Micah stood his ground, though he looked uncomfortable with the situation. "I'm afraid we can't allow Mi—er, I mean Heiress Potter to speak with anyone at the moment."

"Intelligence is not a concern," said Lord Black, waving him away. "I already know all about the young Heiress."

"And what do you mean by that?" growled Moody stepping forward to block his line of sight towards Harriet.

"I mean, dear captain, that I know why she is here in this chamber instead in the courtroom below. I know why her identity has been concealed from the public. I know she is an Obscurial."

Moody swore, and Micah drew a sharp breath.

"Don't overreact," continued the man. "Little happens here that I am unaware of. I've come to offer Heiress Potter my greetings, and to offer a solution to her parasitical problem."

Moody, clearly still off-balance, curtly replied. "It's handled."

"Oh? The healer report stated otherwise."

The captain spat. "'Course you got your hands on the bloody report."

Turning away from the grizzled man, Black faced Micah. "Now, if you don't mind, Auror…" he paused, glancing the wizard up and down.

"Auror Trainee Micah, si—Your Lordship."

"Trainee Micah, then. My view?"

Micah flinched, then waffled, unsure of what to do. Lord Black's placid, unblinking stare won in the end, and the young wizard was ousted him from his position at the balcony. Moody shot him a glare, but Micah just shrugged helplessly and walked away, taking up the captain's previous post by the door.

Lord Black approached Harriet and placed a withered hand on the smooth marble railing, peering down at the events below with his thundercloud eyes. Contrary to expectations, he said nothing, simply observing the proceedings in silence.

Harriet shot meek glances his way but was completely unable to get a read on what the man was thinking—his inscrutable expression seemed to shroud even the slightest signs of human emotion. It put her on edge. The three of them were silent for a time, invisible tension building like electricity crackling in the air.

At last, the newcomer broke the silence.

"Are you enjoying the trial?" he asked softly.

When Harriet didn't reply, he gestured with his chin. "It's just a display. A circus. But rather a fine one, don't you think?"

Harriet followed his gaze and saw that things had progressed while she was distracted. Jurors formed a line before the judge's podium, with those in front stepping forth and placing their hands in a large bowl filled with a shimmering mist. Some that had gone down first were making their way back to their seats, and Harriet saw them shooting venomous glances at her uncle as they passed. Vernon sat in his uncomfortable chair at the centre of it all, flinching at every movement and hushed exclamation. Since his wife was carried away, what bluster he had left in him seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

She wasn't sure what to say. Was this like a circus? She'd never been to one, so she wouldn't know. She was pretty sure those had animals, though.

'Besides, what question does he want me to answer? Are you supposed to enjoy trials here?'

Moody shifted from his position, opening a space to Harriet's left. "C'mon, lass. There's a better view here."

Intending to guide her away from Black, the Auror placed a hand on her back.

That was a mistake.

Immediate panic surged in her from the unexpected touch, and she violently flinched away. Unable to stop her instinctive aversion from the sudden contact, she slammed face-first into the target of Moody's hostility.

Harriet let out a muffled grunt when she collided Lord Black.

Though her head didn't even reach the man's chest and she was probably a quarter his weight, she hit his side with enough force that she would have expected the frail, sickly wizard to get knocked back.

Instead, Harriet staggered away and clutched her nose with one hand, wondering if she'd just collided with the trunk of some sturdy oak tree.

She began stuttering out apologies instantly, backing away towards the spot Moody vacated, but Cygnus interjected.

"My apologies, Heiress Potter," he murmured, eyes flicking down to meet hers for the first time. "I think I'm taking up more space than necessary."

Saying as much, he shifted further to the side, giving the girl more room.

"Eh? No, but it was my…" she trailed off, surprised she wasn't being lambasted.

"C'mon girlie, down here," said Moody, still intent on separating her from the man.

Black sniffed. "Let her make up her own mind as to where to stand, Captain," he said, turning once more to Harriet. "Forgive me, I just realized I've neglected introductions. I am Cygnus Black, head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. You may not be aware, but we are cousins by blood."

'Cousins? With him?'

She had a cousin already, but it pained her head when she attempted to merge the image of this solemn, stately wizard with her mental picture of Dudle—

She stalled like a car before an oncoming train. 'Don't think about that. God, don't think about that.'

Thinking of Dudley was the easiest way to make herself ill recently. Thankfully, Cygnus continued to speak without pause.

"We share a quarter of the same magical blood," he said. "My grandfather and namesake Cygnus the second was your great-grandfather. Your grandmother Dorea was my aunt, though I don't profess to have known her well. My father had many fond memories of her."

The girl's mind churned as she struggled to process the sudden load of information. A sharp spike of curiosity arose in Harriet, a sudden desire to know more about her family… but she couldn't ask questions. Not of this man, at least—though perhaps now he wasn't quite as intimidating as he'd seemed at first.

"We are your true family, Heiress Potter," he said. "Your wizarding family. Not like them."

He waved an arm at the scene below them. Vernon fidgeted in his seat as, one-by-one, wizards and witches of the jury inspected the evidence.

"I know about you and your case, Heiress Potter. Once I learned what these muggles did to you, I pushed to have this trial moved forward. Time is of the essence when justice is to be served. Retribution should be swift and decisive."

Harriet spoke at last. "Thank you."

She hoped that gratefulness was the correct response here. Suddenly, she was reminded of something Ada said earlier that day.

"To tell you the truth, the trial is happening far sooner than I expected. Normally these things take weeks and weeks… it seems that someone is pushing it along."

The detective had been spot-on. Lord Black (she just couldn't view him as her cousin) seemed quite staunchly set against the Dursleys. That fact—more than their supposed blood ties—made her inclined to like this man. He at least seemed more agreeable than Moody.

She was pretty sure that man cheated at cards.

"Think nothing of it," Lord Black said, waving away the gratitude. "And my question? What do you imagine should happen to these muggles?"

"Watch it, Black," interjected Moody at last. "You said you were here to do something about her Obscurus, and I've yet to hear a solution."

"I don't believe I am accountable to you, Auror," he said, shooting Moody down. "But all in good time. It's a simple question. I'm curious to hear her answer."

Put on the spot like that, she didn't know how to answer. "I-I don't know, sir."

"You don't have any ideas about what punishment would be fitting for them?"

'Dudley's dead. I killed him. They've been punished—I should be the one in prison.'

She didn't voice her thoughts, Lord Black seemed to understand her reluctance.

"Heiress Potter," he said, "In both the eyes of our society and the law, a muggle's life is not equivalent to a magical's. Remember that. They deserve all this and more for what they did."

A sharp tap interrupted the conversation as Moody hit the floor with his stick. "If you've come here to spout ideological nonsense, Black, you can sod right off. We don't want to hear it."

Cygnus looked down his nose at the man. "You're right. That isn't why I've come. I've come with a solution to the sickness plaguing our young Heiress."

"You'll forgive me if I have trouble believing that," ground out the Auror. "Anyway, it's pointless. We already know how to cure an Obscurial. All they need to do is accept their magic; be given a sense of belonging. Albus himself—"

"And how do you propose they accept this magic," cut in Lord Black, "When it manifests as a screaming maelstrom of dark energy that destroys everything it touches?"

Moody's mouth snapped shut, his fingers twitching around his walking stick.

Black went on. "That approach might have worked as a preventative measure, but once it is born, a far more extreme approach is needed to deal with Obscuri. We possess a wealth of hypothetical knowledge on these parasites thanks to the tireless efforts of researchers back during the Global Wizarding War, but little practical evidence exists to support them. Grindelwald, who manufactured them as weapons of war, might have known more, but you hardly have access to his research notes."

Harriet's gaze darted between the two men, taking in the conversation as best she could. 'Weapons of war? Who's Grindelwald? Ada never said anything about all this. But… but I can be cured, right?'

"Are you saying you have some of his notes, Black?" said Moody, his voice low and dangerous.

"We understand perfectly well how the creatures come about," continued Black, brushing aside the question. "But treating the Obscurial? That is another matter entirely. There has never once been a case where the condition was completely cured. With only the Ministry's efforts, Heiress Potter's Obscurus is here to stay. Until she is killed by the creature, of course—the inevitable conclusion to every Obscurial's story."

Harriet clutched the bars with such a sudden force that her knuckles turned white. The Auror behind her barked out, "Watch your mouth, Black! You want to unleash it here?!"

'Killed…? Am I—am I going to die? No, Miss Ada said I would be fine! Did she lie? She said—'

The memory came forth with startling clarity.

"Your Obscurus is still young, so it isn't too dangerous for you yet. And it's easily reversible," Ada said.

'Too dangerous 'yet,'' thought Harriet, beginning to hyperventilate. ''Yet.' Die? I'm going to die? Why didn't anyone tell me? I've just learned about magic and I'm going to die.'

She wanted someone to reassure her. She needed someone to tell her that it was all a lie, just some sick joke—but she was having trouble getting enough saliva to her mouth to speak.

Ada. Where was Ada? She needed her now.

Let me out.

Moody reached out as if to place a steadying hand on her shoulder, but reconsidered at the last second, drawing it back. Instead, he clumsily knelt beside her.

"Potter, listen to me! Calm down. Deep breaths, girl, deep breaths. It isn't that bad. You won't die. There's never been a case like yours before. Normally, the Obscurial burns out long before they can get any help, but we've got the most skilled mediwizard in the country working on you—Healer Thornton. You met him, remember? Tall bloke, brown hair?"

Let me out.

She didn't remember. Just another blurry face, an impression of a person. Moody was lying, she could tell by the sound of his voice. He was saying things he didn't believe.

'Oh god, I'm going to die.'

Let me out.

And then her cousin spoke.

"Indeed," Cygnus cut in, seemingly agreeing with the Auror. "There is nothing to fear, Heiress Potter. Though this is not because of the Ministry's efforts, valiant though they may be."

Mirroring Moody, he kneeled stiffly, as though the motion pained him. Something about the motion or his sudden proximity jarred Harriet from her spiral of hysteria.

Cygnus' hair swirled about him like a cloak of seething black serpents, and his eerie eyes seemed to flicker with lightning as he locked gazes with her. "I can save you, Heiress Potter. This I promise you, as one Head of House to the Heiress of another."

Cygnus Black lifted his hand, revealing a glinting object that he'd pulled from some hidden pocket on his cloak. It was an unadorned glass orb, a few inches across. The thing might have been a snow globe, but one without any decoration or a base to rest on.

"Go on, take it," he softly compelled her.

Moody's cloak swayed as he stood, lifting his staff. "Don't touch that, whatever it is, Potter—"

It was a sudden flash of petulant anger that prompted her next action. Without waiting for Moody to finish his warning, Harriet reached out and took the bauble from Cygnus.

When she picked it up, it changed in appearance almost immediately: a thin, silvery mist appearing at the centre of its formerly empty confines.

"Blast it, girl!" swore Moody. "Do you have a death wish? A dar—a wizard just offered you a clearly magical artifact and you grab it without a second thought?"

A thin smile appeared on Cygnus' face, the first expression beyond mild indifference he'd shown to date. For her part, Harriet didn't react, frozen as she gazed at the artifact with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"What did you do, Black? What's happened to the girl?" demanded Moody, stepping forward and twitching as if he wanted to shoot the thing out her hands. "If you try to tell me that thing's a Remembrall, I'll eat my bloody hat."

"This is no Remembrall, Captain, but something we of House Black call the Pacifier. It is an artifact that has been passed down in our family for generations. It has the effect of absorbing magic imbued with emotion. It was designed for users of dark magic who lost themselves to the power of their spells, but I theorized that it could be used to absorb the errant energies of—say—an Obscurus. How is it, Heiress Potter? Are you feeling better?"

"I—yes," she breathed, a weight she hadn't known was there evaporating from her chest as she clutched the Pacifier. Moody frowned upon seeing her expression.

'This is incredible,' she dizzily thought.

"Wonderful," said Cygnus. "See, Captain? Your paranoia is unfounded."

"Can—can I—" she cut off, too shy to ask for the impossible.

"Keep it?" smiled Cygnus again, the expression peculiar on his gaunt lips. "You can certainly borrow it for as long as you need. I think you will make better use of it. With the practice of dark magic outlawed, my family has little need of it—"

Moody choked, pounding his chest several times.

"—has little need of it," he continued, ignoring the Auror. "Feel free to use it as much as you like. But remember two things: first, always keep it on you—even while you sleep. There's no telling when you will need it to quell the creature within you. Second, know that the Pacifier isn't a solution on its own; it has a limited amount of magic it can disperse at a time. Once your magic grows too powerful for it, it will fail, though that could be years from now, or never at all—though I doubt that. The House of Potter has always produced powerful wizards."

Harriet blushed, though she wasn't sure why.

"Now, then," he continued. "Our House may have access to a more permanent solution to your Obscurus problem, but that isn't something we need to be worried about now."

"Probably because you've got to sacrifice a dozen virgins first," muttered Moody, just loud enough for her to hear.

Harriet clutched the Pacifier to her chest and simply revelled in the fact that she no longer felt a hint of insidious writhing in her chest. Furthermore, a newfound feeling of weightlessness—as though all her anxieties had suddenly dispersed to the winds—emboldened her.

She screwed up her courage and turned to Cygnus, taking a deep breath. "If it fails, sir, will—will you help me?"

Though Lord Black's smile had faded by now, his gaze didn't seem unkind. "We can speak on that later, Heiress Potter. Rest assured, I will never abandon family. Look, the pensieve memories have been reviewed. Shall we observe the outcome of the circus?"

He gestured down at the ongoing trial, and Harriet blinked rapidly, readjusting. The Pacifier had done more than calm her down—it had changed her perspective so rapidly that she could barely recall her earlier bout of panic. For the last few minutes, she'd forgotten why she was even here.

It seemed that the prosecution was calling forth witnesses. Harriet expected to see Ada appear, but the first witness was—to her disbelief—none other than Mrs. Figg, the Dursleys' neighbour across the street. Evidently, the old woman was something called a squib.

'Sounds like a kind of fish.'

She giggled, garnering a raised eyebrow from Cygnus and a hard look from Moody. Her mood had improved to a frightening degree. If it improved any more, she might just start floating away. Even the memories of abuse which were somehow being shown to a dozen wizards and the horrid experiences from two days ago weighed no more heavily than a feather on her conscience.

Arabella Figg left the stand, with Harriet not having listened to a word she said. Next, a brown-cloaked hit wizard was called up. He spoke a few words about the state he'd seen Harriet in after her arrival at the Ministry. He was one of the prison guards, another one of the faces she hadn't memorized from her first day here. Then, a tall healer who must have been the "Thornton" Moody mentioned was summoned. He gave an account of Harriet's scarring, the state of her advanced malnutrition, and several other boring things. She zoned out again, preoccupied with inspecting the bauble in her hands. The silvery wisps within fluctuated constantly, but didn't seem to react as she shook it around.

Moody's face darkened as he watched the witnesses go up one after another. By the time the mediwizard completed his report, he looked positively thunderous.

"Black," he ground out. "You're behind this, aren't you?"

The Head of House raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Captain."

"None of the witnesses mentioned Potter's Obscurus. Not a one—not even the blasted healer working on curing it!"

Cygnus hummed. "How strange. Surely that's a vital piece of information for the jury."

"Don't play a fool! You admitted to pushing the trial forward already, and now a crucial piece is being left out. What's your game here, Black?"

"No game, Captain. And I'll kindly ask you not to take that tone with me. Your Orders of Merlin and position in the Auror Office might afford you a certain level of privilege here, but all things have their limits."

"Hah! I've tussled with wizards that'd bleach your mane white, Black. You don't scare me."

Cygnus didn't reply, merely smiling in his thin-lipped way as he continued to observe the proceedings. For a few moments, Harriet was afraid the captain would club the man over the head with his staff, but Moody just muttered something unintelligible and vaguely offensive under his breath, turning back to face the trial.

The witnesses had finished coming forth, and Harriet belatedly realized that Ada wasn't among them. Hadn't she left early to get ready to be a witness?

'I hope she's all right.'

The prosecutor gave a few final, cutting remarks, finishing with her hopes for the outcome.

"…that is why we are asking that— when it comes time to cast their votes—this honourable jury casts crimson. Not yellow, not orange, but red."

'Casts crimson? What does she mean?'

She turned to the podium. "And that is why we are also petitioning Judge Burke—should the jury find them guilty—to punish the defendants to the fullest extend possible under the law. The wizarding world should settle for nothing less—not due to Heiress Potter's high status or her position as the saviour of wizarding Britain—but because the evil that has been enacted upon her should never have been conceived. No magical child deserves such treatment, and the deranged minds that carried it out should never walk the free earth again."

"HEAR, HEAR!" shouted the jury, sending up a sudden clamour. Harriet looked at them more closely, and discovered a riotous scene. Some stomped the ground with their feet, others shot sparks into the air. Some made rude gestures at Vernon, and even others had their mouths open, spittle flying as they called for punishment. In this moment, twelve people seemed more like a crowd of one hundred.

'Why're they so angry?'

She couldn't make sense of it.

Cygnus tutted to her right. "What those muggles did must have been horrid indeed for it to have inspired such a reaction."

'What? They can't be—they can't be angry for me.'

Judge Burke fired another gunshot from his wand, but when he spoke it was with a resigned sigh rather than a reprimand, such as the one he'd given her aunt and uncle. "Settle down, settle down. Thank you, Solicitor Barlow, that will be all."

The witch nodded and returned to her seat.

"I hereby invite the defence to voice their rebuttal to these allegations," he said, gesturing at Vernon.

An expectant silence settled over the courtroom. Harriet felt funny, like her body was trying very hard to be happy, but her mind was fighting back.

Finally, the quiet was broken by a tiny, meek voice.

"I… I didn't mean it."

If Harriet hadn't seen everyone staring at her uncle, she'd have thought the voice came from a mouse. Hunched over in his chair, he stared down at his feet, not even raising his head as he spoke.

She gaped, thoughts grinding to a halt as she looked at this terror of a man acting like a toddler who'd received a scolding.

"Petunia, she… she told me that we had to raise her normal. Said if we did that and treated her no differently, she'd grow out of it. Her parents didn't try with her sister, but she was sure we could manage it. So that's what we did, at first. B-but the mag—the incidents, I mean. They just—they didn't stop. Every day, summat exploded in the kitchen, or the dinner plates started dancing, or the bloody—the bloody couch came to life. I—we just wanted her to be normal, that's all. We never meant to hurt her, j-just to make her like us."

A low grumble seemed to echo out in the courtroom, but the judge forestalled the jury by raising his hand.

"Tell me, Dursley," he said, "Why you didn't give the child up if you weren't prepared to raise a witch in your house?"

"Because of th-that old loon! That's the reason why! He went by the name of Abel something-or-other. Y-you lot said his name earlier. He scared the daylights out of us! He-he'd know if we gave her up. It wasn't our decision to take in the girl, it was his! His!"

"Is the man you are referring to one Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes! That's the one! It was him, all him!"

Moody shifted by Harriet's side, disturbed for some reason, but she paid him little attention. Her gaze was focused on the scene below.

Judge Burke paused to write a short note on his lectern. When he spoke, it seemed directed at no one in particular, but his voice rang out authoritatively all the same.

"This is the second time the Chief Warlock's name has been brought up in connection with these proceedings. I wish to put this incident on record before this jury and before Magic Itself. Let it be noted by the court."

A brief murmur passed through the assembled wizards, and the judge leaned back in his seat. For an instant, his eyes seemed to flicker up to the balcony where she stood, but they quickly returned to rest on Uncle Vernon.

"Continue, Dursley."

Vernon took a few deep breaths, attempting to inject some measure of confidence in his voice.

"What I'm saying is we wouldn't have taken in the girl if that man hadn't come around and threatened us. He threatened us, you understand! If he'd wanted the girl raised up like one of his kind, he'd have adopted her himself. We're both innocent! We never wanted anything to do with your lot. Get that Chief War-whatever. Get him, he's the one you want! Just—just let us go."

Vernon ended his plea, voice petering out as he panted for breath.

"It seems the defence has concluded their argument," said Burke. "The jury will now deliberate on the guilt of the parties responsible for Heiress Potter's mistreatment these past eight years."

The deliberations didn't take long. The evidence still fresh on the jury's mind, one-by-one, the wizards lifted their wands, shooting red sparks into the air.

"Wh-what's that? What are they doing?" Vernon exclaimed to his guard, loudly enough for Harriet to hear high above. The stone-faced wizard didn't answer him.

Judge Burke must have been counting, because when the last witch sent up a shower of red sparks, he cleared his throat. "The jury has spoken. The defendants are found guilty on all charges."

Vernon moaned.

Judge Burke leaned forward, peering down at the man. He spoke in a low, solemn voice. "For my part, it seems clear to me that Heiress Potter was subjected to eight years of needless neglect and abuse. She was a young witch with active, strong magic. Incidents of accidental magic would have been celebrated in a proper wizarding house, but what did you do? You gave her scars."

"I… I didn't—"

"I plan to assert my authority in this matter, following both the prosecution and jury's recommendations. I will sentence you both to the fullest extent possible under the law."

He paused, glancing down at some parchment on his podium. "The maximum sentence normally allowed by law for these crimes is twenty-five years in Azkaban."

The jury broke out in mutters. Flashes of discontent and anger, some accepting the judgement, while others muttered disagreement.

"Azkaban?" whispered Harriet.

"It isn't just any prison," interjected Lord Black. "Not for wizards, and especially not muggles. If they're sent there, I imagine the two of them will be dead within a week."

"Dead?" she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

The judge went on. "However, the Azkaban charter does not allow for the imprisonment of muggles."

Her uncle sagged in relief, but Burke sank his hopes like a cannonball launched at a lifeboat. "As such, in almost any other case, you and your wife would be Obliviated and then placed in a muggle prison for a similar period of time. However, these crimes were not committed against just any member of our society. These were committed against the Heiress of a Noble and Ancient House. There is a provision in the law in cases such as these, where a muggle has harmed a member of wizarding nobility."

"A… provision?" croaked Vernon. "Nobility?"

"Indeed," the judge confirmed with a cruel smirk. "The provision in question allows for the penalty levied against the accused to be elevated by two full degrees."

Fingering the Pacifier absently, the girl was riveted to the scene, unable to look away from the judge as he sneered down at her uncle.

And the final verdict was given.

"You, Vernon Dursley, along with your wife, Petunia Dursley, will be administered the Dementor's Kiss for your crimes against Heiress Potter. The date of execution shall be set to three days from now, on the morning of the fourteenth of November, at ten o'clock."

For the third time, the jury erupted, though Harriet was too dazed to process them this time. She mouthed the word 'execution,' unable to process its meaning.

'A kiss? Execution?'

Vernon went completely slack, tilting forward. His guard caught him with magic before he could fall out of his seat.

"M-my son," her uncle finally said when the room had quieted enough. "What's going to happen to my son, Dudley? Who's going to care for him?"

Harriet's stomach flipped. 'What? Didn't he know about—? But how? Aunt Petunia knew!'

Before getting dragged out of the room, Petunia had clearly been about to accuse Harriet of murdering Dudley. Yet Vernon sat here, completely ignorant.

'Does he think he's back at Privet Drive?'

She was so shocked by Vernon's sudden plea that she almost missed the way the judge glanced over at the hit-wizard by Vernon, who stiffened slightly, wand-hand flexing uncomfortably.

'No one is saying anything. Does that mean no one here knows about Dudley? Did no one tell them?'

Clutching the Pacifier tightly, she willed away the rising tremors. The object took the edge off her anxiety, but she still couldn't rid herself entirely of the emotions that this new revelation brought forth.

She looked up at Moody to gauge whether he found it as odd as she did, but the captain seemed to be wrestling with something else. He didn't bring up any objection to Vernon's question. Then she glanced at Micah. The trainee had approached to observe the sentencing from over the captain's shoulder, but he didn't voice any doubts either. Instead, his eyebrows furrowed in concern over Vernon's son.

'I thought they knew what happened! They work with Miss Ada—didn't she mention what happened? What—what my Obscurus did? Shouldn't they find this weird?'

Cygnus Black patted her on the shoulder, and oddly, she found she didn't shy away this time.

"Breath deep, Heiress Potter. There's no need to concern yourself with muggles any longer. You're one of us."

The words were like honey poured over burnt toast. They muted the bitter taste in her mouth, and the girl shivered as a warm feeling blossomed in her chest. She liked the sound of that. She really did.

The next words out of Judge Burke's mouth breezed over the matter with little fanfare.

The judge waved his hand dismissively. "Your 'police' will handle these matters. It isn't in the purview of this court to decide what happens to muggle children." He sat back in his chair, looking down at Vernon with a contemptuous gaze. "Take him away."

"Take him away."

The line resonated in Harriet's gut. Those three words held such power she could scarcely imagine it. Just a single phrase, and her uncle's fate was sealed. No amount of shouting, no amount of struggling would amount to anything in the face of words those strong.

It didn't look like Vernon had the energy to stand, so his guard repeated the same process that was used to cart Petunia out of the room—he floated her uncle out of the room like a child with a balloon. She watched him go, and she belatedly realized that her chest was heaving like she'd sprinted a mile.

There was still the question of Vernon's ignorance, making the situation seem off, but if none of the adults were raising objections, it must have been intentional. There was no use worrying about it. Cygnus had told her not to worry. The judge had given his verdict.

She wouldn't ever be going back to the Dursleys.

Ada hadn't lied.

She wouldn't be going back.

Harriet slumped against the railing dizzily. She was free. Free from worry, free from dread. With Ada and this new lucky charm with her, she felt that the future was limitless.

"It seems that my presence here is no longer required," said Lord Black. "It was a pleasure, Heiress Potter. I hope to see you again in future. Oh, and on behalf of House Black… welcome to the fold."

He turned and left, stooped heavily over his cane. His steps were as slow and deliberate as his every word.

The first thing Moody did when Cygnus was out of sight was summon the Pacifier away from Harriet. It zipped out of her hands and came to a stop in front of the Auror as if suspended by a string.

"Wh—hey!" she cried out.

"Let's see here, let's see," he said mumbling as he tapped the artifact with his staff, scrutinizing it deeply with his blue eye.

Harriet stood in place, a slow anger building while Moody spoke to himself. "Nothing dangerous on the cursory scan, but I'd best take it in for a closer examination."

Take it away? It wasn't his to take away!

"G-give it back!" she exclaimed.

Moody glared down at her, and Harriet flinched at the look, raising her arms as if to ward off a strike.

An awkward silence ensued, Moody frozen as Harriet cringed, until Micah cleared his throat.

"Why don't you give it back to the girl, Captain? As much as I understand your position here, I doubt Lord Black would give the Girl-Who-Lived a cursed object in front of two witnesses, one of them an Auror Captain, no less."

Moody faltered, shooting one final electric glance at the orb floating before him. His normal eye moved down, taking in Harriet's reddening cheeks and raised arms. "Fine," he gruffed. "But I still think you should let an expert examine it, lass. Black practically admitted that the thing was a dark artifact."

When Moody waved the Pacifier back over to her, she grabbed it of the air with lightning quickness, clutching it to her chest. "I-I'll think about it," she lied.

Enclosed in her hand, the girl didn't see that—deep within the cloud of silver mist that had begun to occupy the interior of the Pacifier—hints of malevolent black smoke crackled.

Notes

I don't think Moody actually says anything. He just growls, snorts, and barks, and the people around him learned to interpret those noises as language.

In case it wasn't clear, muggles in this setting don't exactly have many rights in magical Britain. There are activist groups campaigning for this to change, but the pureblood nobility are still very much in control.

Harriet doesn't ask many questions about things she is confused about. It takes a while to train out of things taught from a young age, and asking questions is legitimately one of her biggest fears right now. Just look at what a leap it was for her to ask Ada anything. Even high on fairy dust, asking Cygnus for help here was a big deal for her.