When the trial was due to begin, the Aurors brought Harriet to an empty antechamber above the courtroom. The room was essentially a luxurious parlour filled with armchairs and other sitting surfaces. Flowers and bowls of snacks were arranged on the tables, and a bar holding various alcoholic beverages lined the right wall. On the far side, the room opened into a balcony that looked out on a much larger chamber below.
Micah, who went in first, stretched widely and exclaimed, "Ahh, the perks of nobility! I suppose this is where all the bigwigs watch the criminal proceedings from. Just us in here today, though!" Plucking a candy out of a nearby bowl, he offered it to Harriet, who'd entered just behind him. "Chocolate?"
"Er, I'm all right," she hurriedly declined.
Shrugging, the trainee popped the treat into his mouth and chomped down with a blissful expression.
Moody ignored them both and started walking a perimeter of the viewing room, muttering under his breath as he poked at the wall with his wand.
"Below us is one of our courtrooms," Micah said, smacking his lips as he led Harriet to the balcony. "There are seven others like this, as well as one big court—the Wizengamot. See the judge there?" he pointed.
Harriet peeped through the bars on the railing. On a high podium across from them sat an important-looking wizard in purple robes. He was positively ancient—a swarthy, wrinkled wizard with shoulder-length white hair and a short white goatee. He sat with a relaxed but authoritative posture.
"That's Herbert Burke, one of the Ministry's thirteen judges, sworn by magic to be impartial and fair."
Her gaze wandered, taking in the rest of the courtroom. About a dozen larger-than-life statues of people in robes were arranged at regular intervals around the circular room, with one standing out above the rest, positioned directly behind the judge's podium. This final statue was the largest, depicting an old wizard with an incredibly long beard and a staff.
Micah saw where she was looking. He bent down, whispering. "Those statues are over a thousand years old. They're made in the likeness of the first lords of the Founding Families… though they were only clans back then. Those men made up the first Wizard's Council that ruled the country long before the Ministry was founded. Some people say things haven't changed much, really, other than the fact that five of those families are gone now. Only seven remain of the founding twelve."
Harriet frowned, counting again. There were thirteen statues in the courtroom, not twelve.
"See the big statue there?" he asked, pointing at the statue behind the podium. It was the largest of the lot, and depicted an old wizard with an incredibly long beard and a staff. "That's Merlin. He made peace between the clans and sat as the first Chief Warlock of the Wizard's Council."
She'd heard of Merlin. Even muggles knew about him.
'He must have been a really great wizard.'
Opposite the judge and below Harriet, a group of people in robes of various colours were cloistered. In the centre of the room sat two plain, hard metal chairs. She had an idea who the chairs were meant for.
"Will they see me?" asked Harriet, growing tense as she imagined the Dursleys walking into the courtroom and spotting her up here. The unsavoury thought made her immediately reconsider her attendance.
"The balcony is covered by obfuscation wards," explained Micah. "Nobody below will be able to see or hear us up here. The Ministry built it so that nobility could inspect the proceedings anonymously, though when a dangerous or powerful wizard is being put on trial, the jury will sometimes come up here to deliberate without inviting reprisal on themselves. This time, the defendants are muggles, so nobody's worried enough to bother."
"Hmph. Load of fools if you ask me," grumbled Moody, who'd finished his inspection of the room at some point and come to join them at the balcony. "A muggle can kill as easily as a wizard. More easily, sometimes. I've seen a hit wizard laugh at a bloke threatening him with a shotgun. Didn't have any clue the thing was a weapon. When the fool got himself blown to bits, we had to towel him off us."
Harriet froze, the words bringing to mind an unwelcome memory.
Their bodies were deflated, like burst balloons, but they hadn't been filled with air. In the instant before she realized what she was looking at, she thought the boy's open ribcage looked rather like the inner workings of a grand piano. But the contents of this piano had been scattered all over the field, keys and wires and other weirdly shaped pieces lying all over. And besides, it was too wet, as if someone had dumped a bucket of red paint inside. Surely it wasn't playable.
"Miss Potter? Miss Potter, are you all right?" asked Micah. Knees shaking, Harriet sagged against the balcony's railing.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"No, no, it's quite all right," said Micah, shooting a look at Moody, who had the decency to stomp off and position himself at the entrance. "Honestly, that was a bit much."
Harriet realized with a wave of fatigue just how tired she was. Bone tired, like the time Aunt Petunia had shut her outside for two days and she couldn't get comfortable enough under the hedges to sleep. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and rest, but even in her bed at Ada's flat she couldn't sleep.
The large double doors below the judge suddenly flew open, admitting two brown-robed wizards. Behind them shuffled another two meek, dishevelled figures in manacles: a large man and a thin woman. At first, Harriet didn't recognize them. Their physiques were similar enough to the Dursleys, but these two people were dressed in plain white prison garb and so bedraggled that the images didn't mesh.
'Was there a mistake? Did they get the wrong people?'
Then, the woman lifted her head to take in the court, and Harriet's heart jolted. Petunia's eyes were visibly red even from a distance, as if she'd been crying nonstop for days. But if that actually was her aunt…
'Then the other one really is Uncle Vernon!'
She gaped. Everything about the situation seemed wrong. Her aunt and uncle weren't… they weren't supposed to be like this—weak and cowed and—and lesser. It clashed with the idea of the two punitive titans she'd grown up fearing.
The pair of wizards gestured for her aunt and uncle to sit in the twin metal chairs. They complied without a word, and the guards took up their posts on either side. Judge Burke made a motion, and a blue firework shot into the air, exploding into a shower of sparks at the apex of the domed courtroom.
"With all present, I call to order this court in the case of the Ministry of Magic v. Dursley. Today, we will be deliberating on the matter of the unfit guardianship of their magical ward and relative, one Harriet Potter, Heiress of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter."
An explosion of muttering and gasps from the jury followed this statement.
'Heiress Potter?' she wondered. 'Noble and Ancient House? What does that mean?'
She had a dim memory of Ada explaining something regarding this the other day, but she'd been too out of it to comprehend.
Judge Burke fired a second spell from his wand. This one wasn't a firework, but more like a gunshot—a loud noise that silenced the room. The Dursleys flinched like they'd been slapped. Many of the jurors still exchanged whispers, but it was far more subdued. Harriet noticed more than a few people glancing at her balcony, and she had to remind herself that they couldn't see her up here.
"I should not need to remind you of the oaths of silence you all took. Outside this courtroom, no word will be spoken regarding this case until the day of the thirty-first of July, 1997, when all concerned parties will be of age. Even afterwards, spreading the contents will open you up to the possibility of prosecution for libel and slander by then-Lady Potter. With that out of the way, let us move on." He levelled a look at the two defendants. "Petunia and Vernon Dursley. You are accused of over fifty counts of child abuse towards a magical child under the age of eleven. How do you plead?"
Her uncle's meaty shoulders tensed, and he clenched his cuffed fists on his knees.
"Not guilty," said Vernon. "We're not guilty!"
"Very well," drawled the judge, expecting as much. "The prosecution will step forward and present their opening statement. Solicitor Barlow?"
"Thank you, My Lord," came a new voice.
A witch who'd been sitting on the front row of the jury climbed down the stairs and approached the centre of the room. She had her hair up in a tight bun and didn't wear any sort of hat, even though most of the magicals in attendance did.
She cleared her throat before speaking. "While in our custody the previous evening, the court investigators procured pensieve memories from the accused party. I have taken the liberty of condensing the memories into fifty distinct scenes. Our investigators uncovered much more than fifty instances of abuse during their investigation, but in the interest of expediency, I've selected only the most clear-cut and irrefutable examples."
Judge Burke lifted his wand, and the witch stopped short.
"Solicitor Barlow, before you continue, it would be helpful to frame the situation more fully. Could you explain before the court what your investigators found regarding why and how Heiress Potter had been placed with a muggle family instead of one more suitable to her status?"
"Yes, My Lord. Memories taken from the accused party told us that, after the death of her parents, Heiress Potter was immediately placed into the care of her muggle aunt and uncle at the behest of her magical guardian, one Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards."
Muttering broke out in the wake of the wizard's name, and as she listed off the titles, it swelled, growing into a near uproar. Judge Burke fired off another shot, and when the jury had quieted, Barlow continued.
"We immediately secured a warrant to enter the Records Room, and from there our findings were confirmed." The witch pulled forth a parchment. "This is the contract detailing the Chief Warlock's magical guardianship over Heiress Potter in the event of her parent's death, signed by both Chief Warlock Dumbledore and the late Lord Potter."
"Duly noted by the court," said Burke.
Harriet squinted at the judge. Though there was nothing outward to indicate as much, to her eyes, it seemed that he was almost… happy?
"Please continue with your opening statement," he said.
"Thank you, My Lord. Other than the pensieve memories, we also have in our possession testimony confirming these memories from the accused party, who were dosed with Veritaserum and questioned prior to the retrieval of the memories. Finally, we have three witnesses—"
"Wait just a minute," sputtered Vernon. "Objection! Objection!"
The witch cut off, levelling a cold look at Harriet's uncle.
'Here it is,' thought Harriet uneasily. 'He's going to do something. They won't be able to hold him. And then I'm going back there.'
When Vernon got into one of his moods, people ran.
"The defence wishes to file an objection," said the judge, a subtle smirk working its way onto his lined face. "Permitted."
"I don't know about this—this "pensive" nonsense, but that drink they gave us—it made us lie! We said things we didn't mean! We weren't in our right minds! Surely you can't accept testimony while we were under the influence of that ruddy—that-that concoction!"
A quiet chuckle worked its way over the court at this, and the judge turned to the hit wizard at Vernon's side. "Sergeant Foster. Is the defendant referring to Veritaserum, or was some other potion administered in the course of your investigation?"
"He is referring to the truth serum, My Lord. No other potion was administered, as the records will confirm."
"I see. Objection overruled."
"N-now wait just a minute, if you please," chuckled Vernon nervously. "I have another question. Erm. My Lord."
"You will have ample opportunity to ask questions during your defence, Dursley."
"See, that's just the thing!" Vernon said. "We haven't been allowed to contact our solicitor! Surely this—this must be grounds for a mistrial!"
"Being muggles, you do not keep a magical solicitor on retainer, nor would you have the funds to do so should you choose," Judge Burke explained. "As muggles, you do not qualify for indigency or a right to counsel. As muggles, you will serve as your own defendants in this case. Surely this all has already been explained to you."
"But that's ridiculous! Utterly mad! You expect—"
"That is quite enough, Dursley," said the judge, voice cool. "Any more outbursts and I will have grounds to remove you from this court, depriving you of any defence."
Harriet was stunned that anyone could take that tone with her uncle—and she was even more shocked that it worked. Vernon's mouth snapped shut, his face turning an unhealthy shade of purple.
At that moment, she heard a strange noise from somewhere below. It was a high-pitched, oscillating sound that grated against her ears. It took her a while to realize that it was Petunia—and she was laughing.
"It doesn't matter what we say, Vernon," she choked out between her deranged chuckles. "They're magical, after all. We're just poor, ordinary folk. We're nothing to them. Not to these freaks."
Judge Burke lifted an eyebrow, but otherwise allowed Petunia to continue. But why, when the judge had already silenced Vernon for less?
"They'll always protect one of their own, no matter what it was that girl did. No matter that she's a monster. And you—" she pointed a bony finger at the judge, Solicitor Barlow, the jury, and anyone her eyes landed on. "You lot are every bit as guilty as that girl! You're complicit! No matter that she killed my darling—"
Petunia's mouth snapped shut, her eyes going wide as her hands flew up to her lips.
"That is quite enough," the judge said. "I levied one warning. It was my last."
Harriet noticed that he had one finger extended towards her aunt. 'Did he just make her go quiet? Don't you need a wand to do magic?'
"Sergeant, please remove this muggle from these chambers," he continued. "She can await the verdict in a holding cell."
The brown-robed wizard flicked his wand out, pointing it at Petunia, who—still struggling to open her mouth—was levitated off her chair and brought out of the room quickly. Vernon seemed to shrink in on himself as he watched his wife floating away.
Harriet felt dizzy. 'They're helpless,' she suddenly realized. 'They can't yell their way out of this. They can't beat wizards.'
"The prosecution may continue," said Judge Burke.
Before Harriet could hear what the witch said next, a commotion at the rear of the viewing chamber distracted her. Moody stood in the doorway, blocking someone else from entering and speaking in a hushed, gruff voice.
"—can eat a pile of griffon shit if you think I'll let you—"
"Calm yourself, captain," a deep, unfamiliar voice spoke. "I already know about this case and Heiress Potter's identity. It happens that I've taken a personal interest in seeing justice carried out. The viewing platform is open to me. Here, my writ. Now stand aside, unless you prefer I take this matter up with Scrimgeour?"
Moody stood stock-still for a moment, before cursing and stomping back to Harriet's side, revealing the figure at the door.
Harriet wondered if vampires were allowed in the Ministry, because that's what this person reminded her of. Micah's shoulders stiffened the instant he saw the man, and he positioned himself as though to shield Harriet.
The 'vampire' stepped into the room slowly, as though the very action of moving pained him. He was of average height but thin—painfully so—and his skin was unnaturally pale, like a cave-dweller's, and it clung to his bones like shrink-wrap. He couldn't have been older than sixty, but his pained movements put her in mind of an octogenarian.
His hair was an otherworldly, unexpected sight when contrasted against the rest of his sickly appearance: it was long, full-bodied, and so black that it almost seemed like a patch of shadows had sprung to life and draped itself over his head. The hair reached his middle back, draping over his shoulders with a regal confidence. It lightly swayed and coiled as if in a breeze, though no air moved in this stone-walled chamber. She'd have wondered at the oddity of this, had something else not immediately drawn her attention away.
The man's eyes were an intense, stormy grey, and when they locked with Harriet's own green ones, they pierced her on a completely different level than Moody's magical eye, capturing her like a fly stuck in amber. When the captain looked at her, it was as if he looked through her. This man was different—he appeared to be looking somewhere within her.
The two Aurors closed ranked on either side, but that didn't dissuade the stranger, who steadily approached, leaning heavily on a cane (she hadn't even noticed it at first, so distracted by the rest of him).
"Lord Black," said Micah, standing with a straight back. "To what do we owe the pleasure—"
"You owe nothing. I'm here to observe the proceedings," interrupted the ebony-haired man. His voice, low and powerful, was the second aspect at-odds with his frail appearance. It had all the authority of Judge Burke's voice with none of the pomp.
"Now stand aside, you're blocking my view."
Notes
Bit of an abrupt ending, but there were no good spots to end this chapter and still have it my ideal length. Part 2 coming soon.
This scene was partly inspired by the trial from geoffaree's A Very Slytherin Harry.