." Lavender scowled at him. "It's too late to worry about it; Fudge will probably have the judge's bench rigged in his favor. The only way we'll be able to get at him is by changing his belief that getting rid of Ron would be a good thing for his image."
"The only thing Fudge fears more than Death Eaters coming back is not being Minister of Magic anymore," Fortius said bitterly. "He's pretty good at forcing people to go along with him by ones and twos, but there's no reasoning with a group of giants who have their minds set on pulling someone limb from limb - and if we can get other witches and wizards on our side, Fudge *can't* bully them."
"He can accuse two or three people of having Death Eater sympathies," Lavender said. "That's what he did with you, you know... and - " She broke off, her lips thinning dangerously. "Maybe he did that with Draco, too. But at any rate, he kept you quiet and Ron in prison because of it. But he won't be able to accuse everyone in Diagon Alley of being Death Eaters, because they don't want Ron put on trial."
Harry nodded bleakly. It was a horrific chance, and he found himself caught between taking it and backing away. In years past, he would have seized on it, no matter how slender it was - even if it seemed a chance with no hope, he would have taken it because it *was* a chance, and a chance was better than nothing. But now, beaten by years and taught the lessons pain had to teach, he could not summon up the courage to admit that Lavender was... He took a deep breath and steadied himself.
/You told Lavender not to back down... don't back down yourself. You're going to have to do this; there's no other way./ Finality swept over him; standing there, with Lavender and Fortius waiting, he grasped at the old truths he had held as a child - that this was a desperate case, fallen to him and now these unlikely companions to make right, simply because there were no others who might do so, and without them there was no other hope.
"Right then," he said. "Let's go."
Cynewulf Ansericarnosus' print shop, attached to *The Daily Prophet* offices, was a cramped and bustling space in all places save one: Cynewulf's office on the second floor. Like the chaos of the shop itself and the minor disaster of his offices, Cynewulf was himself somewhat disordered; his robe was an unfortunate shade of grey dappled with black spatters and a streak of dry ink adorned his nose where he had apparently tried to push his spectacles back up.
The editor-in-chief, head sports writer, and printer of *The Daily Prophet* received them with a somewhat amazed expression on his face and apologies for the mess. Frowning distractedly, he cast several shrinking spells to reduce the piles of papers to manageable sizes and deposited them on an already overflowing side table. "You'll forgive me if I don't shake hands," he said, pausing in his work to display fingers covered with ink and smudges from the printing press. "Now, Mr. Potter, Ms. Brown, Mr. ah - "
"Fortius."
"Right, Mr. Fortius." Cynewulf gazed skeptically up at Fortius' massive figure, which blocked the doorway and part of the window overlooking the printing presses. "Now, what can I do for you all?"
Lavender began to talk, and as she did Cynewulf lost his distraction. His eyes gleamed behind smudged lenses, and he snapped his fingers for a QuickQuotes quill, which obediently began to dance over the parchment on his desk.
"You don't say!" he said in a tone so marveling that Harry wondered if he wasn't being sarcastic. "So Fudge is actually going to put Weasley on trial?"
"Today," Lavender said.
"You realize that by coming to me you're placing yourselves in danger. This is, I'm guessing, confidential information?"
"It is," Fortius rumbled, "and it shouldn't be. It shouldn't even be happening."
"I see," Cynewulf said thoughtfully. "And how did it come to be happening?"
Lavender and Fortius exchanged uncomfortable looks. At last, Lavender sighed and shook her head. "We made a mistake," she said simply. A faint, bitter smile creased her lips. "We got the wrong man."
"The wrong men," Harry broke in. Cynewulf, who appeared to have forgotten about him, glanced at him in surprise. Even the Quill halted briefly in shock, but at a word from Cynewulf continued to write.
"Men?"
"Draco Malfoy is involved as well," Harry said. He gazed defiantly at Cynewulf. "I was too, for a time; Fudge had me incarcerated, because he believed I was willingly consorting with known Death Eaters."
"Were you?"
"Do you think I would be here, with two Aurors, having them tell you these things if I had been?" Harry demanded. "Seriously, do you honestly think that?"
"I have to say I've never met Draco Malfoy - I had enough experience with the father to want as little as possible experience with the son," Cynewulf said, "and I can't say as I've ever met you, Mr. Potter, although Merlin knows I've run enough stories about you that I feel like I should." He paused, picking up a spare quill and turning it over meditatively. "But considering that you're here... I would say that no, you weren't. That kind of suspicion is only for... well, it's not for me."
"You were going to say for Fudge," Harry replied. "Why not admit it?"
"It's bad for people in my position to admit things like that - leads to all sorts of problems getting stuff past the Ministry. You saw what happened to us during the first Voldemort scare." Cynewulf snorted and rubbed the bridge of his nose, which left another trail of black smudges. "But this... well, the last time it happened was with Death Eaters, and we have laws against this sort of thing now.
"What I need now from any of you, though, is proof." Cynewulf sat forward in his chair. His eyes, black as ink, fixed on each of them is turn. "I'd like to help get the word out - "
"There are a dozen half-giants and assorted beings rampaging down Diagon Alley as we speak, and I think they're doing a fairly good job of 'getting the word out,'" Fortius said dryly. "And isn't that enough proof?"
"For a giant, I guess it is," Cynewulf answered, "and I have to confess that I was wondering what that terrible loud racket it was that just went by - like a damned steam engine, it was. But as for myself, I won't be out rampaging any time soon, and if you want me to write anything, I'll need something to go on."
Lavender sat back, frowning fiercely. Even Fortius, whom Harry could see in the corner of his eye, looked discouraged. They had talked for nearly thirty minutes, thirty minutes during which anything might have happened, and to have it wasted...
"I have Severus Snape's journals."
The words exploded from Harry before he knew he said them. In the sudden, atrocious silence that followed he became painfully aware that he *had* said them. He felt the weight of the journals against his body, where he had stowed them in his robes as he had before when he had taken them from Draco's tomb. /Severus... I'm sorry./ The thought flitted through his brain, another apology in the endless litany he owed to Snape.
After the first shock, Lavender picked it up. "The diaries were part of a top-secret project," she explained as Harry pulled the journals from their place in his robes. "When they were found, originally Fudge wanted them burnt, but then it occurred to him that there might be some way to decode them and find out if Snape implicated anyone in the Ministry of being Death Eaters... so Fudge could prosecute them, if they were still alive."
/Oh, God./ Harry's hand shook as he handed the journals over to Cynewulf. His stomach clenched violently and for a moment he feared he would be physically ill. /...Originally Fudge wanted them burnt, but then it occurred to him that there might be some way to decode them and find out if Snape implicated anyone in the Ministry of being Death Eaters.../ Lavender's words echoed cruelly. He hadn't known the real reason why Fudge had wanted the journals decoded, and Draco had almost walked into even more damning evidence than had been presented against him already. It was, he thought dully, like giving a person medicine, only to find that it could kill them.
Cynewulf was leafing through the journals, an intent frown on his face.
"I know it doesn't connect directly," Lavender said. She was leaning forward now, her dark eyes intent on the editor's face, "but it proves that Fudge isn't interested in the rights of the wizarding world when it comes to finding and imprisoning people he suspects of being Death Eaters. You were right: there *are* laws against wizards getting sent to Azkaban without trial... but Fudge is ignoring them. At first I thought he was justified for doing it - that his personal suspicions were more reliable than my own experience. But Ron's been our leader for years... and more, he's been my friend. I can't ignore that."
Cynewulf set the journals down and placed a hand atop them. His face, adorned with its deep wrinkles, was creased in unreadable thought.
"You have our word on it as Aurors," Fortius said. His voice seemed to come from some place either far away or very deep. "Whatever it takes, we'll do it."
"Hm." Cynewulf's ink-dark eyes swiveled in Harry's direction. "And what of you, Mr. Potter?"
"Ron's my friend," Harry said. "And whatever Fudge may try to shove down your throat, Ron would never be a Death Eater. He's had ifamily/i die because of them." Dimly, Harry heard his voice rising, but was powerless to stop it. "Do you honestly think someone who had helped destroy Voldemort's supporters would be friendly with them now?"
"Ah, well, as to that..." Cynewulf shrugged and stood up. Harry leapt to his feet, Lavender and Fortius right behind him. "We haven't had a good scandal here in some time," he continued placidly. "I'll run it."
Harry's heart surged in relief; for a moment, he felt decidedly lightheaded. Behind him he could hear Lavender's barely muffled squeal of triumph - the high-pitched, girlish noise was not something he had been able to associate with her anymore. There was nothing from Fortius, but when Harry managed to turn around, the huge man was fairly radiating satisfaction.
"It'll take just a bit to write something down," Cynewulf was saying as he ushered them out of the office. He had gathered the journals up and placed them into Harry's hand, and Harry felt a rush of relief at having it back in his possession. Cynewulf leered knowingly at him and said, "Of course I'll have to set the print, and get the elves ready for an unscheduled delivery, but I'll see what I can do to get the word out myself. Where are you off to now?"
"The trial," Lavender said calmly, her self-possession having been regained. "We'll storm the thing if we have to."
"Hm! Well, I would be careful about that - Fudge will be looking for anything to hold against Ron, you know." Cynewulf paused. "Did you ever think that turning those giants loose would make things worse? The Minister doesn't exactly like them still, you know."
"We considered that," Fortius said calmly, "and decided it was worth the risk - and they deserved to be told."
The shop all around them was silent, and Harry become aware that the workers were paused in their duties, some by the presses and some hovering at the bags half-full of *Daily Prophet*s. Scents of ink and old, heavy paper filled the air, along with a strange sense of anticipation. A few dozen elves clustered about the main press, staring at the small group with huge eyes, and in the strangely quiet setting Harry looked at Cynewulf and saw something very like to a king surveying his domain.
"Boys!" Cynewulf shouted, "Special edition!"
All at once the press exploded into action, and it was in this flurry of activity that Cynewulf saw them out of his shop. Hearing the whirr and grind of the machinery and the shrill cries of the elves, suddenly, seemed to be the best sound Harry had heard in a long time. Glancing to the side, he saw Lavender's Auror-mask slip to reveal the beginnings of a wide, victorious grin, and he knew that much the same expression had to be on his own face.
"We'll just slip into this next alley down," Fortius was saying as he prowled ahead. "We've a Portkey we can take directly to the Ministry."
"We're going to do it!" Lavender whispered to Harry. It looked very much as though she wanted to clutch at his sleeve or bounce in excitement much as she used to do. "We're going to do it, Harry!"
They were almost to the alley when a voice, breathless with exertion, called out to them.
"Mr. Potter, one thing if you will!"
Harry whipped around, half on the defensive already, only to see Cynewulf jogging toward him. The wizard's face was already very red, despite the short distance, and he wheezed uncomfortably as he skidded to a stop "Yes?"
Cynewulf straightened his robes around him and took a deep breath. "What about Draco Malfoy?"
Harry tensed. "What about him?"
"I heard an awful lot of talk about freeing Ron Weasley," Cynewulf said and the light in his black eyes was suddenly very shrewd and knowing. "However, I did not hear so much about Draco Malfoy. Is he included in this... operation of yours?"
"Why wouldn't he be?" Harry asked. Then, realizing how that must sound - and not knowing how discreet about this Cynewulf was going to be - he added, "We have laws remember? Laws against imprisoning a wizard in Azkaban without a trial?"
"Of course, of course," Cynewulf said, but something in his tone said that he was agreeing merely to humor Harry. "I wish you best of luck then, Mr. Potter."
tbc.
NOTES:
1.) Cynewulf Ansericarnosus: The editor's name is an amalgamation of the name of an Anglo-Saxon poet (Cynewulf) and the Latinized form of the German surname Gutenberg. The first is in honor of the Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf, one of the few identifiable composers of Old English poetry (he works his name into his poems using Old English runic characters), and well, I think Cynewulf is a damned cool name. The second is from the ever-beloved Gutenberg of printing press fame.
2.) I'm not sure what the ethics regarding the confidentiality of sources is in British journalism. Apologies if Cynewulf is being decidedly American in his concern.
Next time: The Ministry of Magic vs. Ronald Weasley... and Draco Malfoy.