Completed: 12/24/04 6:40 PM

Posted: 12/24/04 6:44 PM

A/N:I know it's short, but I got swamped by the Christmas fic, and my internet has been crapping out lately. So, I REALLY wanted to get something out for you. Will do my best for timing next chapter. Happy Christmas.

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The large doors of Courtroom Ten opened to admit the long line of the Wizengamot. They filed in one by one and took their seats with an air of ominous silence swirling about them in the musty oxygen of the dankest courtroom of the Ministry. The last wizard through the door, motioned for them to be shut, and climbed the precarious stairs to the judge's stand, holding his long white beard up with his robes to keep them from dragging in the dirt and dust.

When he was settled, all eyes turned to him and he spoke loudly into the echoing room. "The Wizengamot has convened, on the first of October at exactly seven o'clock in the evening, London time, for the retrial of one Hermione Granger."

--

"GET MOVING!" James shouted as Sirius and Lily balked under Remus' weight and fell to the slick grass.

"We have eight minutes to get him in that tree!" Harry shouted sprinting up behind them. Slipping on the dewy grass, he scrambled to take Lily's place and together, he and Sirius heaved the half-unconscious boy to his feet.

James ran on ahead towards the violently swinging branches of the Whomping Willow in the distance, the two redheads of the group running after him. Leaning heavily on Lily's shoulder, Ron startled her with his shallow breaths. "It's coming soon, I can feel it."

They both looked back over their shoulders. Harry and Sirius were still a long ways from the tree, working to drag a moaning Remus between them as they half-stumbled, half-loped down the hillside.

"We're running out of time."

--

"What motive is there for calling this retrial?" An angered voice demanded from the far wall of the square courtroom.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the sound echoed off the high podium and around the room. "The events of today's raid on Azkaban prison brought into question the defendant's charge of allegiance to the Dark Lord. As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I deem this as well as the original mistrial provocation enough to hold a retrial."

"You're not fit to preside over this trial, Dumbledore."

The white-haired wizard turned to the shorter podium beside him, where a young witch and her enchanted quill were recording the entire session. "My dear, will you please read the first motion of the pretrial?"

A shuffling as she rolled the long parchment back up to the top, and then her clear voice rang out as she read aloud. "First motion, presented by Senior Wizengamot Chair Holder, Christoph Jeuxbro. 'I motion Albus Dumbledore be returned to his customary post as Chief Warlock, to be reinstated upon the passing of this motion.'"

The owner of the angry voice scowled. Dumbledore gestured kindly for her to continue. "By a counting of the Lieutenant Warlock and a non-partisan participant, the motion passed with a unanimous vote."

"My apologies, Minister," Dumbledore said cordially. "But you are here as a bystander and nothing more. Let us begin."

--

James dodged a whipping branch and darted with experience to the trunk of the willow and prodded the magic knot at its base. The tree instantly froze as if hit with a Locomoter spell, and he ran back out to help Remus. Lily and Ron hurried on ahead and disappeared inside the passageway.

The last arc of the sun was holding above the horizon, casting the entire grounds in a blood red hue. It hung there as if doing its best to stave off the night to give the boys the time they needed. Grabbing Remus' legs, James hoisted them up and the trio were able to pick up their pace to the tree, carrying him between the three of them.

"What happened to this Strength of yours, Padfoot?" Harry grumbled. Remus moaned in his delirious sleep and shook his head back and forth.

"I don't know," he panted back, trying to flick his long hair out of his eyes without dropping Moony. "I've been feeling tired all afternoon."

"Enough chitchat," James grunted. We've got less than two minutes before Remus here goes all furry on us."

--

"As the defendant is unable to attend her own hearing, I call the next witness – Ms. Rita Skeeter."

The doors opened once more to admit the entrance of the journalist, and she moved confidently up the dubious staircase and took her seat at the witness stand. Adjusting her sharp-looking, canary yellow robes, she stated her name to the court as she was instructed and waited patiently for the questioning.

"Ms. Skeeter." Dumbledore looked down patiently at her from his podium. "Can you please tell the court where you were at two o'clock this afternoon?"

Rita pushed her thin glasses higher up on her pointed nose and cleared her throat into the silence. "I was at Azkaban, working on the criminal prevention piece for the Prophet."

All eyes were on her.

"I saw everything..."

--

They dropped Remus through the hole, where Lily and Ron were ready to catch him, and followed quickly after. This time, Ron was left behind to help carry as Lily ran on ahead into the shack. The boys staggered in a few moments after and dropped the now spasming Remus onto the tattered bed.

"Geezus," James wheezed, leaning against the wall. "Moony could stand to lose some weight."

Fingernails bit into his skin and he winced. "What the he-"

Ron was staring into blank space, but a look of terror that wasn't his own contorted his face. "It's here."

James' eyes widened. "LILY!" He shouted.

"I've got it!" She cried, digging through the pockets of her robes. Remus arched against the bed and cried out. "Potion, potion, potion," she repeated desperately and her fingers closed around the sought after flask. "HERE!"

Wrenching out the stopper, she jumped onto the bed and tried to pour the frothing potion down her friend's throat. "Sirius! Hold him!" She rushed out.

The tallest boy pinned Remus' chest with his knees and fought to hold down his arms as he bucked and flailed wildly under the onslaught of the moon. He screamed as the transformation began to take hold and Lily took her chance. Holding up his chin with one hand, she dumped the flask's contents into his open mouth, pressing along his throat and forcing him to swallow.

With an enraged howl, Remus kicked Sirius up into the air and Lily was roughly backhanded against the far wall. Both she and Sirius fell to the creaking floorboards with a CRASH!

--

"Thank you, you may go now."

Rita nodded. She climbed down from the stand and was escorted by the two guards out into the hall. Once the doors had shut and the room was soundproofed once more, a wizard to the right stood – indicating the floor was his – and asked; "Were there any fatalities?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "There were none – from either side. The Death Eaters she fought off are under the Ministry's medical attention before they will be placed in Azkaban. The children and reporters sustained a few bumps and bruises, and have already been treated."

The man sat down and was replaced by the standing of a woman across the room. "What was their aim in the raid?"

Folding his hands into the long sleeves of his robes, Dumbledore pursed his lips. "Sources claim that the Dark Lord's followers had planned on the massacre of the Daily Prophet excursion, most likely to send the wizarding world into an outraged panic and to serve as a symbol of the Dark Lord's power. Their plan was to release the loyal prisoners, kill the reporters and children, and walk out."

The woman stayed standing. "And this plot was stopped by the defendant?"

"Yes."

"Single-handedly?"

"According to the testimony of Ms. Skeeter and others present, that is true," Dumbledore answered.

The woman sat down in flush of murmuring voices. One girl against scores of Death Eater? Impossible! Remarkable!

--

His robes ripped at the seams, popping stitches and tearing cloth. The moon was in the sky; he could feel it in his veins as his skin stretched and his bones shifted. Fur spilled out of his arms and spread out across his chest, his muscles rippled and burst what was left of his clothes.

James pulled Lily to him and hid her face in his shoulder.

The pain was stronger than he'd ever known, it clawed at his insides and burned him like a thousand hot pokers. He knew he must have been screaming but the blinding pain made it impossible to hear anything more than the pounding of his own heart. Bones cracked and broke mercilessly before fusing back together, contorting his body to its monthly shape.

Blood trickled from his mouth where the new fangs had jutted into the soft flesh of his tongue and cheek, and the crimson smeared across his cheek as he covered his face with his hands. Claws scratched thin lines across his face as he clumsily sought to hide his shifting face from his friends. Even in his delirium, he knew they were there.

The course hair sprouted between his fingers though he wished desperately for them to not, and his hands were pushed away by the lupine snout fusing from his nose and mouth. He couldn't think straight – the pain and exhaustion were working together to disorient and agitate.

With a hoarse howl, he stumbled off the bed, getting caught in the torn sheets.

James and Sirius stepped in front of the others, placing themselves in front of their werewolf friend as his transformation ended. As animagi they were more prepared to deal with a rampant lycan than the rest.

Harry and Ron had both their wands in hand and held up close to their faces; ready to petrify if worse came to worse. Lily pulled herself onto a decrepit crate behind them, and lifted her own wand – already muttering the words to a shielding charm. Just in case.

The werewolf reared back on its haunches and roared. Wand hands tightened. Wolf-amber eyes blinked slowly, taking in the five young wizards and witch, and muzzle dripping with drool and spit, the werewolf growled low and curled passively up on the floor.

The potion had worked.

--

"Please, denote your vote as white for 'innocent' and red for 'guilty'," Dumbledore instructed, and a hundred witches and wizards bent over their parchments.

Once the last had voted, the charmed parchments appeared on the desk of the young stenographer. Silence filled the room as she sorted them into two piles. When she was finished, she recorded the results with her enchanted quill and shuffled them back together before passing the ballots up to Dumbledore.

He too, sorted them. Each ballot was meticulously placed into the pile of its similar color. When the task was completed, he counted them once more – calm and unfazed by the hundred pairs of eyes upon him. Upon reaching his final total, he whispered the numbers to the young witch still waiting patiently beside his chair and she nodded before returning to her seat a few steps down the stairs.

Pulling her chair up to the bench, she rewetted the quill and set it loose to dance across the parchment. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"At 4:52 in the morning, on the second day of October, by a vote of eighty-seven to thirteen, Hermione Granger is awarded a full pardon of her crimes, however true they may be. This court is dismissed."

--

It was warm. Unbelievably warm.

She snuggled deeper and the rough linen of hospital sheets scratched her cheeks. She didn't open her eyes; no, it was too soon for that. She wanted to savor the feeling, the feeling of sheets – even if they were coarse and stiff. They were warm, and the press of the mattress beneath her was enough to make her want to drift off again.

But she didn't. She couldn't. She wouldn't let herself. The moment was too precious to waste by sleep – what if she woke to the cold stone floor of Azkaban? Questing fingertips reached through the curls fanned out around her. They were silky and soft to the touch, and if she turned her head she could spell the flowery smell of shampoo. She was finally clean.

Her fingers curled around the cushion beneath her head, and she nearly cried. A pillow. A real, actual pillow. She'd forgotten what one felt like. She squeezed it tight.

There was a soft rustling a ways beside her, and someone else was moving beneath their own starchy sheets. Slowly unclenching her pillow, she allowed her eyes to finally open.

A few feet away, looking back at her, was Remus.

He'd rolled onto his side, knocking the sheets down to his waist, and the thought of such coldness made her sink all the way down to her chin. Bright honey eyes peeking above the fold of sheets she took in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the fresh pink lines across his cheeks, leftover from the transformation.

They met eyes and she didn't dare move.

"Hey..."

--

Aw, she's free – just in time for Christmas, lol.