Thank you for the reviews on the intermission!
Here we go with the first of a few chapters that show what's happening elsewhere than to Harry. Now that we've reached a breathing point on his plot for a while...
Chapter Eight: Eye of the Storm
Rufus stood in front of the cell doors and idly twirled his wand between his fingers. Mallory, standing at his back, his only guard for the moment, said nothing. The door in front of him said nothing. The walls to either side of him said nothing.
Of course they didn't, Rufus thought. No one is here to save you from looking stupid, as Grandmother Leonora would say, but yourself.
He shook his head and opened the door. The warding spells had already dropped to a quiet buzz that would only arrest the movement of a prisoner through the door, and he'd undone the mundane lock. He had no excuse for not going in anymore, except his own reluctance to see the prisoner.
The door swung open to reveal a cell smaller and more barren than usual. It was Rufus's way of compromising: there were instincts he'd developed working as an Auror that demanded even worse treatment than this, but they were joined by ones just as strong that argued for him treating these offenders the same as any others.
Even if they were child abusers.
Lily Evans Potter scrambled up and stood facing him as he and Mallory moved into the room. Her face was tense, and if she had lost sleep in the two weeks since she'd come here, Rufus couldn't really blame her. Her hair was lank and dangled around her shoulders, and her green eyes, the ones he'd last seen in her son's face, were half-glazed.
Rufus gritted his teeth. He had wanted to move the Potters' trial as fast as possible, but still had only managed to fix a trial date for mid-November. There were too many people who wanted to look at the evidence, or had a reason for delaying the imprisonment or execution of the Potters so they could gawk some more. Even finding someone to lead the questioning in the Wizengamot, someone who had no ties to either Harry Potter or Dumbledore, had taken forever.
He owed Lily Potter at least an explanation of what would happen. He reminded himself that he never had to see her again after this.
She denied her son sweetness that even the poorest of children can afford. She denied him love. She denied him any existence beyond being the sword that his brother would wield without knowing it.
All of those things were true, but Rufus kept his purpose clearly in mind. When he was an Auror, it had never been this hard. Why should becoming the Minister have changed him so much?
Because you know Harry. You are biased yourself. And it has been years since you saw a child abuse case this extensive and detailed.
Rufus sharpened his mind to a small, clear point of light, the way Grandmother Leonora had taught him, and then said, in a voice he kept carefully devoid of emotion, "Lily Evans Potter, you already know that you are charged with child abuse. I am here to tell you that your trial will take place on the sixteenth of November. You will be tried with your husband, James Potter. Albus Dumbledore's trial will take place somewhat later. Until the date of the trial, you will remain in this cell. You will be well-treated, receive proper food and care—"
He had to stop there, though it wasn't quite the end of the formal speech he'd planned. The memory of the fact that Lily would receive such treatment when Harry hadn't was choking him.
It was unfortunate that he stopped when he did, though, because it provided an opportunity for Lily to speak up.
"You have to understand," she whispered, her eyes glittering with tears. Her face was becoming streaked with them, too, and from the way she winced as she wiped at them, it wasn't the first time they had made her skin stiff and tender. "I did what I did for the greater good of the world. I really did think Connor was the Boy-Who-Lived. I thought Harry's magic was unnatural. We had to do everything that we did so the world could have a chance."
Rufus's eyes narrowed. She really did think that Connor Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived? Why would she think differently now? He kept his voice polite and distant, however, as he did in the face of declarations from all prisoners, child abusers or no. "You will have a chance to explain everything that you thought and believed in your trial, Mrs. Potter. The Wizengamot will question you, and you will have a chance to call witnesses in your defense. Do you have anyone you wish to call?"
"Yes," said Lily, and her lip quivered. "I know that my son wouldn't like what you're doing to me. I want to call him."
"Which son, madam?" Rufus asked, hoping she didn't mean—
"Harry." Lily gave an imperious little stamp of her foot. "I want him called as a witness for the defense. He knows all the reasons behind the way we raised him. He can explain them better than I can. How dare you accuse us without listening to the way he explains things first?" She shook her head and tossed her lank red hair over one shoulder, her eyes bright and hopeful again. "I know that he'll convince you."
Rufus kept his voice bland. Thank Merlin there are laws in place forbidding this, or I would be tempted to scream. "The words of abused children about their abusers are not often trusted in trials, madam. Either they are too vehement, or they protect the people who abused them and try to minimize what really happened." That's Harry in a nutshell. "Your son will indeed be speaking in the trial, but as the person whom the case was brought for. He will be in a neutral place, neither prosecution nor defense but victim, and he will give his evidence how and as he wishes."
"Let me talk to him," Lily insisted. "I know that I can convince him to change his mind about that."
She probably could. Though Rufus hoped the boy was stronger now than he had been the night he faced James Potter, he would still not want to leave Harry and one of his parents alone in a room together. "I will not do that, madam," he said.
"You can't keep a mother from talking to her own child."
That proved too much for Mallory, whom Rufus had felt silently seething behind him, but whom he had hoped would manage to ignore this. "You aren't his mother!" she snapped. "You're just the worthless bag of shit whose womb he crawled out of, the one who heaped punishments he didn't earn on him! I can't believe that I chose as mild a spell as I did—"
Lily was shrinking away from her, one hand over her mouth, making small fearful noises. Rufus felt a shock surge through him, and then he turned around and gripped Auror Mallory's arm.
"You did not," he said.
Mallory tilted her head back and directed a superior expression at him, half-frown and half-sneer.
Rufus could feel himself shaking, he was so angry. He bit off the words as he said, "If there is anything else that you wish to question me about, Mrs. Potter, send word by your guards. From now on, they will include Auror Feverfew." He opened the door of the cell and stepped back out into the corridor. Mallory still came with him because she had no choice, given his hand on her arm.
Rufus let her go the moment they were out in the hall, of course. He really had lost control, and he hadn't meant to. Much better to turn, to hide his anger behind a mask of cool disappointment, and to ask, "Why the Unending Nightmares Curse, Fiona? Why did you use that one on her?"
"Who says I did?" Mallory examined the back of her hand.
"I recognize the signs," said Rufus. Perhaps, if he stared at Mallory's forehead, he would keep himself from snapping. Then she lifted her head, and her eyes met his, fearless and defiant, and he heard himself snarling the words again. "And you said yourself that you'd used a spell. Fiona, I do not care how much you hate the Potters, or how much they remind you of your father. I accepted you into the Aurors because you'd reassured me that you wanted to help abused children and see the abusers brought to justice, not vengeance. Using this curse is a violation of that trust."
"They deserved it," said Mallory.
"They?" Rufus closed his eyes, as furious with his own misjudgment of what Mallory could handle as anything else. He should have known. Just because he had become Minister, and therefore less in charge of the day-to-day affairs of the Aurors, didn't mean he'd forgotten everything he learned about his people. "You used it on James Potter, too?" She couldn't have attacked Dumbledore, at least, since he was under the Still-Beetle confinement.
"They deserved it," Mallory repeated stubbornly. "They really did, Rufus. You've read the evidence itself, not just the stories in the papers. You must think they merit evisceration even more than I do. But you can't eviscerate them, and neither can I, so this is the next best thing. Eviscerate their minds instead."
Rufus shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. It was long moments, and thick breaths, before he could say, "They deserve justice, Fiona, just as anyone else does. And if that includes execution, then the Wizengamot will decide it. I trust them to bring down a sentence of utmost severity. Not only was Harry Potter horribly abused, he is the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, and this gossip is so juicy that the papers are still tugging and pulling at it. But to make sure the prisoners survive and get to justice, I trust my Aurors to maintain a professional calm. You've proven you can't do that. As of this moment, you're off this case, Fiona."
He opened his eyes to see her staring at him. She shook her head and laughed a bit. "You can't do that," she said.
"Yes, actually, I can," said Rufus slowly. Betrayal still burned like a wound within him, but he recovered some of his own equilibrium as he watched Mallory's shock turn into betrayal of her own. "You control the affairs of the Aurors, Fiona, and no more than that. The Minister is supposed to be aware of what's going on in his own organization, and I am your boss. I could have you sacked for incompetence, but I'm not going to, because I believe that you can still be just if you try. For now, take a leave of absence from this case. Don't deal with any of the evidence on it. Don't come here to guard the prisoners—which the Head of the Auror Office shouldn't be doing anyway. Don't give interviews to the newspapers."
"How long?" Mallory was shaking, her hands clenched at her side.
"Until the Potters' trial," said Rufus quietly. "The sixteenth of November."
"Who exactly is going to take over my duties here?" Mallory's eyes flared and snapped. "At least half the owls we get nowadays are about the Potter case. Yesterday we got the first feigned report of a magical accident, just to draw my people out of the Ministry so someone could try to get juicy details."
Rufus hid his smile. At least Mallory was thinking like an Auror again, if she was indignant that her people's time was being wasted.
"I have someone who's used to handling plenty of owls," he said. "He's helped me work the Death Eater cases, and he did almost all the secretarial work during the last months I was Head."
Mallory looked slightly sick. "You're talking about your damn Percy Weasley again, aren't you?"
Rufus raised an eyebrow and waited.
"He's your running hound, Rufus," Mallory grumbled. "He sticks his nose into everything and questions it in accordance with that strict set of standards that you taught him. Yeah, I think he'd do well with the Potter case, but would he really give those bastards and that bitch justice?"
"There you go again, Fiona," said Rufus. "You can depend on the Wizengamot to give them justice. You can depend on Percy to make sure that they reach trial alive."
A dull flush spread over Mallory's cheeks. "I wouldn't have killed them. The Unending Nightmares Curse doesn't kill, you know that. I want to see them stand trial just as much as you do."
"Did you ever read about the Unending Nightmares Curse in detail, Fiona?" Rufus probed. "Do you really know what it does to its victims? Eviscerates their minds, you said. You aren't far wrong. But it doesn't do that just when they're asleep. They suffer from it when they're awake, too. The sight of you caused Lily Potter pain. People have gone mad from it. Disorder their minds, Fiona, and they'll just go straight into St. Mungo's and be unable to stand trial." It wasn't what he wanted to use to appeal to her—he should have just been able to use her own innate sense of justice—but what weapons he had to use to make sure that Lily and James Potter reached trial relatively unharmed and that his Auror didn't make herself into a worse criminal than she already had, he would.
Mallory looked away and mumbled something.
"What was that?" Rufus demanded, leaning closer.
"I said I didn't know that!" Mallory burst out, turning around again and glaring at him. Her face looked as if it were on fire now, and the air around her blazed with magic. "I told you, I do want them to stand trial, and have to talk about and testify to their mistakes in front of the whole world."
Rufus held her eyes. She's embarrassed. Good. I might have more of a chance of getting through to her than I anticipated. "I know what you suffered, Fiona," he said quietly. "Know better than most people." The redness climbed Mallory's cheeks again. Doubtless she was remembering the night she'd got pissed and told him most of the story. "And I know that you wouldn't want to use it as an excuse. It's a reason, but never let it be an excuse. I know that you're an Auror because you love and value justice, and not just for abused children. Don't limit your effectiveness to help others because you want to punish two of them so badly."
Mallory bowed her head, and nodded. Her magic had retreated into her body again. "I know," she whispered. "I forgot, Rufus. And I honestly didn't know what side effects that curse might have."
"Stay away from the prisoners, Fiona," said Rufus, with iron gentleness. "I'll contact St. Mungo's and summon one of the Healers over to remove the curse. It hasn't gone far enough yet to hurt her permanently."
Mallory nodded once, and then retreated in silence up the corridor. Feverfew stepped out of the shadows a moment later, his eyes understanding and his lips sealed, and took up his position in front of Lily Potter's door.
Rufus turned to make his way to James Potter, wondering if Mallory had used the Unending Nightmares Curse more on him than she had on Lily, or if they had suffered the same amount. Well, the healer from St. Mungo's could be the one to find that out. Rufus's business was justice, the clean cutting and cauterization of wounds through legal means, preventing the infection from spreading further. He was no healer of mental wounds.
I leave that up to Madam Shiverwood, he thought, with an inner grimace. I must send Harry a summons to see her soon.
James Potter was indeed different. The moment Rufus opened the door, he was on his feet, obviously trying to look more deferential than pathetically eager. Rufus raised an eyebrow and shut the door, leaning against it. He had not been here since the night he escorted Harry. In retrospect, that had been a bad idea, though he had literally thought the boy would not sleep if he did not see his father.
Let us see what he can say to make up for his words then.
"I'm so sorry," James began earnestly. "I'd like to make up for everything, if you'll only tell me how. I didn't really mean what I said to Harry that night. I was just caught up in the shock of losing everything that I thought I cared about. I woke up that morning planning to apply to get back into the Aurors again, and then—well, then I'd lost the chance." He gave a shrill, false laugh. "But now I know it wasn't Harry's fault that this happened when it did. Please, sir, will you deliver a letter to him? I have it right here." He held up an envelope.
"Impossible, sir," said Rufus evenly, and concealed the furious fire of his own scorn behind the tidy words. "Your trial is set for the sixteenth of November. You will be tried with your wife only, Albus Dumbledore at a later date. Until then, you will have the best care we can provide you, a clean room and regular meals. It was discovered that your latest guard is not suitable for a variety of reasons, and another Auror will be taking over the post. Perhaps Auror Belladonna—"
"You don't understand," James interrupted. "You really don't. I've changed my mind. I've repented what I said to Harry that night. That means that I don't have to be tried."
Rufus felt his eyebrows rise. He really should just leave now, since he knew the explanation would be rambling and pathetic, but he had to admit to some prurient curiosity of his own. Since he refused to indulge that curiosity by reading the wilder newspaper stories, it mostly gnawed at him, unsatisfied.
He might as well gratify the prisoner by listening to the confession he wanted to make, he thought. If nothing else, it would add something to his own personal collection of excuses that criminals made to explain why they shouldn't suffer the full weight of the law. The weakest one so far came from a murderer who'd insisted that his victim told him she wanted to be murdered, conveniently alone and conveniently in just the manner he'd decided to do it.
This one promised to top that.
"Very well," he said. "Tell me why."
James openly sagged in relief, but then recovered himself and smiled. Rufus studied his face critically. Even if the man hadn't been guilty of neglect, he thought, he wouldn't have hired him. James's face was just a little too desperate, a little too eager. He looked as though he needed the approval of others to survive. An Auror couldn't be like that. He had to do many unpopular and unpleasant things, and glory was long in coming and fleeting when it arrived.
"I don't know how much of Harry's childhood you know about," James began, and then paused and studied Rufus.
"I've viewed the memories that Severus Snape sent in a Pensieve," said Rufus. "I've also read long letters from him in which he testified to such crimes as your ignoring your wife's treatment of your son."
"I honestly didn't notice," said James, with a sheepish smile obviously meant to coax the person who saw it into agreeing with him. "I knew that Connor was all right, and I loved my little boy, and he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Is it any wonder that Harry fell into his shadow?"
"There is a long distance between favoring one child," Rufus noted, "and so neglecting the other that you never notice when your wife is training him to do without touch, in fact to shiver underneath it when someone does touch him."
James blinked, obviously disconcerted, and then came back to his point. "But Lily hid it well, with Albus's help. You must admit that. Do you think you would really have noticed anything else than what I did in my situation?"
"Yes."
James shook his head and threw up his hands. "You don't understand, obviously, since you're not me. The point is that I didn't notice. I always found another explanation when I thought I did see something strange. And that's not my fault, is it, for not being observant enough? I thought Harry was just a strange little kid who liked books too much. I didn't like books, so I shrugged and thought he would be in Ravenclaw when he went to Hogwarts. Of course I spent more time with the son who was more like me."
Rufus watched him in silence.
"And then I found out what Lily and Albus had done, via a magical artifact in my home, and I was horrified." James nodded seriously. "I quite naturally tried to get my son back. But Snape kidnapped him, and Harry never wrote to me, one way or the other, to say how he was. Then, when I tried to get my son back from him…well, you know what happened. I never meant to neglect him. I was always trying to do what was best for him. But other people—Snape, Connor, even Harry himself—didn't notice, just like I didn't notice what Lily and Albus were doing to him at first." James gave Rufus a pleading look. "You don't try people for ignorance, do you?"
"No," said Rufus, when he thought he could trust himself to keep his voice steady. "But we do try them for stupidity. And I would say, Mr. Potter, since many people have made valiant attempts to cure your ignorance, that what you have is a case of stupidity instead."
James flushed darkly. "You're so against abuse, Mr. Scrimgeour, and yet you apply verbal abuse to prisoners?" he challenged.
"My proper title is Minister," said Rufus, standing straighter. "And if you think that is verbal abuse, Mr. Potter, it is little wonder that you never noticed what your son was suffering." He turned to the door.
"You'll speak to Harry?" James asked his back anxiously.
Rufus turned around reluctantly again. He didn't want to give this spineless coward the time of day. He knew James Potter, now. The man bent with the strongest following wind. Let that wind seem to shift towards his wife and Albus Dumbledore again, and he would bow to them and be just as strongly insisting that Harry's neglect and abuse had been for the general good, even as they did.
But if James was actually willing to testify against his wife and Dumbledore, then Rufus had to use him.
"Will you speak for the prosecution in the trial?" he asked James quietly.
James's face turned the color of wet ashes. "I explain this in the letter," he said, waving the envelope. "I can't do that. Of course I can't. How could I turn against my wife and my mentor? I just want to get clear of this altogether. I barely saw anything of Harry's childhood. How could I testify to what you say they've done unless I saw the evidence? And that would prejudice me."
Rufus sneered lightly. In their own way, Lily and Dumbledore are better than this man. They at least have the conviction that they were doing right, and I know they'll testify that way, too. "And what do you expect Harry to do?"
"Forgive me," said James at once. "Drop the charges. If he decides that he wants to someday, come and live with me. I know that his mind's been poisoned by Lily and Dumbledore and Snape right now, but when it's clear again, then he should be able to see that I've never meant him anything but good."
Rufus had to close his eyes to keep himself from vomiting. "Your request is denied," he said. "Child abusers are never allowed to communicate with their victims."
"You brought Harry here that first night." There came a rustle that was probably James folding his arms. "So obviously you can bend the rules a bit. And I want Harry to see the letter. He would know how to forgive me."
"He would," said Rufus. "Because he's been taught how to forgive beyond all rational boundaries."
"Surely he's the only one who can make that decision." James obviously thought he had a point. "You can't make the choices for him."
Rufus opened his eyes and smiled slightly at James. "Actually, Mr. Potter, as he is not yet fifteen, yes, adults can make those decisions for him. And right now, his legal guardian is Severus Snape, who has threatened me with death if a letter from you ever comes into Harry's hands."
"He threatened you with death!" James pounced on that. "How can you trust him?"
Rufus opened the door, stepped out, and shut it behind him. He knew he was smiling with contempt, but he could not stop it. Oh, yes, he understood exactly what sort of man James Potter was. And he would give a great deal to make sure that Harry never came into contact with him again, after the trial.
He nearly bumped into a young witch hurrying along the hall, her head bowed and sobs breaking from her hands. He jumped, she jumped, and she backed away from him, staring at him in awe.
"You're Minister Scrimgeour, aren't you?" she asked, her already pink cheeks flushing pinker, as if he were there to judge the tears pouring down her face.
Rufus nodded, examining her closely. He thought the witch was familiar, but he couldn't remember why. "And what's your name?"
"H—Hestia Jones, sir." The witch hid her face in her hands again. "I applied to be an Auror at one point," she said, with a low wail. "And then I found out my brother had been arrested for smuggling flying carpets into Britain, and I decided that I had to drop out of the Auror program. How could I stand the shame of it?"
Rufus nodded. He did know where he'd seen her, now: in the newest class of trainee Aurors. Of course, her cheeks had been flushed with pride then.
"I understand if you wanted to take some time off, Madam Jones," he said. "I do hope that we can count on seeing you in the Auror program again. Someone with an innate sense of justice as strong as yours is always needed."
Hestia looked shyly up at him. "Thank you, sir. That's very kind of you to say." She cast a Tempus charm, and then jumped at the numbers that appeared. "I've got to go," she muttered. "Thank you again, sir!" she called, as she rushed away.
Rufus shook his head and walked towards his office with a curiously lighter heart, ready to assign Percy Weasley to his newest duties and owl St. Mungo's. Sometimes it helped to be reminded that ordinary life went on all around him, never mind the arrest of criminals for child abuse charges and the danger of living in a world with a resurrected Dark Lord and a child with Lord-level power and mental scars.
Hestia paused a moment to make sure the Minister was gone, then crept towards the door of the proper cell. She'd got the information through a hastily penned note, not even delivered by owl, but by falcon. She whispered the incantations that would unlock the wards, and then drew out the copy of the key she'd had made. Sometimes, having criminal relatives could come in useful.
She opened the door, and stepped into the room that held the helplessly frozen form of her leader, Albus Dumbledore.
Hestia swallowed as she hurried to draw forth the glowseeds that would counteract the Still-Beetle shell. It hurt to see him like that. She'd just joined the Order of the Phoenix a few months ago, but she'd heard tales of Albus Dumbledore, the White Wizard and Lord of Light, all her life from her witch mother. He shouldn't be standing rooted to the floor with an expression of vague surprise on his face, all his magic and all his goodwill locked away.
She pressed the glowseeds against his neck and whispered the proper incantation. Red light spread up and down his body, softening his stern outline. In a moment, Dumbledore sagged and nearly fell. Hestia took his arm and held him upright. Her heart still ached with pity, but she felt proud that she had been the one trusted to come to him in a moment of weakness like this.
Dumbledore spent several moments breathing in silence, then lifted his face and smiled at her. Hestia ducked her head, her cheeks flaring again.
"My dear," said Dumbledore gently, "thank you. But before you go away again, you must press the Still-Beetle shell in your pocket against me, and freeze me once more."
Hestia blinked. It was true that the note had said she should bring a Still-Beetle shell with her, but she had assumed that it was for the enemies who might get in their way as she rescued the Headmaster. This was so exciting. She had envisioned daring escapes. She hadn't envisioned Dumbledore staying here. "Headmaster—" she began.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I hold that position no longer, Hestia, so it is inappropriate to address me by its title," he chided her gently.
Hestia nodded. "Sorry, my lord. It's just so unfair."
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, it is. With Voldemort returned—" he waited kindly for her to finish flinching at the name "—the wizarding world needs me more than ever. But there are many people who would hesitate to trust me now, given that the charges of child abuse are still so fresh in so many minds, and if I escaped, it would only confirm for them that I was guilty. Even the Order is divided against me. So I must needs ask that you leave me here, frozen again, so that our enemies suspect nothing."
"Then why free you in the first place?" Hestia whispered. I wanted to help. Have I really done that?
"Because the Still-Beetle shell caged all of my magic," said Dumbledore. "Free from it, I can release some of my power." He closed his eyes, and the air around both him and Hestia grew warmer. Hestia shivered in wonder. It felt as though it had been winter in the room before, and now she stood on the edge of spring.
"What are you going to do, my lord?" she whispered.
"Change some minds," said Dumbledore, in a stronger voice than he had so far spoken in. "It is an old spell, one rarely used, because there are so many would use it for wrong purposes, and it is tied to distant events rather than taking place at once. But it is the perfect spell for this circumstance." He paused, then murmured, "Converto intellegentiam de Harry Potter! Converto animadversionem ab intellegentia!"
Hestia felt the spell move outward, a thick, clinging cloud that dissipated as it touched the walls of the room. Dumbledore let out a long sigh, and seemed to age before her eyes. He smiled tiredly at her.
"Now, my dear, if you will touch me with the Still-Beetle shell again, you should go. They will visit me before long. They always do. They do not trust me."
"Don't you want something to eat before I go, sir?" Hestia asked plaintively. "To drink?" She had dreamed of helping her hero more than it seemed she would be able to.
Dumbledore patted her cheek. "They would notice, my dear, when they undid the confinement before my trial, if I had unusual food stains on my teeth. Even this release is a risk, but as long as I change nothing about my body itself, then they are unlikely to notice." He arranged himself in the frozen posture he'd used before, put on the same expression of vague confusion, and waited expectantly for her.
Hestia, catching her lip between her teeth before she could speak another protest, used the Still-Beetle shell on him, and watched as her leader once more froze. She sighed and slipped out of the room, hands clenching as she went.
Albus Dumbledore was still the leader of the wizarding world to those who mattered, even now the Lord of Light. He would save them. Hestia knew it. But she also knew that he was wiser than she was. If he said events had to fall out this way, then they had to fall out this way.
But she wished, more than anything else, that the charges had never been filed, that no one had ever been allowed to look at Dumbledore's sacrifices to keep the wizarding world safe with scorn instead of awe.
Grimly, she turned and began doing up the locking wards on the door again; the note had included instructions on that, from someone who was too notorious to get back into the Ministry without being noticed. He had had injustice done to him, too. That was all right, though, Hestia told herself as she worked. Eventually justice would be done, and just as Albus Dumbledore would lead the wizarding world again, Kingsley Shacklebolt would be part of the Aurors once more.