"Well, that's the thing, you see?" explained Ada between mouthfuls. "I fully expected to be called as a witness. But just before the trial started, Robards pulled me aside and said that my testimony 'wasn't needed.' I asked him why, but he just said it was a decision from higher up. Said the Ministry doesn't want Harriet's 'condition' getting out."
"It makes sense if you think about it," said Micah, shooting a glance at the girl in question, who averted her eyes hurriedly.
She was huddled in a nearby armchair with a sandwich while the Aurors spoke at the table, eating their own lunch. She ignored her food in favour of observing the swirling fog inside the Pacifier.
Micah went on. "Think about how people would react if it got out! The tabloids alone…" he shuddered. "Moody seems to think it's all some plot by Lord Black. He's already started an investigation into the whole thing… though the investigative team is just him."
Ada asked, "Why would Lord Black care about the Girl-Who-Lived's reputation?"
"Who knows," said Micah, shrugging. "But he did admit to having a hand in pushing the trials forward. I don't see any reason to do that unless he was angry at… you know, her relatives. He's no fan of muggles, but what purebloods are? He seemed halfway decent otherwise."
"Decent?" she snorted. "You must not be acquainted with the Blacks."
He raised his hands. "His father was a different matter from what I understand. But I haven't heard many atrocious rumours about Cygnus."
"Death Eater supporters, the lot of them. Surely you of all people don't think there are no ties between the Blacks and You-Know-Who? Cygnus' daughter was his bloody second, for crying out loud!"
Harriet perked up an ear. 'You-Know-Who? That's what they call that dark wizard, the one I beat eight years ago.'
Micah shrugged. "There really isn't any connection. He publicly cut ties with Bellatrix even before she married. She might've been born a Black, but she was a Lestrange through and through. If anything, the Selwyns should've been implicated since House Lestrange was one of theirs. But no—that lot got off with a slap on the wrist. The Dark Lord kept trying to rope in House Black throughout the war, but they stayed dead neutral."
"They're always neutral," Ada pointed out. "That's how they've lasted so long. They play at impartiality, supporting the Dark from behind the scenes."
"And the legendary duel on Samhain? That didn't exactly scream 'neutrality.'"
She snorted. "It was legendary, all right. Legendarily fake. I've always thought it was a façade. You-Know-Who wouldn't have attacked Pollux Black—it would have ruined his chances at getting the other Founding Families on his side."
"I don't think it was the Dark Lord who attacked. The way I heard it, it was the other way around. The two of them razed most of Malfoy Manor to the ground. A couple more 'façades' like that, and he'd have lost the war," he chuckled.
"Well, he did lose the war. But that wasn't the reason." Ada shot a glance at Harriet, who flinched at the attention.
The Auror smiled softly at her, turning away. "Forget it. Still, if Cygnus isn't a secret Death Eater, I'll eat my boot."
"Careful. You're starting to sound an awful lot like the captain."
"Why, you…"
They moved on to more boring topics of conversation, and Harriet's mind started to wander again. The three of them were taking lunch in Ada's office. Micah and Moody had returned with Harriet in tow to find Ada already there, miffed about missing the trial. The Auror had been surprised and pleased to find Harriet in high spirits, though when she learned it was because of an artifact given to her by Cygnus Black, she went right back to surly again. She'd done the same thing as Moody and tried to take the device from her, but Harriet wouldn't let her (it was the second time she'd ever been stubborn with an adult and was surprised to find that it worked). Ada eventually gave up and sent Micah to fetch sandwiches, which led to the pair's lively discussion around lunch.
The girl soon found herself thinking about the trial, and the heavy weight that had been lifted from her chest. She'd never see Privet Drive again, sleep another night in that musty cupboard, or have to go without water. She was free.
Yet one thought kept irritating her—why hadn't Uncle Vernon known about his son's death? The man had been completely clueless, even though Aunt Petunia must have known. She kept thinking something was wrong with the situation, but she couldn't come to a solution, no matter how much she contemplated it.
Maybe an adult would be able to figure it out, but telling Ada and Micah about it would only serve to remind them of her monstrous nature. Even with the Pacifier comfortably in hand, she shivered at the thought of how the pair would react when they remembered she was a murderer. Would they turn against her? Throw her out into the streets, like Vernon always threatened to do? Ada was a good person—much nicer than her aunt and uncle. She didn't think the woman would throw her to the gutter, but she might grow to hate the girl.
She didn't want that to happen.
Harriet barely nibbled at her sandwich while her mind ran in circles.
When the three were finished with lunch, Ada brought her to a healer's office on the same floor. Harriet recognized the tall mediwizard as one of the witnesses in the trial. It turned out that he worked for the Auror Office, though he wasn't an Auror himself. He fixed up all the witches and wizards who got hurt on dangerous missions. He used to work at some place called St Mungo's, which made him very skilled, apparently.
Healer Thornton conducted several scans on Harriet, poking her head gently with his wand, and seemed flabbergasted by the results.
"Heiress Potter, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were cured! I can read the faint signature of the Obscurus, but it's like it's fallen asleep. Frankly, it's unprecedented. What in Merlin's name happened?"
"Harriet, why don't you show him the device?" Ada prodded.
The girl frowned, distrustful. 'He'll take it away from me.'
It took a bit of coaxing, but after securing a promise from Thornton that she'd get it back, she handed the Pacifier off to the wizard.
"Fascinating," he breathed. "I had no idea something like this existed—though if anyone had access to an artifact meant to absorb dark magic, it would be the House of Black. Let's see… yes, I see now."
He coughed, clearing his throat and lifting the Pacifier. The tiny amount of silver mist swirled inside it. "Heiress Potter, I think I've deduced how the Pacifier works. This device absorbs your magic, but not indiscriminately. It seems to prefer dark magic—which is all completely in line with what Lord Black told you. When I held the Pacifier, it had little effect, drawing out only a slight amount. My magic is largely unaligned, however. When you hold it, Heiress, I believe it has a much greater result, since you possess a proportionally greater amount of dark magic."
"Wait, she possesses dark magic? Not the Obscurus?" asked Ada.
"That's right."
"But she's only nine! She can't cast magic, let alone the dark kind!"
Harriet's gaze darted between the two adults, perplexed at the sudden shift in tone.
The wizard sighed. "I can already tell where this conversation is going. I expected better from a detective, but it seems that misinformation runs rampant even in the esteemed Auror Office."
Ada did not reply, but Harriet felt suddenly like she was sitting next to a very large, angry bear.
"I'm assuming you believe I just called her a dark witch or something of the like," Thornton went on, unfazed. "It's a problem of terminology. Not many outside the medical field are taught to understand the differences between dark magic and the Dark Arts. If you ask me, it's a crime against education that magical theory isn't a core class at Hogwarts. That is the school you attended, yes?"
"Yes," Ada bit back. "And that class was useless. All the professor does is tell students to not 'meddle with things we don't understand,' rather than actually try to understand anything."
"You didn't take it?"
"I tried it for a week and dropped it, like everyone else I knew."
"Right. Well, if you'd taken that 'useless' class, you might've learned these sorts of things. Are you of the opinion that dark magic is magic designed to hurt others, Detective?"
"Isn't it?"
"No. Not at all—what you're thinking of is the Dark Arts. The two are very different. Dark magic isn't a brand, it's more akin to a 'flavour.'"
Harriet mouthed 'Dark Arts' silently.
"A flavour?" said Ada incredulously.
"An essence. A property, aspect, or whatever other synonym you'd like. It isn't a defining characteristic, merely a different slant. A thousand years ago, it wasn't called 'dark magic.' The common title for it was breóstwylmes drýcraeft—magic of the breast, or 'passion magic.'"
"Passion magic," she flatly repeated.
The healer made a swirling motion with his finger, mimicking a wand. "You can cast a Patronus, correct?"
"That's right."
"You evoke an emotion when casting it, do you not? One of joy?"
"A happy memory," she said.
Thornton shrugged. "It's the emotion that's the important bit. Anyway, the Patronus Charm is an example of a spell that is entirely dark magic."
Ada stared at him. "You're pulling my leg."
"As a matter of fact, I am not."
"Then what's the bloo—the ruddy Killing Curse? Light magic?"
"Oh, no," said Thornton, growing solemn. "No, that is an example of something that is a Dark Art and dark magic. A spell of powerful emotion."
"Right. Well, I can rest easy knowing that the Patronus and the Killing Curse are in the same category."
"The point is that there's no clear differentiation. No division of good and evil, only of emotion and intent. Were you to cast nothing but the Patronus Charm over a long period, your internal magic would gradually change 'flavour,' becoming more like young Heiress Potter's here. In her case, it is the fault of the dark creature in her core that her alignment is shifted towards the emotional spectrum."
"But what does it mean? Are you saying she's destined to become a dark witch?"
"Merlin, no!" he said, aghast. "Her magic is only slightly dark, and even were it more so, all it would mean is that her emotional state would affect her magic more strongly. She might cast some spells with an emotional impetus more easily, while having trouble with others. Yes, most of the Dark Arts are dark magic, but plenty of the Light Arts rely on dark magic as well. Many healing spells need a sense of love to function properly. My former mentor had dark-aligned magic, and he's the greatest healer in all of Germany."
Ada massaged her eyebrows with a hand. "Right. I'll—I'll read up on this later."
"I'd recommend The Anarchy of 15th Century Theory. It's a fascinating read on how Christianity infiltrated the world of magical theory, branding certain types of magic—"
"What were you saying about the Pacifier?" the Auror interrupted.
"Oh. Right," he ended his lecture, looking at Harriet. "Heiress Potter, it is my opinion that the Pacifier targets your magic, specifically drawing out your darker—more emotional—magic. These are the energies that your Obscurus feeds off. From this, I conclude that it is effectively being starved."
"Then the Pacifier is safe?" asked Ada, relieved.
He turned to the Auror. "There doesn't seem to be anything unsafe about it, but… hm. I think I will need to conduct some more tests over the next few weeks."
"Why's that?"
"I can't be sure, but the Pacifier seems to disperse the magic it absorbs rather slowly." He tapped the glass, indicating the fog within. "There might be a chance that she inundates the device with more magic than it can handle. It would need to be a huge amount, but I'll take various measurements to be sure. For that reason, it would be best if Heiress Potter kept the Pacifier on her for the time being, so I can judge whether it's filling faster than its draining."
Harriet beamed. That meant they wouldn't take it away.
The mediwizard handed over the artifact to the girl, saying, "As far as I can guess, this may be a permanent solution to the problem. Tell me, how do you feel, Heiress Potter?"
"Incredible," said Harriet. "Better than I've ever been."
"Wonderful. We'll continue with our daily check-ups, but for the time being, the greatest danger has passed. In fact, I think you're stable enough that a bit of healing wouldn't be amiss."
The wizard proceeded to summon a potion out of a cabinet and have her drink it. She downed the bottle in one gulp, smacking her lips at the berry-like aftertaste. Then, Thornton pulled out his wand and pointed it at all of Harriet's various cuts and scrapes, which healed before her eyes, scabs falling off and revealing pink skin underneath. The spells made her feel itchy.
Finally, he tapped her wrist a few times, and a pleasant numbing sensation spread, then there was an audible snap, and the sensation faded. Thornton tapped her cast and the thing split in half, falling to the ground. She stared at her hand, marvelling at her fingers. She remembered breaking her finger when she was younger. It had taken weeks and weeks to heal. She'd expected to have this cast for months.
In all, she was feeling like another girl entirely by the time she walked out of the door hand-in-hand with her guardian.
"Alright, Harriet. Since you're feeling so much better, what say I take you on a tour of the Auror Office?" said Ada. "I've still got my other responsibilities, but you can accompany me while I work. Oh, and remember—your identity is secret from most of the Ministry. Only a few of us know. Just introduce yourself as Harriet if anyone asks, and don't give them your last name, alright?"
Harriet nodded, happy to comply with the command. If the jury's reaction to her name at the trial was any clue, she could do without the attention her identity seemed to grant her.
The rest of the day flew by. Ada went around to various offices, talking to the adults there about complicated topics, but Harriet wasn't bothered by that, devouring the new sights and sounds before her, hardly caring that she was gaping like a bumpkin at every bit of magic she saw. Ada noticed Harriet's fascination with things like the enchanted Aeroplanes and animated statues, and she started casting her own magic more and more as the day went on. She mainly pulled out her wand for simple things like opening doors and cleaning up stains on the floor, but with every new bit of magic, Harriet couldn't help but wonder:
'When do I get my own wand?'
A deep hunger had surfaced in her, a desire to use magic of her own. She hoped it would be soon—after all, she was a witch now, so there was nothing stopping her, right? She wouldn't be going back to the muggle world.
The entire day, Harriet kept the Pacifier in her pocket like a good luck charm, reflexively touching it whenever something made her nervous, like a stranger introducing themselves or there was an unexpected sound (like when Micah set off an explosion while poking a tin of contraband with his wand).
The artifact was a constant soothing presence at her side, though she wasn't whether it was because it was eating her "dark magic" or because of something else entirely. It also helped remind her of Lord Black, her cousin. Though he looked scary with his emaciated appearance, piercing eyes, and eerie hair, he'd been the kindest person to Harriet so far—apart from Miss Wood, of course.
"There's no need to concern yourself with muggles any longer. You're one of us."
Though the memory warred with her uncertainties regarding the end of the Dursley's trial, those words made her feel warm inside. As a result, her heart stayed light, and by the time evening came around, she was practically bouncing as she and Ada took the elevator to the surface.
"What's got you so happy?" the detective asked, an amused smile on her lips.
"I'm a witch! I'm a witch, Miss Wood! Like you!"
"Right you are," she said, laughing. "Let's get you home and fed. Tomorrow is my day off—I know, how does a trip to Diagon Alley sound?"
"Brilliant!"
Maybe she'd get her wand there.
Once they were back in the clocktower and stuffed full (having been gifted another bag of pastries from Mabel the witch), the excitement from the day slowly ebbed away, and Harriet found herself once more thinking back on the trial.
Strangely, it wasn't the Dursleys she thought about. Her thoughts weren't concerned with the fate of Dudley, Uncle Vernon, or Aunt Petunia. Instead, she found herself thinking about the judge. More and more, her recollections of the trial were all memories of Judge Burke, of his words and bearing.
The judge had been in total control of the situation from start to finish. He ran the room, humouring the Dursleys in something approaching fairness… and he'd been enjoying it. Like a cat playing with its food, he'd taken pleasure in watching them squirm.
It made her stomach flutter, though she didn't know why. Late that night, after she'd gone to her room, she lay in bed, tossing and turning. She couldn't sleep, despite being bone-tired. Finally, she climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, where she climbed on top of a stool to look at her reflection in the mirror.
Lifting her healed hand, she gestured with it, trying to mimic the disdainful wave Judge Burke had given near the end.
'It doesn't look quite right.'
She tried again, and—more pleased with the results—spoke the words that had utterly doomed a man and his wife.
"Take him away," she said.
Wrinkling her nose at the pitched, childish voice, she gave it another try.
"Take him away," she said.
"Take him away."
. . .
"Take him away."
Notes
I'm going to stop posting most after-chapter notes here unless I deem them of vital importance... it sort of feels like they artificially inflate the word count. In addition, a back-and-forth between the author and readers is pretty difficult on this site with the review system. If you want to see longer notes and leave comments, feel free to check this work out on AO3!
Of course, if you just want to read without distractions, I will continue posting all my chapters here.
It also helps to cut these out because I tend to have to somewhat edit the notes depending on the site where they're going. It's easier to just not worry about them.