Vanguard

by kitsunerei88

[Sequel to Liar Liar and From America With Love] Revolutions don't begin with spellfire and flying Molotov Potions. Revolutions begin with people. This revolution begins with a pureblood boy standing trial for a ruse he and his halfblood cousin have perpetrated, and a halfblood bastard with a gift for uncovering secrets.

4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Archie woke to voices downstairs. He fished around on his bedside table for a moment, reaching for his pocket watch to check the time. It couldn't be that late, or someone would have come to wake him.

Seven-thirty in the morning. That wasn't bad, it was a bit of a lie-in, but they weren't in court today until ten-thirty anyway. Last night had been an early one, surprisingly enough – they were all too much in shock to say much, between both the possession and the public revelation. Aldon hadn't told them that he would be possessed as part of the rite, and Hermione was of the opinion that he probably hadn't known that it would happen. Then again, Hermione also thought Aldon was a bit of an idiot.

"Not academically." She had scowled, last night, explaining it. "He's an idiot in that particular way that exceptionally bright people are idiots – he's overconfident, he always thinks he's right, and he can justify literally anything to himself. He probably only saw what he wanted to see, and now the idiot is completely incommunicado until the end of the trial. And that's assuming he survives."

"Assuming he survives?" Dad had asked, eyebrow raised.

Hermione had shrugged, annoyed. She didn't like Aldon, but they did have the same ultimate goals, and she begrudgingly considered him useful. "I don't know. He was right in that there must have been enough survivors of the possession that it couldn't have been that dangerous, but there was something about the way that they wrote about it, in the memoirs – all the past Truth-speakers tried to avoid the duty, so there was something harrowing or traumatic about it, or there was some other risk involved. We don't really know. My thinking, though, is that the Incarnation probably has a vested interest in having him survive, at least to the end of trial. It's the condition he'll be in afterwards that I'm less sure about."

Archie had winced, looking at Dad with a pleading look. "Is there anything we can do to help him?"

Dad had sighed, but he had shaken his head. "I can reach out, see if I can find anything, but I don't know. I don't know Christina Blake, and judging from the Evening Prophet, my usual connections probably won't know anything. I'm not hopeful."

The Evening Prophet had not been kind to his new friend. Hermione was a little annoyed – they had planned for Archie's trial being front page news, and it was not helpful for their strategy that Aldon had effectively taken over the headlines. Archie, however, couldn't be that upset – Aldon Rosier, the Rosier Heir, was now a known bastard. A halfblood bastard. That couldn't be easy.

He should get up, Archie thought, sitting up. It would be another long day today, and he should get behind it, find out what the morning Daily Prophet held. He recognized Dad's voice, and Uncle Remus', downstairs. He wouldn't bother putting on his suit just yet, but he pulled on a pair of black jeans and his last remaining AIM sweatshirt.

John was already down there, a glass of orange juice and a heaped plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him. The Daily Prophet was spread out on the table in front of him, and Archie had to fight his instinct not to snatch the paper away and read.

The headline was stark. ROSIER HEIR DISOWNED, it said, and there was a clear picture of Lord Rosier on the front of it, standing in front of what Archie could only assume was Aldon's family home. Aldon had never talked about his home, but from the way Aldon had always reacted to the goings-on at Grimmauld Place, Archie had guessed his home life was very different. He didn't have to guess anymore, he thought grimly. Dad would never have disowned him – not when it was so abundantly clear that Aldon was Lord Rosier's son.

Dad caught the look of disgust on Archie's face and rested a hand on his arm. "Arch – Lord Rosier doesn't have much of a choice, not with the politics of it all."

"There's always a choice," Archie snapped, grey eyes flashing as he headed for the coffee pot. He poured himself a mug, some of the coffee sloshing over the rim of his cup in his anger, then he reached for the cream and sugar. "Some of them are just harder choices than others, that's all."

Dad shook his head, sighing. "Lord Rosier is in a tight position – he's in the SOW Party, as are the lion's share of his clients. He has pressure from the Party, from the Trust, to do what he is doing, and the Trust will be taking a hit, too. I haven't pulled our assets from the Trust, and I haven't touched James' assets either, but I have no doubt that other, more conservative, families are doing so now."

"That's only money," Archie replied, scowling. "Money. You would never have disowned me over money."

Dad's smile was grim. "But I'm not Lord Rosier. I don't think this will be the end – he also has no choice but to get rid of Christina Blake, because it doesn't look good that she's spent her entire career, more than thirty years, under his wing. I expect she'll be tonight's, or tomorrow's, news."

"Aldon anticipated this," John chipped in, his expression sombre as he slid the article over for Archie to skim. Regrettable mistake of my youth, Lord Rosier had said, as he threw his son away. Archie scowled and flipped the newspaper over, so he didn't have to read the rest. He didn't need to read the rest. John slid his plate over and offered him a piece of bacon. "Have some breakfast, Arch. Aldon always carried a trunk with him with the things he needed most. He knew it would come out eventually, and it was just a matter of time. That's why he was so accepting of us using his first name, too; he thought it would make us more comfortable with him, it wasn't something he would have normally allowed. It might even be better for him, that he's possessed right now. He doesn't have to live through the reality of it happening, he just has to come to terms with it after the fact."

Archie grimaced. He didn't envy Aldon the experience. That would be a shock, coming out of possession to find that his whole life had been turned upside down.

"After the trial, you can reach out to him," Uncle Remus patted him gently on the shoulder. "I'm sure, once he comes back to himself, he'll need someone to help him through it."

They were back at court by ten in the morning, Archie in his No-Maj suit, cleaned and pressed, with Dad and Uncle Remus behind him, and John and Chess in the row behind them. Hermione was coming directly from her home in Oxford, Flooing to Diagon Alley and then walking the final kilometre or so, ducking and dodging the crowds, to the Wizarding Courts of Law. She was meeting up with Toby and Derrick to pick up more copies of Archie's interview as printed in the American Standard, and Derrick was Apparating out to distribute them through the main wizarding communities today while Hermione sat with him in court. She would drop copies to the more sensitive BIA contacts later today for distribution, sliding them into the Ministry of Magic, the prisons, and the Wizengamot itself, if she could swing it. Archie wasn't sure how many people within Britain were a quiet part of the BIA, and when he had asked, Hermione had only shaken her head.

"More than you would think, but less than we would like," she had said, completely unhelpful. "A lot of them are in delicate positions, so better not to ask, Archie."

He left it at that, but he was still happy to see her arrive, sliding into her spot between Dad and Uncle Remus, in her navy-blue suit and pencil skirt. Archie liked that pencil skirt quite a lot.

She flashed him a small, worried, smile and leaned forward to reach one hand to his shoulder. "Are you all right, Archie?"

Archie grabbed her hand, held it tightly for a minute. Dad was always saying that Hermione could stay with them at Grimmauld Place, that there were plenty of bedrooms and he already had one fixed up for her on the second floor, but she always shook her head and left. Not even through the Floo – she always ran to catch the train from Caledonian Road Station, and Dad and Uncle Remus had both taken turns walking her there after dark, despite her insistence that she would be fine.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Archie said, trying to put some reassurance in his voice, some strength for the reporters that were still packing the courtroom, a day later. People, Muggleborns and halfbloods and purebloods, were watching him, and he would hold strong for them.

Hermione tilted her head slightly, and from slight waver of her smile, Archie knew that she was not convinced. Hermione knew him better than most though, so he didn't worry about it.

The courtroom doors slammed open, and Aldon Rosier walked in, blank-faced but moving under his own power. His robes weren't the fine ones that he had worn yesterday, but a simple black cotton that didn't seem at all the kind of thing he would pick to wear in the usual circumstances. His boots didn't match, and his hair was in a disarray, rather than the carefully arranged tousled look he usually favoured. Whispers broke out as he strode to the front, marching up onto the top dais. He spared hardly a glance at either Lady Bones, still awkwardly sitting on the second to top dais, and or the court clerks until he crossed the golden insignia on the floor.

On the top dais, he seemed to wake up, his movements becoming more graceful, more languid, instead of wooden and rote. He didn't look around just yet, instead taking the time to snap his fingers. The black robes he was wearing turned into the same sort of white dress he had worn yesterday, though today he had added a golden coronet on his head. He took a seat on the hard, wooden chair in the centre, which Archie hoped was spelled for comfort, and another wave of his hand had a large set of scales in front of him, a bare sword resting across his knees.

"So," Justice said, looking around the room. It was easier for Archie to distinguish Aldon from Justice when she started speaking – on top of her movements, there was a fluidity, an iron sort of uncaring, to her speech that Aldon simply didn't have. "I see that everyone has returned. Good. I hope that we may begin in earnest today."

Percy nodded, a sort of amused look in his blue eyes as he glanced over at the prosecution. Archie followed his gaze and did a slight double-take as he realized that yesterday's lead prosecutor, Umbridge, had returned. Clearwater was sitting beside her, bolt-upright with an expression of mild distaste combined with excitement combined with exhaustion. It was a weird combination, and Archie guessed by how bloodshot her eyes were that she hadn't slept – and she was probably two Wideye Potions and a few coffees into her day.

There was the slight rasp of a pad of paper being slid across the desk towards Archie, and he glanced at it quickly. Morning is going to be a waste, Percy had written. Prosecutor Umbridge is not known for her adaptability.

Archie raised an eyebrow, but he was saved from replying when Umbridge stood. Her voice today, when she spoke, was a high-pitched simper.

"Good morning, Your Honour," she said, curtseying slightly. Justice examined her critically, as if she was a bug pinned onto a card. "My junior has updated me on what occurred yesterday, and we are ready to proceed. I would like to call Matthew Dawlish, Head Auror at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Justice inclined her head, and Archie suppressed a scowl as he recognized the lean form of the Auror approaching the witness stand. Dawlish had arrested him, had flouted their own laws in over-executing a search warrant on him, and was, now, one of the few people that Archie found truly reprehensible. One of the two court clerks stood, swearing him in.

"Auror Dawlish, would you please introduce yourself to the court?" Umbridge began, in her high-pitched, girlish voice. "And your position?"

"Matthew Dawlish," the Auror replied bluntly. "I am currently Head Auror at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which we call the DMLE for short."

"How long have you been at the DMLE?"

"Twenty-two years – first as a junior Auror, then as a senior Auror. I spent about two years as the Deputy Head under Lord James Potter, then I was promoted when he was forced to resign in the… circumstances." Auror Dawlish's voice was almost bored, and Archie heard the scribble of pens and quills from both prosecution and defense tables. Umbridge wasn't taking notes, but Clearwater was writing madly, a look of intense concentration on her face.

"The… circumstances," Umbridge repeated. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"I would," Dawlish replied, before launching into an explanation of the Rigel Black scandal. Archie listened carefully – it was both similar to what Aldon had told him about what had happened, what was published in the Daily Prophet, and somehow not at all the same.

The way that Aldon had explained it, which Archie trusted was probably the most accurate version of events, Harry had returned to Hogwarts after that final, dreadful, game. She had mentioned to him that she needed to share what she knew, what she had heard, with Headmaster Dumbledore. Aldon, along with the Weasley Twins, escorted her to the Hospital Wing, where Aldon had dropped a listening rune before leaving. Aldon had tried to listen in on Harry's report to Dumbledore, but his rune was badly positioned, and he didn't pick up most of that discussion. All he had really gotten was that Wizarding Britain's newfound Dark wizard was something like a more extreme version of Lord Riddle.

The Aurors had arrived over dinner: Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Shafiq, and Rowle. Dad had scowled at the mention of Rowle, who apparently had a reputation for being heavy-handed, but Aldon had denied that Rowle had done anything but follow orders that night, to his knowledge. The listening rune had caught most of the Harry's charges, as well as the subsequent argument on whether she would be taken with the Aurors that night, then Aldon had set himself up to break her out. He wouldn't tell Archie or Dad how he had done that – better they didn't know, he said – but he had, and Archie knew well that Aldon could be charged with aiding and abetting in blood identity theft for it.

After that, Dawlish and the other Aurors took the lead on investigating Harry's disappearance and the imposter scheme, staying at Hogwarts for another four days. Each of Harry's friends had been questioned – some of them, like Edmund Rookwood and Theodore Nott were only questioned once. Others, like Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini had been questioned twice, but not for long; still others, closer friends like Parkinson and Malfoy, had not only been questioned twice, but for hours. The Weasleys had not come off easy – Fred, George, and Ron Weasley had all been held and questioned for most of a day, though fortunately with Percy having arrived so soon after the escape, no one consented to a Veritaserum interrogation and Dawlish didn't have enough evidence to enforce a Veritaserum warrant. In the end, Dawlish and the Aurors were forced to leave Hogwarts in a state of high dudgeon, without any arrests to show for it.

Aldon had related this all with a sort of sarcastic, vindictive pleasure – a job well done, Archie guessed, but it was a little unnerving nonetheless. Aldon himself had been questioned twice, at some length, but it seemed like he had had something of an alibi for the night of her disappearance, corroborated by other evidence, and there was no magical evidence pinning him to the escape.

"It helped that I wasn't considered to be in her circle of friends," Aldon had said, offhand, his lip curled slightly. "I was… more of an acquaintance, in truth. I am also legally a pureblood, and my family is in the SOW Party; I had no apparent motive to help her."

That wouldn't be the case anymore, Archie realized with a slow breath out. As a publicly known halfblood, there was a good chance that his interrogations would be reviewed, or they could question him again. Unless Archie won this case, striking the laws entirely. He glanced over at Percy, who wore an expression of intense concentration as he scribbled on the legal pad in front of him.

The list of charges published in the Daily Prophet, the next day, was considerably longer than what Aldon had overheard. He had only heard about forty-odd counts, most of them fraud; the fifty-odd counts of Healing without a license had been new, as were the twelve trespassing charges, and killing an endangered species, namely, a basilisk.

All the feats that had made Rigel Black famous and respected, like curing the Sleeping Sickness and slaying a basilisk, took on a completely different tone now that it was Harry Potter, a halfblood, who had done them. According to the Daily Prophet, these accomplishments were improbable, impossible, suspect: Harry was too powerful, her magic too dangerous, to be allowed near decent and respectable people. The Sleeping Sickness cure was now a serious violation of children's mental privacy; the death of the basilisk a tragedy. Combined with her demonstrated talents in the Triwizard Tournament, especially in the match against Durmstrang and the final, she was a threat to all of Wizarding Britain.

Harriett Potter was a threat and she had escaped, a dangerous fugitive. The Prophet published article after article, warning after warning. If seen, do not approach. If seen, call the Ministry of Magic DMLE hotline immediately. If seen, the Aurors would be on their way.

Harry's family, of course, had been placed under scrutiny. The Marauders had raised the two of them, after all, and it had seemed simply impossible that they hadn't been involved in the ruse somehow.

Yet both Dad and Uncle James had consented to questioning under Veritaserum, which Dad firmly refused to talk about. They had known nothing, they had had nothing to do with it, and their Veritaserum-laced testimony didn't lie. Uncle Remus and Aunt Lily had each been held for questioning as well, most of a day for Aunt Lily and almost two days for Uncle Remus. Neither of them had consented to questioning under Veritaserum, and since Dad and Uncle James had and had sworn that none of them had known, Dawlish didn't have enough to enforce a Veritaserum warrant.

Despite the testimony, Uncle James had been forced to resign from his position as Head Auror, and Aunt Lily's company had, under pressure from the Ministry who held most of its contracts, let her go. Not that, according to Dad, either of them cared – they had wanted to look for Harry, find her before the Ministry did, leading to the fiasco a few weeks ago in which Aunt Lily had cast the first Great Work of Magic in sixty years on British soil. Then they had fled the country, and it was Archie left in the crosshairs.

Auror Dawlish's testimony included all of that, but it was subtly warped. He hadn't gotten any cooperation for his investigation from the staff or students at Hogwarts but had persevered despite the odds. As Acting Head Auror, he had continued with the investigation, following leads into France, into America, but those governments had refused to recognize his authority and stopped him from going any farther. When he started implying that those who had refused Veritaserum examination were somehow complicit, Percy stood up, waiting for Justice to hold her hand up, stop the testimony, and look at him.

"Objection, Your Honour," he said, his voice calm and succinct, an almost bored expression on his face as Dawlish glared at him. "This is opinion evidence. Further, it is settled law that no adverse inference may be drawn against an accused's credibility by reason of his or her choice to exercise the right to refuse Veritaserum questioning."

Justice eyed him for a moment, expressionless, then glanced down at Lady Bones. "Is he correct in law?"

Lady Bones cleared her throat. "Very much so, Lady Justice."

"Very well." Justice settled back in her chair, eyes half-closing. "Prosecution, I did warn you yesterday about relevance. I have been listening to this testimony for near forty minutes at this point, and I am unable to understand why this history is relevant."

"I am getting to that, Your Honour," Umbridge said, her girlish voice breathy.

"Then get to it."

Auror Dawlish continued, only slightly back on track. He had seen Archie's interview in the Daily Prophet, in which Archie had confessed to all of the main facts of the ruse. He had met Archie at Terminal M on his landing from America. Archie had been surrounded by his halfblood and Muggleborn friends, who had nearly attacked the Aurors in his defence. Archie had been charged on the spot, of course, and had invoked his absolute right to silence, which was again suspect.

Percy stood up again, while Justice frowned. "No adverse inference again, counsellor?"

"That is correct, Your Honour. No adverse inference may be drawn from an accused's exercise of his right to silence. Also, relevance – if I may emphasize, Your Honour, my client and I do not disagree with the key facts of this case. Arcturus Rigel Black did indeed trade places with his cousin, Harriett Euphemia Potter, and he attended the American Institute of Magic while she, in turn, took his place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The issue is purely whether the law underlying the offence, being blood identity theft, is just."

Lady Justice turned to Umbridge, on the other side, who seemed slightly flummoxed while her junior, Clearwater, seemed to be suppressing a tiny smirk.

"Ah, my lady," Umbridge said, her voice fluttering a little in hesitation. "If Mr. Black admits all the underlying facts and elements of the offence, I submit that we should find him guilty of all charges. It would seem to be a waste of Your Honour's valuable time to hear anything further."

Justice watched her for a long moment. "You have no argument to make on the justice of the law itself?"

Umbridge seemed to be excited, almost, leaning forward against the podium. "It is not the role of this Court to determine whether the law is correct or not, only to rule whether or not it has been broken," she replied confidently and from the way she said it, Archie suspected it was a line drilled into her. Or that she drilled into others. Maybe both. "It is the role of the Wizengamot, and the Wizengamot alone, to decide what those laws should be."

"Is that so?" Justice opened her eyes wide, focusing on Umbridge. Archie sucked in a breath, and he could have sworn that half the court did the same. As light and languid as Justice's words had been, there was an underlying danger that Archie could almost taste in the air. He had no idea how Umbridge was missing it, especially after yesterday's broken legs. It felt like brewing storm, about to crack.

"Yes, my lady," Umbridge replied eagerly. The line had to have been well drilled into her, if she couldn't read the atmosphere. "That is correct. So, let us convict him and be done with it."

Justice stood, setting the point of her sword to the ground, placing both of her hands the hilt. Archie noticed that there was a stone in the pommel, one that seemed to be glowing with a subtle golden light. "Then let me be clear, Madam Umbridge. I am Justice Incarnate, and I do not and will not obey your Wizengamot's laws. I am judge, I am jury, and I am executioner, and I consider only what is just. If you are unable to defend your laws on the merits of justice, then get out of my courtroom. You have wasted enough of my time."

"I, Your Honour?" Umbridge seemed taken aback, her eyes widening. "But I—"

"Out!" Justice snapped, and made a quick gesture with her hand, so fast that Archie couldn't catch it. The light in the pommel of her sword flashed once, a bolt of lightning through the room, and Umbridge fell back, gasping for air, gripping her chest. Archie didn't know what was happening, but whatever it was, it was evidently painful and terrifying. Umbridge was whimpering, pulling her robes tight around her, her eyes tearing as she staggered for the doors, her breath ragged. She wasn't screaming, but Archie wondered if she should have been or wanted to be – it didn't sound like she had enough air for screaming.

It took her far, far, too long to stagger out. Or maybe it was just that she had done so in absolute, perfect silence, the centre of attention. He watched as she stumbled past the bar separating the lawyers from the observers, as she tripped and fell halfway to the doors, an awful hiccoughing noise coming from her chest. He watched as she pulled herself upright, put one hand on the wall, as she collided with the doors with a heavy bang, only belatedly pushing the catch to fall outside. The courtroom doors closed behind her, a heavy, uncontrolled thud, sounding somehow final in the silence.

Archie looked back up to the front. Justice's gaze was cool, intent, entirely impassive. She didn't care. Whatever had happened, it had hurt, it had been humiliating – and whatever it was inside Aldon's body didn't care.

"So." Justice's voice was bold, annoyed. Archie gulped. "Miss Clearwater."

"Your Honour." The blonde woman stood, making her way to the podium, a mild look of satisfaction on her face.

"You advised Madam Umbridge of our discussions yesterday, did you not?"

"I did, Your Honour," she said freely, with the sort of confidence that told Archie she was being fully and completely honest. "Madam Umbridge is my superior, however, and determined that we ought to stand by our planned strategy."

Archie blinked, replaying her words. There was so much packed in those two lines. Harry would have found fifteen subtexts or more – Archie only had two. Umbridge didn't listen to her. Clearwater did not like Umbridge.

"And you, Miss Clearwater?" Justice asked. "Are you prepared to proceed?"

Clearwater's gaze was calm, even if she was red-eyed from lack of sleep. "I am."

"Then we'll proceed. Your superior will not be returning – I have banned her from this courtroom while I sit with a minor curse. Should she attempt to return, her core will burn itself out inside her until she retreats. I do hope you will put on an admirable case for the prosecution – after lunch." She nodded at the clerks.

"All rise," one of them said, standing up. "Court to resume in an hour."

Archie rose, bowed with the rest of the room, and followed the long line of people exiting the court.

"That went… Well," Percy said, grimacing a little in distaste as soon as they were out in the courthouse atrium. By the change in his tone, Archie knew that he didn't mean it had gone well, just that he was changing the topic. "The afternoon should be more interesting; Clearwater must proceed with her examination of Dawlish today, as it is only in rare circumstances that she can call him back to the stand once he is dismissed. I must go and prepare. Please be back in the courtroom ten minutes before the start time." The barrister nodded at Archie, exchanged a quick look with Dad, and bustled off.

"Well," Dad said slowly, drawing the word out as he put one hand on Archie's shoulder. There really wasn't much more to say about the morning. "I can't say I ever liked Prosecutor Umbridge, but that was… let's go find something to eat."

Their hour for lunch slipped away too quickly, but Archie didn't have much of an appetite anyway. He had had a decent breakfast, still his favourite meal of the day, and the bacon sandwiches that John had managed to rustle up were dry and tasted like sandpaper. Dad and Uncle Remus were talking quietly, comparing the morning's testimony with their own recollections, while Hermione was reviewing the notes she had taken. John had somehow managed to spill a part of his bacon sandwich onto his dress robes and Chess had one of her paper charms out, trying to get the grease stain out before it set. Archie just sat and listened.

He wondered where Harry was, how she was doing. He hadn't known that Leo had arranged for the papers for her to flee the country, but it made sense, and he was glad that Master Thompson, her old mentor from the Guild, had sent her on to some of his colleagues around the world. Hopefully one of them would take her on, and she would still be able to compete her Potions Mastery somewhere, even if it wasn't under Master Snape as she had always wanted. Harry, of course, hadn't told anyone her plans, and it was probably better that way.

From Archie's perspective, no news was good news. He wasn't an idiot – or, rather, while he might sometimes be an idiot, he did listen, he hoped, to the people around him. Hermione said that Archie was probably under heavy surveillance and that any mail he received would likely be read, which was why any other communications he was getting were being funnelled through Muggle telephone to Hermione's house, where she would take the message and bring it over. He had worried, some, that Harry was trying to get in touch with him through owl, even if it was just to tell him that she was fine, but Aldon had snorted and said that Harry was far too smart to send him an owl under the current circumstances. He would have to wait for something else, something creative and a little out of the ordinary, but Harry would find a way.

He hoped she did soon, though. It had been more than four weeks since he had heard from her, and despite himself, he was starting to worry. Just a little – Uncle Remus said she could take care of herself, and Archie even believed that no one was better at taking care of themselves than Harry, but it would still be good to know.

They were back in court well before the break ended, silently taking the same seats they had had in the morning. Justice was perched in her chair, her eyes a blur as she skimmed through a thick legal text, reading far faster than Archie though anyone could. Even Hermione didn't flip pages that quickly, and Hermione read paragraphs the way that people read sentences. Percy was already there, making notes on a separate legal pad, and Clearwater came in soon after with the sort of expression on her face that made Archie suspect she had had more coffee, or a third Wideye Potion.

It was about fifteen minutes before Justice handed the book back to Lady Bones and nodded to the court clerks. "We may as well resume," she said mildly, much less stern that she had been this morning, and Archie's eyes widened a little in surprise. Over the past two days, the Incarnation had never been mild. "Miss Clearwater?"

"I am ready, Your Honour," the blonde woman said, her voice calm and deliberate despite the red rim of her eyes. "The prosecution would like to recall Auror Dawlish."

Justice inclined her head slightly, settling back into her wooden chair and half-closing her eyes. Her sword, glowing a little brighter than it had been this morning, was leaning against her chair, and her scales still sat in front of her, tilted slightly to the right.

There was a minute or two while Dawlish settled back into the witness box. This time, his expression was cautious, careful, as he waited for Clearwater's first question.

"Auror Dawlish, would you kindly outline your educational and professional history for this court?"

Dawlish blinked at her. "Er…"

Clearwater didn't move, she only stared at him pointedly, waiting for an answer.

"Er, I graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1971. I was in Slytherin House and was appointed prefect in my fifth year. After Hogwarts, I entered directly into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Auror training school, which lasts for eighteen months, then I became a Junior Auror in 1973. I was promoted to Senior Auror in 1979, then to Deputy Head Auror in 1992. I became Head Auror just six weeks ago."

"Would you explain what work you have done as an Auror through those years?"

Auror Dawlish, seemingly more bemused by the minute, launched into a description of the general duties of an Auror. Archie wasn't sure what the point of all this was, but Percy beside him had a serious expression on his face as he scribbled, almost verbatim, what Dawlish was saying. Lady Bones, too, had a look of interest on her face, and the court was utterly silent as Dawlish spoke. At times, Clearwater would raise her hand, redirecting Dawlish to one point or another, asking for clarification. It was long, but somehow still compelling – Clearwater was good at what she did, and as Dawlish kept talking, he relaxed more. His testimony evened out, and he lost the edge of annoyance that he was carrying before. Archie didn't dare think that the annoyance had disappeared, but Clearwater certainly made him look more responsible, more impartial, more credible.

Junior Aurors worked under the supervision of Senior Aurors, and often spent some years "walking the beat", patrolling through wizarding areas monitoring for unrest. Dawlish had walked the beat in Diagon Alley for six months, then he had been transferred to Knockturn Alley for two years, then a region of the Alleys that he called the Cesspool for another five years. His years in the Cesspool were difficult – on an average night, he estimated that he had broken up a minimum of three fights. It was better when the Cesspool was active, because silence meant trouble. In the Cesspool, a night of silence meant that something, somewhere else was burning, and even the troublemakers knew to stay home and keep silent.

He had been promoted to the Major Investigations Unit in 1981, leaving the beat in favour of investigations. His specialty was vice – as Senior Auror, he had headed investigations into multiple illegal gambling rings and brothels. His biggest success, in 1988, had been successfully shutting down The Emerald Cauldron, a bar in the Lower Alleys that also had a backroom for high stakes, illegal gambling and a sideline in prostitution. His track record as a Senior Auror was excellent, closing on average a half-dozen major investigations per year.

As Deputy Head Auror, Dawlish had expanded beyond his expertise in vice and had provided oversight and advice to all areas of the DMLE, gaining expertise in homicides, domestic violence, and gangs in the process. In the matter of the disappeared, dangerous magical artifact, two years ago, Dawlish had been the one to lead the searches of the Lower Alleys, particularly the Cesspool, his old stomping grounds, while Lord Potter had taken care of the high-profile searches of Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and Godric's Hollow. As demonstrated by his career history, Dawlish was a successful Auror, who had never received a performance review less than "commendable", and he was well-respected by his peers.

"How about your academic history? You mentioned graduating from Hogwarts, and the Auror Training Academy. What additional training courses have you taken?"

Dawlish blinked, seemingly uncertain, but Clearwater just waited for the answers. Archie took a glance up Justice – she didn't seem to have moved in the past almost hour of testimony, and Percy hadn't stood up to object. Archie peeked at his notes, spotting circles here and there. FRAUD read one note, then HIT EDUCATIONAL HISTORY HARD. Another scribbled note with a circle: CONFLICT?

"Since the Auror Training Academy, I have done the mandatory retraining seminar every two years," Dawlish replied slowly. "Is that what you mean?"

"What is included the mandatory retraining seminar?" Clearwater sounded genuinely curious, though Archie would eat his non-existent hat if she was genuinely curious.

"Predominantly, the professional ethics and the duties of an Auror." Dawlish shrugged slightly.

"Anything else?"

"Er, sometimes there are also case law updates, if something has changed in the courts, or we can have speakers come and brief Aurors on emerging issues, such as the increase in crime in a particular area…?" Dawlish didn't seem like he knew how to respond to the question, and Archie saw the moment that Clearwater decided to let it go, turning back to Justice.

"Thank you, Dawlish. Your Honour, I am now seeking to have Auror Dawlish recognized as an expert witness by the court, to provide opinion evidence on the topic of crime rates, especially comparative crime rates in different areas and crime in the Lower Alleys. Auror Dawlish has a distinguished history as an Auror and has been a significant part of the Department of Magical Law enforcement for more than two decades. He has a particular expertise in crime in the Lower Alleys, though many years assigned to that district and through his work in the Major Investigations Unit."

Percy stood up sharply. "Ah, Madam Justice, before that determination can be made, the defense has an opportunity to cross-examine on the credentials of the proposed expert."

Justice moved her head slowly to eye him. There was a pause, then she nodded. "Proceed."

Percy traded places with Clearwater at the podium. "Auror Dawlish, you graduated from Hogwarts in 1971?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And you went immediately to the Auror Training Academy."

"Yes."

"You did not pursue any graduate studies?" Percy's voice was emotionless, as he fired the questions off, one by one. It was quick, and his questions only allowed for yes or no answers.

"I did not, no." Dawlish drew out the last word, frowning slightly.

"You didn't pursue any other training courses?"

"I pursued the training courses offered by the Auror Training Academy." Dawlish's frown deepened, and Archie could see him growing annoyed.

"You pursued the mandatory training courses required of any Auror."

"I—"

"Please just answer the question, Auror Dawlish." Percy's voice was clipped, almost bored.

"Yes, I did."

"You didn't take any other courses, only the ones required of every Auror."

"Yes, but how is this relevant?"

Percy ignored the question. "You have no formal education besides Hogwarts, the Auror Training School, and the required refreshment course every two years at the Auror Training School."

"I—" Dawlish took a breath, letting it out slowly. "No, I don't."

"You have no special training in magical theory, or fraud, or anything else."

Clearwater stood up, on the other side of the room. "Objection, Your Honour. Relevance. The prosecution is seeking to accredit Auror Dawlish only on the issues of crime rates in various areas, particularly in the Lower Alleys."

Justice seemed to consider it for a moment, tilting her head. "Mr. Weasley, please keep your questions on point."

"Yes, Your Honour," Percy capitulated gracefully. "Auror Dawlish, you have no formal training on the assessment of crime rates."

"I have my lived experience." Dawlish's voice had taken a dangerous edge. "As an Auror."

"But no formal training."

"I suppose not, no, but crime rates are not really something that people study formally." Dawlish shrugged, and Archie heard a snort from behind him. He fought the urge to turn around to see Hermione's expression – he could picture her oh, really, now expression perfectly. There was a small sound like a stifled laugh, which Archie was surprised to recognize was Chess. No-Majs study everything, he remembered Chess telling him years ago. Crime rates were probably a whole field of study in the No-Maj world.

Percy seemed to accept that as an answer, however, and he moved on. "You are a pureblood, are you not?"

"Yes, of course I am."

"Non-noble."

"Most people are non-noble."

Clearwater stood up, and Justice glanced at her. "Objection. Relevance, again."

"Your Honour, Auror Dawlish's blood-status is relevant because the charges are fundamentally related to blood status." Percy's response was immediate, and even if he was addressing Justice, it felt like he was arguing directly with Clearwater. "An expert witness must be qualified and unbiased."

"Everyone has a blood status, your Honour," Clearwater replied, her voice hard. "Mr. Weasley is a pureblood. I am a pureblood. The accused is a pureblood. Blood status does not correlate with bias."

There was a pause. "Objection sustained. Move on, Mr. Weasley."

Percy paused, looking down at his notes. This time, when he started, his voice was slower, as if he was considering the question as he asked it. "You are a member of the SOW Party, Auror Dawlish?"

"In the sense that my family is generally supportive of the SOW Party, yes," Dawlish replied with a cool frown. "Many people are."

"And you are supportive of SOW Party policies." Percy's expression was stubborn.

"I am, but if you're trying to suggest that I did not conduct my investigation impartially or that I have been in any way biased in my testimony, you're wrong." Dawlish's tone was flat, cold. "My investigation was conducted in full accordance with the law."

Justice snorted, fully opening her eyes to look at him. "You lie. Do not lie before me, Auror. This is your first warning. Amend your statement."

There was a moment of silence, before Dawlish spoke again, his words slower, begrudging. "I may have stepped into some grey areas with respect to the investigation, but none of them have any bearing on the facts."

"Your Honour, if I may intercede," Clearwater leaned towards the podium. "Mr. Black has admitted the essential elements of the offence as written, and the sole issue is whether or not the blood discrimination laws are just. I am not relying on Auror Dawlish's investigation of this offence, and I am only seeking to rely on him for opinion evidence as it relates to crime rates and comparative crime rates, especially in the Lower Alleys. Regardless of what he might have done in this investigation, it does not affect his wealth of experience in the Alleys. And, as Auror Dawlish has testified, there is no formal education on these topics."

Archie heard the soft scoff from behind him again, just the one from Hermione this time.

"Any bias will affect opinion evidence even more strongly than the investigation itself," Percy snapped, expression hard. "I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honour, but I am opposed to having him qualified as an expert witness. He has no special training in this field and he has outright admitted that he is supportive of SOW Party policies and that he has stepped into grey areas with respect to this investigation."

Justice seemed to consider it for a long moment, then she reached over and tapped the scales in front of her, which made a sharp ringing noise. "Fifteen minutes for the afternoon recess. I will read my determination afterwards."

Outside the courtroom, Archie lingered close to the wall, by the doors. There were crowds of people around the doors, so Percy had warned them against talking much, so mostly Archie was listening to Hermione grumble. She didn't think Dawlish should be accredited as an expert witness at all, confirming for him that criminology was absolutely a topic studied by No-Majs, and that it would be ridiculous if he was confirmed as an expert. Percy, however, seemed less sure.

"He's correct in that wizards do not study crime in the same formal way that it seems Muggles do," he explained softly. "The bias argument went better than I expected, but I don't know. I also don't think there's any person more qualified in the wizarding world to give the evidence that Clearwater needs – she's starting to build an argument that the blood discrimination laws are justified based on risks posed by Muggleborns and halfbloods in society."

"That's completely mad," Hermione hissed, face aghast. "How can – I don't even – what is she thinking, coming up with this?"

Percy studied Hermione for a moment. "It an adversarial system, and Clearwater is doing her job. She is not, in case you were wondering, a SOW Party supporter. She was a Ravenclaw in school and enjoys the craftsmanship in building an argument."

"Still," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's despicable."

Percy shook his head. "If I were in her shoes, I would make the same argument. And, if we are successful, Clearwater doing a good job works better for our interests than a poor argument. It's harder for the Ministry to disregard the results if she does a good job."

From the expression on her face, Hermione didn't agree. Archie privately agreed with her – how could someone stand up and argue for something they didn't believe in? He could see Percy's point, but with Justice presiding, he wasn't sure how anyone could disregard the results anyway. Percy pulled out a pocket watch, checking the time, then motioned for them all to go back into the courtroom.

Justice had her head together with Lady Bones, who was speaking quickly, if quietly, her hands moving around in emphasis. The Incarnation, in Aldon's body, was nodding periodically – it was so odd, seeing her move in his friend's body. It was his face, his frame, but he was nothing more than a puppet – her movements were nothing like his, the way that she spoke and the gestures she made were completely unfamiliar. It was, in a horrifying kind of way, the impression he wanted to leave with his acting.

It was another few minutes before Justice nodded, dismissing Lady Bones to her seat on the dais below. A quick glance around the room showed that everyone was back and seated. "Auror Dawlish, you may return to the witness stand, and remember that you remain under oath. Based on your long and excellent record as an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I am satisfied that you ought to be qualified as an expert witness for the purpose of testifying about crime in the Lower Alleys, particularly as it relates to comparative crime rates. I make this determination cognizant of the fact that you lack any formal training or academic study in this area, because there appears to be no formal training or studies in this area in this part of the world. I am also cognizant of the fact you may have a bias against the accused; I will consider that when weighing your evidence in my ultimate determinations. Miss Clearwater, you may begin your questions."

"Thank you, Your Honour," the prosecutor said gracefully, taking her position behind the podium, her lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. Percy let out a small noise of annoyance, but he had a pad of paper and pen at the ready. "Auror Dawlish, would you kindly take us through the different neighbourhoods of the Alleys, and the demographics of each?"

Dawlish nodded, and launched into an explanation of the various neighbourhoods in or around the Alleys, heading towards the area called the Lower Alleys. He started with Diagon Alley – the most prominent of the Alleys, the main shopping thoroughfare of Wizarding London and the wealthiest district, anchored on one end by Gringotts Bank and on the other by the Wizarding Courts of Law and the Wizengamot, with the entrance to Muggle London through the Leaky Cauldron in the middle. Diagon Alley was so prominent that for many, especially witches and wizards who did not reside in Wizarding London or the Alleys themselves, there simply were no other alleys. Few people lived directly in Diagon Alley – there are apartments above many of the shops, but many shopkeepers lived in the residential alleys elsewhere.

There was Knockturn Alley, the black-market district. By the standards of most witches and wizards of Wizarding Britain, Knockturn Alley was seedy, dangerous, but while it might not have had the pristine reputation of Diagon Alley, it was still very much a safe area, only steps off the main streets of Diagon Alley and running parallel to the Craftsmen's Alleys. Both Knockturn and Craftsmen's Alleys were the sort of areas where two different worlds blended together, the predominantly middle- and upper-classes of Diagon Alley blending with the lower middle classes and the working classes of the Lower Alleys. Like Diagon Alley, few people lived in either Knockturn or Craftsmen's, and it was primarily a commercial area.

The Lower Alleys was a collective name for one large area, which had many smaller neighbourhoods or districts, each of which had its own character. Unlike either Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley, the Lower Alleys were a mix of residential and commercial areas – every district had its own restaurants, cafés, or shops. Many people who worked in Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley lived in the Lower Alleys, and many areas of the Lower Alleys were very respectable.

The Unicorn, Flash, Highfields and Prettybone districts were very middle class, where their inhabitants often held jobs in major Wizarding enterprises such as the Ministry or Gringotts. Unicorn was the wealthiest, the nicest, followed by Highfields, Prettybone, and finally Flash. The people living in these districts were largely non-noble purebloods, without a long and distinguished history, who didn't have a traditional manor house. A permit through the Magical Lands Management division to set up a new wizarding home, with the required warding and inspections, was expensive, and the process was long; many witches and wizards chose to move into a home conveniently located in one of these districts, or in one of the other existing Wizarding communities such as Hogsmeade or Godric's Hollow.

The Patten and Market districts separated the middle-class residential neighbourhoods from the most impoverished areas. Patten and Market districts were considerably poorer than Unicorn, Flash, Highfields and Prettybone – there were fewer houses and townhomes, and more apartments. The people here were a mix; some known purebloods lived in this area, but not many. Most of the people in these areas were halfbloods. The Maywell Clinic was in the Market district, as was Aroma Alley. From the one trip he had taken into the Alleys, with Harry, Archie guessed that the Court of the Rogue was probably in the Market district as well.

Finally, there was the Cesspool. The Cesspool was what gave the rest of the Lower Alleys the reputation that it had – the Cesspool was dangerous, seedy, and it was rife with crime. As a Senior Auror in the Major Investigations Division, as well as the Deputy Head Auror, he had monitored the cases coming out of all areas of the Lower Alleys for many years; the Cesspool accounted for more than half of all violent crime. Patten and Market districts had more theft, blackmail, illegal gambling, money laundering, but it was the Cesspool where things were violent. The people who lived there were magical, but almost none of them were purebloods; they were uneducated, not qualifying for education at Hogwarts and typically not attending school elsewhere. They didn't belong to polite society – their magic was wild, often uncontrolled.

Archie heard the snort behind him, and he didn't need to look behind him to be able to picture Hermione's face. It was probably a mirror of his own – how could anyone expect someone to be in control of their magic if they didn't qualify for an education at Hogwarts and weren't getting educated elsewhere? The skeptical expression probably wasn't helping him, though, so he smoothed it out.

Like before, Clearwater was good, her questions delicately redirecting Dawlish when it seemed that he was ready to start going on an unhelpful tangent, which Archie bet would have been something ridiculous or horrifically biased. She managed to make him come across as intelligent, educated, with a wealth of experience in the Lower Alleys – Dawlish was an Auror who had walked the beat, who had gotten to know the people around whom he had worked. He didn't miss how Clearwater let him mention the blood status demographics in most of the neighbourhoods, even if he wondered how accurate those statistics could possibly be. Unless he was much mistaken, many people in the Alleys, especially in the Patten, Market and Cesspool, would be undocumented, and many people who were legally halfbloods were probably actually purebloods who couldn't prove their status. From Hermione, from the BIA, he knew that many actual halfbloods and newbloods, especially the ones educated abroad, simply chose to live in the Muggle world.

He wasn't the only one to pick up on Clearwater's train of argument. By now, by following her gestures, Dawlish had noticed, too.

"Can you draw for us any conclusions about the crime rates throughout the Lower Alleys, and the demographics of those areas?" Clearwater was expressionless, her voice merely curious, through Archie swore he could feel Hermione stewing behind him. John would be stewing too, and it was probably worse for him since he could read the minds of the people around him – but one quick glance behind him showed him that John wasn't there. Chess, now sitting by herself, shook her head slightly and tilted her head towards the door, indicating that he had stepped out. Better stepping out than losing his temper, Archie guessed.

"Yes," Dawlish was replying when Archie turned back around. "Demographically, the areas with the most crime, both magical and non-magical, are areas that have the lowest proportion of purebloods. The effect is amplified when it comes to violent crime, as there is the least violent crime where there are the most purebloods – in Highfields, Prettybone, Flash, and Unicorn districts."

Archie couldn't help but think if it might just be that people didn't charge purebloods with violent offences, rather than the fact that they weren't committed. He remembered Geoff, in prison with him – no one had charged the person he had beaten up with abusing his sister, but he had been charged. That wasn't accounted for, in these bogus statistics.

"In your opinion, what is the connection between crime and blood status?"

Archie heard the pen, in Hermione's hand behind him, snap.

"In my opinion, halfbloods are less controlled in their magic, more likely to be dangerous. They don't have the control of generations bred into their magic, and their magic tends to act explosively," Dawlish said easily, totally and completely relaxed. "Even in other areas, where purebloods are committing crimes, they use formed spells, recognized spells like Stinging Hexes, the Whip Curse, the Killing Curse – in the Cesspool, it is far more common to see unformed magic involved in violent crime, suggesting it is outside the will of the user."

"Thank you. No further questions, Your Honour." Clearwater smiled slightly, then she turned to sit down at the prosecution table.

"Your witness, Mr. Weasley," Justice said, her eyes lazily flicking over at him. Archie couldn't tell what she was thinking from her expression, though she was tapping on finger on the pommel of her sword.

"Thank you, Your Honour," Percy replied, taking his position behind the podium, and Archie was struck by anew by now polite Court was. It seemed that Percy was always thanking someone for something. Even objections – Archie had always thought that those were big, dramatic, just like the trial scene in The Crucible, but instead both Percy and Clearwater had simply stood, waited to be acknowledged, then explained their objections with no raised voices. "Auror Dawlish, you stated that the Unicorn, Flash, Highfields and Prettybone districts were largely middle-class, pureblood neighbourhoods, is that right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"They are also the wealthiest neighbourhoods in the Lower Alleys."

"Yes."

"And you explicitly said that the people in these neighbourhoods often hold jobs in major wizarding enterprises, like the Ministry and Gringotts Bank?"

"That's right."

"The Market, Patten, and Cesspool districts are considerably poorer, are they not?"

"I just said that, Mr. Weasley." Dawlish's voice was hard, almost skeptical, but Percy didn't react, simply moving onto his next question.

"You said that Market, Patten, and Cesspool district have a much smaller proportion of legal purebloods, is that right?"

"Yes – most of the inhabitants of these areas are halfbloods, I just said that."

"You'd agree with me, though, that practically speaking, there are many purebloods who are simply unable to prove their status, and who are legally registered as halfbloods?"

"I wouldn't say that – it's not difficult to prove, legal status." Dawlish frowned – disapproval, maybe, Archie guessed. "All you have to do is demonstrate four magic-using grandparents."

"Which relies on the person knowing their parentage, and in cases where grandparents are deceased, retaining the documentation to show they were magic-users, isn't that right?"

"Yes, but again, Weasley, this is not a difficult standard. Even in the cases of deceased grandparents, every witch or wizard leaves traces behind them, in the news, or in genealogical records." Dawlish crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. "If a person isn't able to prove their pureblood status, they are almost certainly a halfblood, in fact, not just in law."

"And if they don't know their parentage?"

"Everyone knows their parentage, Weasley."

There was a pregnant pause, and evidently Percy decided that this was a good moment to move on. "You recognize that halfbloods are barred from schooling at Hogwarts."

"Yes, that is rather the point of this trial, that a halfblood, with the assistance of your client, tricked her way into the school."

"So, you recognize that halfbloods effectively cannot attend school within Wizarding Britain, since the only school is Hogwarts." Percy's voice was calm, inexorable, a slow and steady march.

"There are homeschooling programs." Dawlish shrugged, uncaring. "We have hired a few graduates from homeschooling programs in the DMLE over the past few years – none of them are particularly good witches or wizards, they were hired largely on the sympathies of the former Head. As Head Auror, I won't be considering these candidates any longer; they're just not worth the expense of training."

Archie didn't know how to respond to that. Where did he even begin with that statement? It was more difficult for someone to do well in a homeschooling program than a school like Hogwarts, or AIM – they didn't have a qualified teacher in front of them, a Master of that field, to show them what they were doing wrong or to help. While some people did well on their own, many people did not, and it didn't say anything about what they could do, if properly trained. Behind him, he heard the pause of Hermione's second pen, and he knew she was thinking the same thing.

"Aside from the homeschooling programs, the other legal option for halfbloods would be schooling abroad, is that right?"

"That's right. I understand some of the American schools offer scholarships for halfbloods and Muggleborns from Wizarding Britain." Dawlish looked away, apparently uninterested in the topic.

"You do not hire any of these candidates, do you?"

"Of course not." Dawlish seemed taken aback by the very idea. "The law doesn't allow the Ministry or enterprises in which the Ministry has a majority stake to hire persons educated outside the country."

"And those restrictions mean that job opportunities for those who aren't purebloods are limited, is that right?"

"I suppose if you want to be strictly accurate, yes," Dawlish replied, somewhat scathing. "But being unable to be hired in the Ministry or any enterprises in which the Ministry has a majority stake is hardly much of a limitation. There are many jobs in private companies, or places like Gringotts and St. Mungo's."

Except for the chilling effect, Archie thought, and he was glad that hopefully, his interview was making the rounds of Wizarding America again. Practically speaking, few companies wanted to take risks when the political leadership was so clearly anti-Muggle-blood.

"But the fact is that most of the other enterprises do not hire halfbloods or Muggleborns, isn't that right?"

"I can't answer that," Dawlish snapped waspishly. "Whether they do or not, that's not the Ministry's responsibility. Private enterprises will make the decisions that are in their best interests."

"But those best interests, in a climate where the Ministry has taken the lead in refusing to employ halfbloods and Muggleborns, leads them to avoid employing halfbloods and Muggleborns as well, isn't that right?"

"I'm not answering – I can't answer that, Weasley." Dawlish had bared his teeth, an attempt at a smile that was more like a grimace. "It is not in my area of expertise."

Percy nodded, letting the question go. "Going back to the Lower Alleys, Auror Dawlish, you noted that many of the people in the Cesspool in particular, who are legally halfbloods, aren't educated, is that right?"

"Yes, but that's not for lack of opportunity, Weasley, if that's what you're getting at. As I said, there are homeschooling programs, other schools around the world." Dawlish's voice had a hint of annoyance, of scorn, but Archie thought that Percy was doing great. He just hoped everyone else, especially Justice, could see the holes that his lawyer was poking into Dawlish's testimony.

"You'd agree that, without an education and with limited job opportunities, there are very few ways to make a living, wouldn't you?"

"I don't think the job opportunities are limited, Weasley," Dawlish retorted, defensive. "I just said that."

"But without an education and with limited job opportunities, you would agree that there are few ways to make a living?"

Dawlish struggled for a moment – he wanted to say no, but at the same time, saying no would make him sound ridiculous because the proposition was so reasonable. Percy stared him down, seemingly bored. "Just yes or no will be fine, Auror Dawlish."

"If I accepted that there were fewer opportunities for education and limited job opportunities, I would agree, Weasley," Dawlish said finally. "I don't."

Percy took a look down at his parchment, then took another tack. "Of the pureblood neighbourhoods, you said that Unicorn was the wealthiest, then Highfields and Prettybone, then Flash, right?"

"Yes, I did."

"Would you agree that the crime rates in Flash are higher than that of Unicorn, and of the other two?"

Dawlish shifted in his chair, a little uncomfortable. "Only a little higher – not much."

"A little higher, you said. And Flash is lower than Market or Patten?"

"Yes, though Market and Patten are quite different." Dawlish frowned. "Flash is primarily residential, so the types of crime are personal in nature, whereas Market and Patten have significant commercial areas."

Percy grinned, teeth sharp. "So, you agree with me that there are other factors that blood-status? Whether the area is mainly residential or commercial, or wealth, for example?"

Dawlish paused, and his expression darkened as he realized the trap he had been caught in. He couldn't say that there weren't any other factors when he had just cited one. "Some other factors, I suppose."

"And you agreed that the crime rates in Flash, the poorest of the mainly pureblood neighbourhoods, is higher than that in Unicorn, the wealthiest one, yes?"

"Only by a little, I said." Dawlish scowled.

"Would you agree that this reasoning can be extended to lower-income areas in general, and that the poverty of the area is a far more significant factor for the higher crime rates in than mere blood-status?"

Dawlish glared at him, struggling with his answer, but Archie didn't even think his answer mattered, anymore. Percy was building an argument through his questions, and the ideas were already out there. Halfbloods, Muggleborns had fewer opportunities – the laws prevented them from getting a good education, then limited where they could work. They were poor, which pushed them into the cheaper, more run down, more dangerous areas of the Lower Alleys. The crime rates in these areas were high because they were impoverished, and it had little to do with blood status. Especially because even the poorer pureblood areas had higher crime rates than wealthier ones, and whether someone was a legal halfblood might not have anything to with their actual blood-status.

Percy's argument hung there, wispy in the air – he could see it, Hermione behind him could certainly see it, and he hoped Justice saw it.

"I would say that it's part of it," Dawlish replied eventually. "But not a far more significant factor than blood status."

Percy nodded, once, glancing towards Clearwater, who was studying the parchment in front of her, tapping it with her quill. "Those are all of my questions, Lady Justice, thank you."

"Miss Clearwater, any re-examination?"

There was a long pause, and there was absolute silence in the meantime. Clearwater didn't seem to notice, or maybe this decision was important enough that it needed the time for her to answer. It wasn't that long – maybe only two or three minutes, though it felt much longer – and then she stood up.

"No re-examination, Your Honour," she said, and beside him, Archie heard Percy breathe a small sigh of relief.

"Very well." Justice waved a hand, and a ghost image of a clock appeared in the air in front of her – a Tempus spell. Archie hadn't been paying attention to the time, and he was surprised to read, through the other side of the spell, that it was past six in the evening. Lunchtime's bacon sandwiches, the ones that he had only nibbled on, felt a very long way away. "It is late. Court is adjourned for the day – I expect everyone to be here, ready to resume, at nine-thirty tomorrow morning."

Archie stood, joining the rest, bowed, and followed the line of people out of the courtroom.

XXX

Days passed, tumbling over each other in a hard, driving routine. Archie normally woke up at six-thirty, sometimes seven, rarely later – they nearly always had to be in court before nine-thirty, though on the off day, Justice would give them a break and hold off starting until ten in the morning. John was always in the kitchen when he came downstairs, sometimes talking to Dad and Uncle Remus, sometimes coaxing a sleepy-looking Chess into eating breakfast, sometimes skimming the paper with a disgusted expression on his face.

John and Chess didn't go with Archie after the second day. The trial was harder on John that Archie could have realized, and it was Chess who quietly pulled him and Dad aside.

"Would you mind terribly if John and I skipped tomorrow?" she said quietly, flicking her eyes over to John. "The courtroom – it's hard. It doesn't seem like Occlumency is a common skill here, so, um – today, he was fantasizing about strangling that Auror, and that's not like him. I told him to leave the courtroom before he lost it. Natural Legilimens have a one-in-four chance of insanity, so, um, if you can manage without us, I think it might be better if we didn't come, at least some days?"

Archie blinked at her, taken aback. "No, of course – I'm happy you came with me, the first few days, but I'll be fine. Dad's there, Hermione's there with me, Percy is there with me. You'll be here in the evening, too, you don't have to sit through the entire trial day to support me."

"I'll rework the Grimmauld Place wards to recognize your magical signatures, so you can come and go whenever you want," Dad added, nodding over the Evening Prophet, which was covering the trial in its slightly skewed way. "Though, if John had lost it and tried to strangle Dawlish, I'd have been right up there with him."

Chess giggled, a small, amused sound. "Can you help me fake sick tomorrow? It's just, you know John, he won't want to stay back unless there's a reason."

The next day, Dad slipped Chess a Puking Pastille, a new pranking product that was, shockingly, not one of the Marauders', so she threw up incessantly throughout breakfast.

"I think," she managed to get out between dry heaves in the first-floor toilets, having lost most of whatever was in her stomach in the half-hour before, John rubbing her back in worry. He had his wand out, but all his diagnostic charm was telling him was that she had a seriously upset stomach. "I should – just stay home."

"Alone?" Archie let his eyebrows shoot up, aghast. It was easy, faking worry for her – if Chess had been throwing up like this, he would be worried, so coming up with the necessary emotions were easy. "Not if you're throwing up like that – what if it gets worse?"

"Did you eat something weird?" John asked, frowning over the odd results of his diagnosis charm. "But all you ate was that croissant, and none of us are sick…"

"Maybe I—" she sighed, setting her head pathetically in her arms and shutting her eyes. It was a good look. "Tripped an old prank. Something."

"Anything's possible," Archie agreed, taking a step out of the tiny bathroom, which was already overfull with Chess slumped in front of the toilet and John kneeling beside her. "We, er, we do a lot of pranks here. I'm so sorry, Chess – I'll get you a stomach relief potion, but John, can you stay behind? Please? I'd feel better if you did."

John looked torn for a moment, but Chess started heaving again at that moment. Puking Pastilles did not look fun. "Yeah, all right," John said, putting his wand away in favour of helping Chess hold her hair back. "Chess, stomach relief potion, then bed, okay?"

She made a noise that Archie took as agreement, and he took off to fill a Potions vial with water, using the Colouris charm to turn it the appropriate golden-yellow of a Stomach Relief Potion. He would slip her the other half of the Puking Pastille at the same time, and Chess would have a day of reading romance novels in bed, with John hovering helpfully nearby. And that would conveniently also keep John out of the courtroom, thereby saving his sanity.

John, being a Natural Legilimens with a special connection with Chess, figured it out within the day. Or maybe Chess hadn't even bothered to hide it, once Archie, Dad, and Uncle Remus were safely gone; certainly, when they came home that night, Chess and John had apparently gone out and come back with huge takeaway containers of Thai food that Archie had immediately fallen in love with. Why had no one ever introduced him to the wonders of pad thai? He had eaten the entire platter of the tangy, delicious, orange-brown noodles, then he had to fight Dad for his fair share of the mango sticky rice with coconut sauce.

After that, John and Chess stayed home. They took care of the dinner arrangements, which was a huge relief, since Archie knew that Dad wouldn't be kept from court, not by hell or high water. With Uncle James and Aunt Lily gone (they had made it through France, and were searching through Italy now), and Uncle Remus beside Dad every day, no one was reliably taking care of dinner. Coming home to find something on the table was the comfort that Archie never thought it would be.

Neither John nor Chess could cook, to Archie's knowledge, but Chess, it turned out, had a gift for finding the absolute best places to eat in No-Maj London, and John had a gift for sweet-talking even the restaurants that didn't normally do takeaway into letting them have it as takeaway. Through the two of them, Archie learned more about food than he had ever known before – AIM had shown him Southern American food, and there were burgers and milkshakes, but the town near AIM was small. Both John and Chess came from huge metropolitan cities, and Archie was quickly convinced that the two of them had eaten everything.

There was Thai food that first night, with pad thai, pad sew, khao soi, Thai green curry with coconut, and mango sticky rice. There was Indian food another night, with butter chicken, lamb korma, palak paneer, aloo gobi, and a pork vindaloo so spicy that Archie had to run for the milk while Dad choked. Uncle Remus polished it off and asked for more, much to Chess' and John's amusement. There was takeaway Sichuan food the night after that, where Chess had thrown dandan noodles and mapo tofu at them all, which Archie didn't like because it made his mouth numb. He was then convinced, by the fact that Chess ate mapo tofu like it was food of the gods themselves, that this was Chess' own cuisine (it was Chinese food, after all), and she had had to correct his assumption by springing for what she called proper Cantonese food another night: congee with century egg and lean pork (usually a breakfast food, she said), rice noodles that she called mi ho fun, chow mien studded with shrimps and scallops and squid, Cantonese fried rice, a platter of roast pork with a crunchy skin that Archie adored, a plate of egg tarts as dessert.

"And I haven't even taken you for dim sum yet," she complained, at the end of a very long dissertation on the reasons why, exactly, Cantonese food was superior to every other kind of cuisine in the world.

"Chess has a different personality at dim sum than she has anywhere else," John added, looking distinctly queasy. He had stuffed himself with a little bit of everything, and he was feeling it. "It's weird."

"I love dim sum," Chess said, flushing as John put the last egg tart in front of her. "And I think it might be the language. It's more, um, direct, I guess?"

There was a night where they had steaming bowls of Vietnamese pho, with the warm lemongrass scent lingering in the kitchen all evening afterwards, another night where John and Chess had managed to track down Ethiopian food, and Archie had to learn how to pick up pieces of meat (tibs, and kitfo, and gored-gored, served with ayibe cheese and vegetables) with the strange, soft injera bread. There was a night of kebabs and hummus and beef shawarma over warm, buttery rice, another night of tacos and tamales from Mexico, another night with tiny cheesy bread puffs from Brazil called pao de queijo and a feijoada that sat heavily in his stomach. Archie had no idea where John and Chess were finding it all, but it was exciting, something to look forward to at the end of every long, exhausting, trial day.

Sometimes, later in the evenings, John would bring out his new guitar and show off the little he had managed to teach himself all summer. Archie didn't think he sounded half-bad, but John always waved it off, and Chess sometimes shot him a look when he missed notes, usually because they threw off her flow. If his guitar came out, then it was only a matter of time before Chess was on her feet, dancing, pulling someone up with her – Hermione, if she was still there, Archie, sometimes Dad would cut in too. The evenings, surrounded by his friends, his family, were a relief, especially after his nerves had been strung out on edge all day in trial.

Hermione always came back with them to review how the trial day had gone, joining them for dinner. In all honesty, Archie didn't really care for her evening analysis. He had already lived the trial day once, he didn't need to live it again, but she insisted. Sometimes (often), she would come up with things that Archie hadn't seen himself, so he made himself listen anyway, and with a sympathetic glance, she did try to keep it short. John and Chess always listened closely, exchanging glances, then Dad or Uncle Remus or one of them would change the topic to something lighter, something fun.

Weeks in, Hermione still never stayed the night, even if the nights became later and later and she sometimes had to run to catch the last train. Once or twice, she missed the last train, but those days, Dad or Uncle Remus would Apparate her to Diagon Alley and make sure she got through the Floo. She always met them at the Wizarding Courts of Law, too, Flooing into Diagon Alley and walking the rest of the way. She told Archie that she was trying to stay inconspicuous in Wizarding Britain, but Archie privately thought that ship had probably sailed. She had been in the newspaper articles with him, standing beside him both in the article about his arrest, as well as the pictures that cropped up in the Daily Prophet a few times a week. She sat behind him every day in the row of seats reserved for his family members, and he had reached behind him for her hand, her support, more than once. Maybe the media hadn't picked up how close they were yet, with everything else going on, but it was just a matter of time.

Still, she also had liaising to do with the British International Association, and with the other people he had met over the Tournament, and that she could only do that from her house in Oxford. Archie didn't have a telephone, and when he asked Chess about one, she had said something about needing a landline and needing to be connected to the No-Maj telephone grid. Dad had shaken his head – Grimmauld Place had been cut off the No-Maj world long enough that reintegrating it would be challenging, not to mention probably in contravention of a few laws, so for instantaneous, private communications, which they could guarantee weren't being monitored by the Ministry, Hermione was their best option.

He heard from Saoirse and Sean, in Ireland, that reports of his trial were making their way through the Irish Gales, and not the Daily Prophet's skewed renditions. The Irish were paying attention, through Saoirse wasn't sure what to make of it yet. The Irish, according to her, had never taken well to the Ministry's rule, nor had they a significant noble class. They had always been a little distant from the centres of power, and it would take time for the Irish to decide how they felt about something or what to do about it.

As a newblood, Toby didn't have his finger on the heartbeat of Wizarding Scotland, but he had passed out the American Standard interviews through Hogsmeade. He was working on making contacts and building links with the wizarding population of Scotland but hadn't had much success yet. They would have preferred a halfblood, someone who was already part of the wizarding world and who had family connections within it, but there were no Scottish halfbloods known to the British International Association, it seemed. Even Scottish newbloods were scarce – like most British students trained abroad, very few had gone home, and the few that did still lived and worked in the No-Maj world.

In Britain itself, the BIA, including Hermione, Isran and Derrick, were hard at work distributing an alternate, more objective version of the trial. Hermione's notes were read over the phone to various people, then written up and distributed through their usual channels. Hermione was hearing, like in Scotland, an odd sort of nothing from the population – everyone was watching the trial, waiting. Just waiting.

It felt a bit like a calm before a storm, one where Archie couldn't help but wonder if he was the storm. All of Wizarding Britain was watching him, and in some ways that was good. The profile was good, and it would be great if they could overturn the blood discrimination laws in one fell swoop.

But the silent attention was also unnerving, a little terrifying, exhausting and he was thankful for every moment of distraction his friends gave him.

He wasn't the only one showing the effects of the trial. Dad and Uncle Remus, who were there with him every day, looked pale and drawn Percy, too, was wearing down, though there was a blue fire to his eyes that seemed to burn brighter as the trial wore on. Clearwater had a similar look, and Archie suspected that both lawyers were drinking too much Wideye Potion and coffee as the days passed. Both of them had full trial days, then Archie guessed it was back to the office to prepare for the next day, a few hours of sleep, and then back to the courtroom. Lady Bones and the court staff had grown more comfortable over time, though all of them remained slightly on edge with Justice on the top dais.

Justice was the only one who looked the same, days of trial seemingly having no effect on her. Which was not to say that it had no effect on Aldon – none of them knew much about long-term possession, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Aldon was becoming more haggard by day. Aside from his personal grooming falling by the wayside (Justice used magic to fix herself up each morning), his face was tired, paler, though Archie thought he had to be sleeping some fourteen or fifteen hours in a day. His robes, too, didn't hang quite right, though Archie was hard-pressed to tell why.

Chess said, based on her examination of the runes around the courtroom, that they were binding runes. Even once summoned and invited to share Aldon's body, Justice could not exercise her full powers outside the courtroom. That explanation made a great deal of sense; Aldon walked into court promptly on time each day, but he was a zombie until he hit the top dais, which was when Justice woke up, taking full control.

The day after Dawlish had testified, Clearwater started calling Harry's friends as witnesses. Their testimony against Harry was something that Archie had branded in his brain, forever.

The first ones up were Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, Harry's best friends, and their testimony was neither good nor bad, which was, in all honesty, better than he had expected from them.

"Can you tell us how you met Harriett Potter, whom you knew as Rigel Black?" Clearwater asked, her voice gently inquisitive.

"I was a first-year with her, in Slytherin," Malfoy had replied, his voice surly even as he glanced to people in the audience. His parents, if Archie had to guess. "I shared a dorm with her, we had all our classes together."

"Why did you become friends with her, though?"

There was a long pause, but Malfoy still answered. "My mother asked me to look for the Black Heir. To send reports on him to her."

It was a hit, there, and Archie knew it. Malfoy was never supposed to be friends with Harry – someone like Harry wasn't supposed to be good enough for him. Being friends with Malfoy was another benefit that Harry had gotten by virtue of being Archie, and to hell with Archie's views on that.

"How you describe your relationship with her?"

Malfoy was silent again, and the words twisted out of his mouth. All of his answers were like that, Archie realized – unlike Dawlish, who had been happy to go on for hours with only a few pointed questions to guide him, all Malfoy wanted to do was answer the questions in the strictest, barest sense possible.

"She was my best friend. She is one of my best friends," he replied. "She can be aggravating – so aggravating – but I would trust my life with her. I have trusted my life to her. She is brilliant and powerful, and a credit to everyone who knows her, regardless of her blood-status."

"Anything else?"

"She has been a good friend to us. She is a good friend," Malfoy repeated, frowning. Archie didn't know what to think about this – if Malfoy truly considered her a good friend, why sell her out? Why do things to danger her?

"And how did you feel when the truth was revealed?"

Another long silence. "I was hurt," Malfoy said eventually. "Anyone would be hurt, that someone they were close to had kept a secret like that from them."

Percy's cross-examination of Malfoy was straightforward, almost dull.

"You were one of Harriett Potter's best friends?"

"I am one of her best friends."

"You said she was a good friend to you?"

"Yes."

"She saved your life, in first year, didn't she?"

"That she did."

"And she saved the school in her second year, by taking care of the basilisk, is that right?"

"Absolutely."

"Would you say that your friendship with Harry Potter has harmed you in any way?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, I would be dead if not for her."

"Thank you, that will be enough." Percy sat down sharply, letting out a breath, while Archie tried to figure out the puzzle that was Draco Malfoy on the stand. He wished John had come with him, that day – John might have been able to read him, but John probably wouldn't have said much of what he learned, anyway. There was a moment where he and Malfoy stared at each other – Malfoy's mouth was a stubborn line, his grey eyes with the unique Malfoy sheen, much like the Black glitter. They were second cousins, Archie remembered, and Malfoy was probably one of his closest blood relations of their generation. But the gulf between them was enormous.

The moment passed, and Malfoy came off the stand, no re-examination needed.

Pansy Parkinson was more effusive, but her testimony was almost identical to Malfoy's. She met the person that she considered to be Rigel Black on her very first night at Hogwarts, before they were even Sorted. She picked him out because he was staring at the enchanted ceiling at Hogwarts, as if he had never seen anything so wonderful. She had teased him, then when they had both been Sorted into Slytherin, she became close friends with him. She had known who he was, of course, to see him – there were only so many people he could have been, but she would have befriended him no matter what. Pansy Parkinson was a Parkinson, and a well-connected one at that – she didn't need to befriend anyone she didn't want to, and her friendship was freely given, without a care for who Rigel Black or, as it turned out, Harry Potter might be.

She was also open with the difficult things, the frustrating things, giving a far more nuanced view of Harry Potter than Malfoy had. Harry was difficult. Harry shut people out – even if she was always there when one of them needed something, she barely ever relied on them, a fact that was only really understood when her secrets had come out. How could Harry have ever truly trusted them, when she was hiding a secret of that magnitude? But at the time, it had been hurtful, believing that Harry hadn't trusted them to help her when it counted.

It was that line that knocked Archie out of her frankly compelling testimony, frowning as he watched her. Parkinson and Malfoy hadn't helped her, not when it counted. It was Aldon who had swept through, that final night, and broken the wards holding her. It was other people who had helped her flee the country.

It was Parkinson and Malfoy who tipped the Ministry off to Archie's mirror.

Whatever her testimony was, she wasn't Archie's friend. She wasn't Harry's friend – she was just someone who had been Rigel Black's friend, and no matter how nuanced her testimony was in painting Harry Potter, all her good points and all her bad points, was, he couldn't forget that.

Her cross-examination was almost the same as Malfoy's. Yes, she was one of Harriett Potter's best friends. Harry was a good friend to her, to the extent that she could be when hiding something so important. Yes, Harry had cured the Sleeping Sickness, to which Pansy had also fallen ill, and she had defeated the basilisk terrorizing the school in second year. No, Pansy did not regret her friendship with Harry Potter at all, and if or when Harry returned, she would be first in line to welcome her home.

"Only one question," Clearwater said, standing up for her first re-examination for the trial. From the little that Percy had explained, the prosecution had the examinations-in-chief to get their case out, and Percy had the cross-examination. Only if Percy brought up new issues in the cross-examination would the prosecution do any re-examination, but from a legal perspective, re-examination tended to dilute a case, since it was so limited by focusing on weak points. "You said that she was a good friend, to the extent that she could be. What did you mean by that?"

Parkinson had a soft, almost wistful expression on her face. "I only mean that Harry Potter must have lived in a persistent atmosphere of fear. Finding out that she was not a pureblood explains so much – she worked so, so hard, all the time, always as if she had something to prove. And of course, she didn't share as much with us as we would have liked, of course she didn't trust us as much as we wanted. How could she have known how we would react, and how could she trust us, when the consequences were so severe? I only meant that, to the extent that she wasn't always a good friend, it is explained by her secret itself, and I certainly don't blame her for it."

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," Clearwater said, and from the slightly sour expression on her face, Archie knew that whatever gamble she was trying with Parkinson had failed.

Hermione's analysis was that Clearwater had had no choice but to call Malfoy and Parkinson, since they were Harry's closest friends. Harry had been close enough to them to be invited to private family functions, she had been treated as a blood relative by the Malfoys themselves. There would have been questions if they had not been called, which would have been worse for her case than calling them and trying to wring what she could out of their testimony. Neither of them had been helpful for the prosecution, not really – both Parkinson and Malfoy had, in the face of multiple questions, from different angles, steadfastly denied that having Harry at school had threatened, endangered, or harmed them in any way.

She got a lot farther the next two days with Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass. Archie had never liked Nott, of course, but he knew Harry did, and it was a struggle the entire next day to keep a tight hold on himself.

Archie was not the kind of person who dreamed about retribution. Archie dreamed about change, but revenge for things that had already happened seemed like a waste of time and energy that could be used to move on to different things. So, when Nott started testifying, Archie didn't want revenge – he only vowed to make sure that Harry met and befriended people in the future who would value her friendship far more than this complete and utter arse of a person apparently did.

Theodore Nott was also her classmate, and he had been her friend. Like Malfoy and Parkinson, he talked about being put in Slytherin House with her, he talked about sharing a dorm with her and making friends with her through their shared classes, their shared dormitory and House.

Unlike Malfoy or Parkinson, he was disgusted by her. He was disgusted by her, by the scandal, by the fact that a halfblood had dared to share his school and common room and dorm for four years.

"How did finding out that Rigel Black was actually Harry Potter make you feel?" Clearwater asked, her gaze direct and fierce as she realized that she had a far better witness in Nott for her purposes than either Malfoy or Parkinson.

Nott was animated – his testimony wasn't Malfoy's short, stiff report, nor the Parkinson's gentle, thoughtful commentary. Nott was like Dawlish, happy to talk, happy to rant about the inequality of having to share a dorm with a halfblood. A female halfblood.

"It was a huge shock – you can't imagine what a shock it was, Miss Clearwater," Nott said, smirking a little, while Archie ground his teeth. "You have to remember, I shared a dormitory with her. I think that is the biggest thing – I slept in the same room as her, I changed clothing in front of her, and there are things that are inappropriate for a well-born girl's ears, you know? I wouldn't have said some things around her if I had know it was her, and again – she saw me almost naked, and my modesty is very important to me—"

Justice snorted. "You lie. This is your first warning, witness."

Nott flushed. "Well, I wouldn't have nearly stripped in front of Harriett Potter," he amended quickly. "And she never removed her clothing in front of any of us, and it's such a, a violation to think that she has been watching us, unclothed, all this time. I was fine being unclothed in front of Rigel Black, but not in front of Harriett Potter."

"Can you elaborate on that?" Clearwater asked, reaching for the glass of water beside her. "Why was it such a violation?"

Nott blinked. "Well, because she wasn't who we thought she was," he said. "She wasn't Rigel Black – she never was. She was Harriett Potter, a halfblood, a girl. So yeah, when I found out, I felt really violated, like she's been laughing at us behind our backs the entire time."

"Was it just that, the clothing in the dorms that distressed you? Or is there more?" Clearwater's gaze is steady, her voice calm in questioning.

"Er, well, finding out that Rigel Black was actually Harriett Potter really changed everything." Nott took a second to think, his clear eyes falling for a second, the smirk dropping as his face took on a more serious cast. His voice, too, changed – more thoughtful, hesitant, real. "It was just, a violation is the best way to put it. In first year, Rigel was in our minds. As Rigel, that's hard enough, but now that I know it was actually Harriett Potter, a halfblood, it's worse. Like my mental sanctity was invaded. And her magic – when I thought she was a Black, her magic was odd enough, but finding out that she was actually a halfblood all along, that just makes me shudder with fear at what could have happened to us. To any of us."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Okay, so, in first year, she threw Lee Jordan up against a wall, knocked him out – ow!" Nott grimaced, his face going pasty-white as he dug his fingers into the frame of the witness box.

"Half-truth, Mr. Nott." Justice's voice had a slight, amused tinge to it, and even if she had made no movement, Archie knew she had cast some sort of spell – a painful one. "You swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

Nott scowled. "Lee Jordan had attacked her. He had tried to maim her, so she threw him against a wall and knocked him out."

Justice's expression was impassive, but she inclined her head for him to continue, and his breathing evened out.

"And that was just in first year. In second year, she cast the Depasco shield all the time – she didn't seem to have any control of it, I personally witnessed her casting it twice in one Defense Against the Dark Arts class without meaning to. That shield eats everything it comes into contact with, you know? It was crazy dangerous, and she just had no control over it! Then, in third year, at Halloween, when the school was attacked by Acromantula and what have you, she threw the House tables against the windows – I remember because I was in the way, and I had to duck, and it was terrifying. Later that year, she cast a Caterwauling Charm powerful enough to shatter half the glass in the castle! And that leaves out all the stuff she did in the Tournament. We could all have been seriously hurt or injured, and its only luck that we weren't." Nott took a deep breath, and he seemed be recovering. Justice wasn't interceding, so whatever he was saying had to be truthful enough not to be tripped by her lie detection.

He chanced a glance behind him – Hermione's head was down, scribbling in her notebook, but he looked past her, to Malfoy and Parkinson. They had all been friends, hadn't they? Malfoy, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Nott, Zabini. And Rigel Black, too.

Malfoy was staring at Nott, and his face promised retribution. Parkinson had one hand on his arm and was leaning over, whispering to him, her own expression chilly. Nott would be facing some consequences for this at school, Archie would bet on it.

"You mentioned the Tournament, Mr. Nott," Clearwater was saying, when he turned back around. "Can you elaborate?"

"She's a free-dueller," Nott replied, and the tone with which he said those words were infused with a combination of disgust, loathing and fear. "Did you see what she did in the final task, when that person freed her from the tombstone? She lunged at him and stabbed him in the gut – she probably killed him! The only good thing that came out of that night was that, since she was revealed, she won't be coming back to school with us. We're safe, finally."

A long pause, and Archie's hands were clenched into fists under the table. He hated Nott – he had hated him before, granted, but this only solidified it.

Percy's cross-examination was a balm, but only slightly. It was longer than either of his cross-examinations for either Malfoy or Parkinson, and he hit hard.

"You change clothing often in front of your classmates, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but that was because I thought I knew who they were."

"You've changed clothes in front of Miss Parkinson, haven't you?"

"Er—" Nott glanced up at Justice. "I suppose I have, once or twice."

"And in front of Miss Bulstrode, one of your other friends?"

"I – I don't remember."

"You're not a very modest person when it comes to clothing."

"I think I am – I only change in front of certain people." Nott frowned, a little defensive. "I wouldn't have changed in front of Harriett Potter."

"Isn't it true that Black, or Harry Potter, was seen as being unusually modest?"

"Um," Nott said, and there was another glance at Justice. "I guess so?"

"Rigel Black, or Harry Potter, avoided looking at you when you took your clothes off."

A glance out to the audience, this time – probably at Malfoy and Parkinson. "Um, yeah, she did."

Percy glanced down at his pad of paper, flipping through to a separate page. There was barely a pause before he started on his second round of questioning, this time completely different. The change was sharp, disconcerting, and Archie hoped that Nott was reeling from it.

"Lee Jordan – you would agree, wouldn't you, that Harry Potter acted in self-defense?"

"Er, I mean – he attacked her, but she went overboard in her reaction."

"And you agree that she did cure the Sleeping Sickness."

"Yeah, I guess, but she broke into our minds."

"She cured you from the Sleeping Sickness."

Nott squirmed. "Um, I guess so."

"And in second year, she saved the school from the basilisk."

"She killed an endangered species!" Nott's outburst would have been almost funny, if it wasn't for the situation. Of all the reworked stories that the Prophet had been pushing, the reimagination of her second year and saving the school from a basilisk was definitely the strangest. "She's a murderer!"

"And in third year, she threw the House tables against the windows to stop the Acromantulas from attacking the students in the Great Hall."

"I mean, technically, that was a side-effect—" Nott shut his mouth, stubborn.

"In the Tournament, you would agree that any actions in the final game were self-defense, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah but look at what she did! She stabbed the person in the stomach, she might have killed him – doesn't that count for anything?"

Percy didn't respond, instead just moving onto the next question. "You'd agree, wouldn't you, that she has never harmed anyone without being provoked?"

"I mean, err—yeah, but it's her reaction to being provoked—"

"She has never once harmed you directly, has she?"

"She saw me shirtless! She violated my mental privacy!"

Nott's answers didn't matter anymore, Archie knew. No matter what he said, Harry had never attacked him or hurt him in any way, and it sounded like Nott stripped pretty regularly in front of all their other friends anyway. Harry had never mentioned this facet of his personality to Archie.

"Harry Potter never posed any threat or risk of harm to you." Percy's voice was final.

"Of course she did! I just explained all the things that she did, that she could have done!" Nott was slightly flushed, angry. "She broke into our minds, her magic was totally out of control – we're all much better off that she's gone!"

Percy stared at him for a moment, and Archie heard the sound of the courtroom door slamming shut behind him. He turned around – Malfoy and Parkinson had disappeared.

"No further questions, Your Honour."

Clearwater had no re-examination, so they moved onto Daphne Greengrass, whom Harry had mentioned maybe once or twice in the four years of the ruse. As far as Archie knew, she wasn't one of Harry's friends, and he had never met her before.

Greengrass had dark brown hair with brilliant blue eyes, which would have been pretty if her face hadn't been frozen in a rictus of cruel disgust. She shot Archie a look of pure spite, climbing into the witness box.

She hadn't been one of Harry's friends, and she didn't try to pretend like she was one. In some ways, that was worse.

"It explains so much – Rigel was always an attention-seeking brat," she snarled. "He, or I guess she, had this routine, where she would pretend she didn't want attention, but she always got caught up in everything anyway. She attacked a student in first-year—"

"First warning, witness." Justice voice was bored. She had been bored through most of Harry's friends acting as witnesses, though she had become slightly more animated through Nott's testimony – mostly, Archie hoped, because Nott had been lying.

"The official story is that it was self-defense, but no one really knows, right?" Greengrass spread her hands in front of her, a skeptical expression on her face. "She was alone with Jordan when it happened, we only have her word for it. And then, in second year, the whole thing with the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk? Harriett Potter was the only Parselmouth at Hogwarts. I wouldn't put it past her to have orchestrated the whole thing. And again, in third-year – everything was set up so that she was the centre of attention!"

"What is the relevance of this?" Justice aimed her question at Clearwater, though she didn't seem very impressed in any case. "Counsel, would you refocus your witness?"

"Yes, of course, Madam Justice." Clearwater turned back to Greengrass. "Miss Greengrass, could you explain how these events affected you?"

"I fell under the Sleeping Sickness, just like most of the school," Greengrass replied quickly. "And again, who is it that saved us from that? It was Harriett Potter, breaking into our heads. Maybe she orchestrated that, too. Then in second year, I wasn't directly attacked, but just being at school that year – it was terrifying. At the end, we weren't even allowed out of our common rooms, unless we were being monitored. Third year was better, but even then, the Halloween attack – we could have died, with the Acromantula attacking the castle. And yes, she did a lot to save us from that, but maybe she put us in danger in the first place."

It was utterly ridiculous, pure conjecture, and Clearwater's efforts to redirect her went nowhere. It was just enough to keep her from being cursed by Justice, Archie suspected, as Justice's face was slowly graven into a heavy frown. Clearwater finished that examination hastily, one eye on Justice, and Percy's cross-examination of Greengrass was short, to the point.

"You weren't friends with Rigel Black, or Harriett Potter, were you?"

"No, of course not."

"You barely knew her."

"I'm glad of it."

"You have no evidence that Harriett Potter or Rigel Black was behind any of the occurrences at school, do you?"

"She's a halfblood, and she always wanted attention." Greengrass shrugged. "And she was the only Parselmouth in school."

"But you've never found anything showing that she did anything except what she said she had done – cure the Sleeping Sickness, defeat the basilisk, save lives."

Greengrass scowled. "It's obvious, isn't it? That she was behind everything."

"Did it make you angry, then, that no one could see what you saw?" Percy's voice was casual, innocent, and Archie glanced over at him. That was a slightly different tack and tone than he had used before, and it was obvious he had something else planned.

"Yes..." Greengrass' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Of course, anyone would be annoyed. Everyone treated Black like he was some kind of saint, and he wasn't, and no one but me could see it."

"So, you tried to find other, stronger evidence connecting her to everything happening at school, right? You looked for other things to show people, to show that he wasn't a saint." Percy didn't do ingratiating well; he was terrible at it, and Archie resolved to show him a better way to do that another time, or something.

"Yes, I did… " Greengrass' replied, her voice still slow and unsure.

"But you never found anything, other than what you've said."

She scowled at Percy fiercely, feeling the trap around her. She struggled for a minute, while Percy waited, but there really was no other response. "No, I didn't," she burst out, at the end. "Fuck you, Weasley—Argh!"

She gasped and keeled over in the witness box, her arms curling around her chest, going pale. Archie glanced upwards at Justice, who had one hand curled in a fist, apparently pulling on something in the air. "I will have no disrespect in my courtroom, Miss Greengrass – not against myself, not against the court staff, and not against counsel."

Greengrass whimpered, and tears were collecting in her eyes. "I'm—I'm sorry," she gasped, starting to shake.

"You're only sorry because you're in pain," Justice retorted coldly, and whatever the spell was, she didn't stop. "Mr. Weasley, any further questions?"

"None, Your Honour," Percy replied, his face wiped of all expression.

"Miss Clearwater?"

"Ah, no re-examination either, Your Honour."

"Very well." Justice released her fist, and Greengrass slumped forwards, gasping for air, her breath coming in small, short sobs. Justice eyed her, her lip curled in disgust. "Get out of my sight, and be grateful that I have not irreparably damaged your core."

The only good thing about Greengrass was that she was the last of Harry's classmates to testify. The next day, Clearwater called Master Christian Albright, a Master of Magical Theory working at the Alchemist's Guild. She had him qualified as an expert witness within the morning, and even Percy's vociferous prying of his education and skills only yielded the concession that he had been working in Alchemy for the last two decades rather than pure magical theory. It wasn't good, and neither was his testimony.

It was everything Clearwater had been building up to, dressed up in dry, academic language with a veneer of professionalism: Muggleborns and halfbloods were, in truth, more dangerous than purebloods. Their magic tended to wild magic, more unpredictable and difficult to control, but was tamed through successive generations – four, according to Archibald's Theory of Increasing Organization. Because Muggleborns and halfbloods had wild magic instead of tamed magic, they were always at risk of losing control of their magic, of hurting others, regardless of their intentions.

The blood discrimination laws were a legitimate means of protecting the rest of the population from the risks posed by purebloods. People who knew the blood status of the people they surrounded themselves with could take precautions to manage those risks, they could choose whether or not it was a risk they were willing to take, but the same could not be said if people fraudulently held themselves out to be purebloods. Magic itself did not lie – a Muggleborn had wild magic, and a pureblood did not. The Ministry had an obligation to put forward laws on blood identity theft, in the interest of the public. It would be very difficult, harmful, even, to the public, if people could wantonly lie about their blood status with no consequences whatsoever.

Moreover, it wasn't only the blood identity theft laws that were justified. Given the dangers posed by Muggleborns and halfbloods, the employment laws, even the exclusion policy at Hogwarts, were all justified. Ministry witches and wizards, who had a position of authority and responsibility with respect to the rest of the wizarding population, needed to be in control of their magic, and no exceptions could or should be made. There was no room for error when, for example, the person was an Auror, or if they worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Further, Hogwarts, where there were so many children, was already an inherently uncontrolled environment – the risks posed by adding halfbloods and Muggleborns were simply too much, too dangerous for the pureblood population to consider.

There were so many examples against everything he had said, but Master Albright made everything sound so reasonable. What about Tonks, Archie wanted to ask – his second cousin Nymphadora Tonks, whom Harry had had the fortune to meet but not him, who was a halfblood and a Junior Auror right now. What about Mad-Eye Moody, the famous retired Auror and known halfblood Duelling expert? What about the eight hundred years over which Hogwarts had accepted Muggleborns and halfbloods? What about every school in America? And anyway, how did all of that work with the fact that the laws forbade anyone educated outside of Britain from taking these jobs, not just Muggleborns and halfbloods?

But it was dressed up so nicely, with big words and phrases like Archibald's Theory of Increasing Organization, and the Daily Prophet was all over it. Hermione broke two pens writing her notes about his testimony. Two pens, and she stabbed fourteen holes in her notebook paper by pressing too hard, and one of her pens spilled ink all over her hand and suit jacket.

Archie tried to comfort himself by looking up at Justice's face, every so often. Unfortunately, her face gave no sign of what she was thinking, though occasionally she got an odd, almost amused, look on her face when Master Albright said something or other about the nature of magic. She didn't interfere, however, which gave Archie a deep sense of foreboding.

He hoped Percy would take him apart on cross-examination, as he did in most of the other witnesses, but even that was troubling. Master Albright came out better than any of the prosecution's other witnesses, and he had an answer for every question that Percy threw at him. No, he hadn't worked in Magical Theory proper more than two decades, but most of his work was at the interface of Magical Theory and Alchemy. He still had a Mastery in Magical Theory, and he had published papers, on average once a year, in noted journals in both Magical Theory and Alchemy. He recognized the papers that Percy threw at him, acknowledging the main papers in the field, but they didn't outright contradict him – Muggleborns and halfbloods really did have wild magic.

The best that Percy got out of him was an acknowledgement that most magical theorists didn't agree with him on the issue of the dangers posed by halfbloods and Muggleborns. However, Master Albright considered that to be more of a question of the risk that a society was willing to take – Muggleborns and halfbloods had wild magic, that much theorists knew, and even if most theorists didn't think it made Muggleborns and halfbloods more dangerous, he and a minority of theorists disagreed. And if a society decided to be risk-averse and legislated based on those concerns, they were entitled to do so.

Leaving the court, after that, felt like failure – a terrifying, soul-sucking failure, where Archie had put himself, all of himself, on the line, and for maybe the first time since the trial started, Archie felt a firm, gut-wrenching fear grabbing hold, writhing in his belly.

It wasn't that he hadn't, intellectually, thought through the risks before. He had considered it, especially once the Justice had come out and said the only sentences she handed down were life, soul, and magic. He had thought about them then, and to him, the risks were worth it – it wasn't as if he would have gotten much better by going with a regular trial, he had reasoned, not when they were looking at Azkaban. Some people could survive Azkaban, he was sure, but Archie knew that he was not one of them. Archie wasn't strong, not like that.

He could have taken a guilty plea, paid a fine of some sort, but even now, some part of him recoiled at the thought. He didn't think what he did was wrong – and, more than that, the laws were wrong. Pleading out was like giving up, like bending over, and Archie would not bow.

No halfblood or Muggleborn would have been given the same opportunity, and Archie would not be the one who used his privilege, his blood, to take the easy way out. He would go down fighting, because this was what was right, because doing anything else when he had this chance, this opportunity to strike the laws, was just cowardice.

There was always a choice, and some of them were harder than others. This was one of those choices, and halfway through, even when things didn't look as bright as they did a week and a half ago, even if he was afraid, even if he was bloody fucking terrified, Archie didn't regret making this choice. It was the right one, even as he begged Hermione to stay at Grimmauld Place with him, even when he had taken to snuggling between John and Chess on the sofa every evening, even when he had, for the first time since he was eight, somewhat embarrassedly crawled into Dad's bed to sleep so that he wouldn't be alone. Harry would have been his first choice, but with her out of the country, it was Dad he turned to next.

The only things he would regret, if this were the end, would be that he hadn't gotten any farther with it, and someone else would have to take the torch. He reminded himself, often, of Enjolras, whom he had played so long ago – Enjolras believed in his cause, and maybe Archie, like Harry, would only be a spark in a later conflagration. If Archie could make progress, any progress, it would have been worth it, but he still wished he had more. More life – more Hermione, more love. More time with his family, with Dad, with Harry and Uncle James and Uncle Remus and Aunt Lily. More time with his friends, not just John and Chess but Neal, Kel, and Daine. Evin, Zahir, and Thea, from theatre troupe. Derrick, Isran, Toby, Saiorse, and Sean, from the Tournament. More theatre, more movies, more books.

Let others rise to take our place, until the earth is free. He hummed the phrase to himself, walking out of the courtroom after close to two days of Albright's expert testimony, and he felt Hermione take his hand beside him.

"We haven't lost yet, Archie," Percy said. The barrister wore a small, shark-like smile, and patted him gently on the shoulder. "Don't give up so quickly. Tomorrow, we start our case."

XXX

ROSIER INVESTMENT TRUST SPLITS

In a morning press conference, Lord Evan Rosier announced that the New Developments Division will be splitting off from the Rosier Investment Trust under the leadership of its long-time director, Miss Christina Blake. The New Developments Division was responsible for investigating proposed new wizarding technologies and funding hopeful new inventors.

"It is with regret and much encouragement that we see Director Blake and her Division into its new chapter of life," Lord Rosier is recorded saying. "Under her leadership, the Rosier Investment Trust made significant investments in new wizarding technologies, particularly the Firebolt, the newest version of Omnioculars, and advancements in light-spell technology. We wish Director Blake and her dedicated group of associates all the best for the future, as the newly founded firm Blake and Associates."

The division of the Rosier Investment Trust comes at a significant cost. Director Blake takes with her the profits of any invention funded through her Division within the last five years, which includes the lucrative Firebolt investment, as well as a non-competition clause wherein the Rosier Investment Trust has resolved not to invest in new wizarding technologies and to refer any such inquiries to Blake and Associates. In return, the Rosier Investment Trust maintains a forty percent stake in the newfound company.

"I am both sorry and excited to open Blake and Associates," Miss Blake is recorded saying. "The Rosier Investment Trust has been a generous and supportive partner and a veritable incubator for new ideas for decades, and I am sad to leave. However, it is time for a change, and with the continuing interest from our latest technologies, which have accounted for more than forty percent of the Trust's profits in the last five years, this is a good time for a move I have long been considering."

Neither Lord Rosier nor Miss Blake made any reference to their recently revealed past relationship, nor to their son, the former Rosier Heir, now known as Aldon Blake. In response to questions, Lord Rosier only stated that it was a chapter of his life that he had closed and wished to leave behind, while Miss Blake simply said that she was looking forward to cultivating a relationship with her son.

Lina snorted, folding the Daily Prophet and tossing it aside on her desk. It wasn't big enough news to make the first page, considering the Arcturus Rigel Black trial, but it should have been. The ramifications of Wizarding Britain's largest investment and venture capitalism firm splitting were far more important than the outcome of any trial, even one where the Incarnation of Justice had foolishly been summoned, especially when the split itself was so unequal in the benefits that the newly formed Blake and Associates would receive. Blake and Associates would walk with, essentially, the full Rosier Investment Trust book of business as it related to new wizarding technologies, as well as a non-competition clause. A forty-percent interest in that company was promising, but not, Lina thought, a fair trade.

It was almost like a present that a lover would give. Lina smiled, darkly amused. Here, have half my company, no strings attached! Even surrounded by the warm and congratulatory business nonsense, it was still there for anyone to see if they just looked. Then again, they had had a child together, then worked together afterwards for another two decades; could she really have expected anything else?

Well, that didn't affect her, she thought dismissively, standing up. She had bigger problems than two idiots who were still apparently, against all common sense and in the face of the wild scandal swirling around them, ridiculously in love. She walked over to the whiteboard across from her, picking up a blue dry-erase marker.

The whiteboard showed an assault plan for a wealthy wizarding family's manor in northern Russia, but she wiped it with one casual wave of her wand, the command erasere flicking through her mind. Things were changing at home, that much was clear. Between the trial of Arcturus Rigel Black, the Aldon Blake scandal, and the outcome of the Triwizard Tournament, the political winds were shifting, and perhaps it was time to turn her mind to a problem that she had never bothered with before. Not that anyone was paying her for her thoughts right now, but it was an interesting problem, and one never knew. Her silver ring, heavy, weighed down her left hand, and she was always, always conscious of the tattoos running down her spine.

Duty. Tolerance. Caution.

She wrote the words Wizarding Britain across the top of her whiteboard, leaned back against her desk, and started thinking.

XXX

ANs: And this is a chapter which was probably only interesting to the lawyers among you. No wonder legal thrillers never sound like real trials. In terms of weird legal humour in here, Umbridge is an awful lawyer - never, ever tell a judge "I'm getting to it". If they asked, they want to know, and they want to know now. As for Clearwater, Archie and Hermione don't like her (both of them are far too righteous), but Percy has the right of it - it's an adversarial system, she's just doing her job, and her doing her job and putting the best case forward is best for everyone, even if she privately disagrees with everything she's arguing. Ohh, and last legal fun thing - judges are always nicer after lunch, because before lunch they're tired, cranky, and hungry. Justice is milder after lunch because someone got her lunch. Thanks always to beta-reader meek_bookworm (who still swears trial is not boring, though I am skeptical), and to the legal subject matter experts: SHP, JAP and REW.

Next Chapter: Don't you remember when you were young / And you wanted to set the world on fire? / Somewhere deep down, I know you do / And don't you remember when we were young / And we wanted to set the world on fire? / 'Cause I still am, and I still do (Architects, by Rise Against)