This isn't actually where I'd envisioned this story going. I don't know where I'd envisioned this story going in fairness but it certainly wasn't here. However when you leave something two years without updating it, I don't suppose you can complain when it decides it has a life of its own. If you prefer the ending to leave things hanging I wouldn't bother reading this or the epilogue that mostly wrote itself and will be coming up within a vaguely reasonable period of time. However, there is a sense of closure within these final chapters and that is perhaps equally important to some. You'll be glad to know that I'm not trying for your tears this time. This is a time for healing and for reparations rather than a time of angst and of damage done. I'm hoping the time period in between makes itself clear in the writing, if it doesn't I can always try to edit in order to make things clearer.
As always, thank you for your reviews; I am humbled and honoured by the kindly words and the tears shed in response to this fiction. I very much hope that this and the epilogue to come are a fitting end to what has been one of the most heart tearing fic I have ever had the pleasure of writing. Either way, review and tell me what you think!
Chapter 7
Back straight, head up I stand behind my boy and gaze into Rufus Scrimgeour's shrewd yellow eyes steadily. With one hand on Harry's shoulder, I can feel him shaking slightly as he stands in this imposing chamber, surrounded by witches and wizards who not two years ago nearly expelled him from Hogwarts. The tremor is slight though and I feel an intense wave of pride as he lights his chin up, almost defiantly, at the rangy but tough looking man sitting in judgement upon us. This time the judgement is not of Harry though. This time judgement is of those of us who surround him.
"I stand before you and formally request to stand in loco parentis to Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter." Amos' voice is clear and steady, no one looking on from the gallery would realise how nervous the man actually is. His hand rests on Harry's other shoulder lightly, the young man standing proudly between us. "I do not stand as father; James Potter will never be replaced nor should anyone try to. My wife does not stand as mother; that would be an offense to Lily Potter's love, the sacrifice that she made. We stand as guardians, legal and magical to guide our son through his coming of age and to protect him from all hardships."
The low muted muttering and shuffling around the room speaks more loudly than words could as the assembled witches and wizards re-adjust their expectations. I don't know what they had anticipated having been called here today, but it would not have been this. For Amos to stand as guardian for Harry was a bold step and yet it has worked out perfectly for all concerned. Amos and Amelia's attentions have, more than anything else, brought Harry out of his shell. I don't think any of us expected their relationship to move beyond an almost uncle-like relationship, perhaps taking the place of Godfather at best. This was unexpected to all of us.
"Hem, hem." Immediately my hackles rise as I spin to the source of the interruption, Delores Umbridge, hiding her innate evil nature behind a pink fluffy cardigan and bow in her hair. There are few people I believe I would be able to muster the true hatred to commit an Unforgivable on. Delores Umbridge crossed that boundary when she made my students, under my care, write lies on their own hands. Not to mention her campaign of hatred against this pupil of mine or her near use of an Unforgivable herself. "You realise that you are offering guardianship of an unstable adolescent who has a nasty, nasty penchant for lying, Mr Diggory? A boy who has actively worked to destabilise the Ministry and all it stands for."
"I must not tell lies, Delores," I respond icily before Amos can even open his mouth, fury is welling up within me and I don't realise how close I am to losing control until I feel a thin, steady hand on my arm, grounding me to my surroundings. I must not lose control of my temper here. Not when we stand to lose so much. "And so I swear on my magic that today in this court I will not tell a word of lie."
My magic swirls in a burst of heat and light around me as I say those words, signalling the presence of a magical vow. Not as fatally binding as the Unbreakable Vow, but enough to severely drain if one is foolish enough to break one. In such cases they will often permanently drain the wielder, although some have been known to recover nearly their full magical reserves. None have recovered face however. A vow is not something to be entered into lightly.
"I stand before you today as prospective Godmother to Harry James Potter." My voice echoes clearly around the chamber, strong and stern, for many of those assembled the voice of their Deputy Headmistress even after all these years. I watch with vicious glee as Delores' face contorts in something approaching a snarl at my words but I dismiss her from my attention, instead glancing sideways and focussing solely on Augusta Longbottom. "Not as a replacement to Alice Longbottom, as I know that if she was able it would be her greatest pleasure to guide my young charge through the trials and tribulations that others have seen fit to place on him. I stand here today as an additional Godmother, to be there when Alice cannot through no fault of her own."
As I speak, I can feel Harry's tremors growing stronger under my hand and I tighten my grip slightly. Silent, unwavering support and he breaths deeply, obviously steadying himself. This small interchange is subtle and yet it isn't missed by many of the faces around us and I see the a visible softening around us. This collective group are not the most sympathetic perhaps, but nobody can avoid the suffering that they have put this boy through.
"I stand before you today as prospective Godfather to Harry James Potter." Severus' doesn't need to raise his voice for his low baritone to echo around the chamber and this time there is a real reaction from those seated. The mumbling buzz that accompanied mine and Amos' announcement rises into open shock and outright disbelief. "I stand as a convicted Death Eater and an active spy for the Order of the Phoenix."
The room erupts into chaos and I throw a shield around our group as both Amos and Severus throw themselves bodily in front of our young charges. Unnecessary as it turns out, but I have learned this last few years that you can never take too many precautions. Scrimgeour stands silently, his mere presence denying the need for words, and the noise dies down immediately. He glares around his assembled council as they settle back down into their previous positions.
"I stand, in full accordance with the Wizarding laws and with the full approval of both my ward and his prospective guardians, as Godfather. I vow to protect him with my life, to guide him and to teach him, I vow that I will stand by Harry Potter's side and I will not waver in my duty, my responsibilies or my love."
Severus stands tall, looking sternly around the room daring anyone to comment or object at his last words, seeming so out of place from his lips. The room around us is silent; few here would reckon with the dark aura around this man, fewer still would cross his sharp tongue or provoke his wrath. There is of course always one exception.
"Hem, hem." The stunned silence at Severus' declaration means that Delores' sickly sweet cough echoes around the room. I am glad to see Scrimgeour shoot a sour glance her way; he perhaps is not a convert to the pink and fluffy kitten power movement. "So we have a convicted Death Eater, here only on a dead man's sufferance, claiming Godfather rights to a proven delinquent and liar who probably killed his prospective guardian's son of his blood. Now that's a pretty tangle isn't it?" She looks at our group with a barely concealed sneer. "There are still two of you to account for. These courts are not a place for traitorous brats with no respect for the Ministry."
As one, Weasley and Longbottom step forward. My heart skips a beat as I look at them. This was not in the script. They insisted on standing by their friends' side but the agreement was that they would not move and they would most certainly not speak. I close my eyes for a brief second; there is no way around this now. We have to present a united front and rebuking them in front of this audience would be devastating, both for them and for Harry. There is nothing I can say. Nothing I can do. I have to watch as if I had sanctioned this. Glancing across at Severus I can see the same dilemma running across his face and I watch the sallow faced man's jaw set firmly as he comes to the same conclusion as I have.
"We stand here today as friends," the two of them say in unison and I grind my teeth together silently in frustration. "Support for Harry James Potter."
They have rehearsed this; whether they would have come forward without Delores' interference, I cannot know but they definitely had something like this planned in advance. The Weasley boy falls silent and Longbottom takes the lead with a significant glance at his grandmother. She doesn't move, doesn't give any open sign of her approval or permission but I can see the youngsters shoulders relax significantly. It is only when I look more closely that I see the guarded smile that and an unmistakable glint of pride in those cool aristocratic blue eyes. The thought occurs to me that she perhaps could have set my boys up to this. But no, if she had then the boy wouldn't have silently asked permission. There is more than meets the eye here however.
"Over the course of the last year, the Ministry has proven itself unworthy of blind faith or trust." There is shocked gasps from the gallery but, looking around, there are also some interested smiles and even blatant amusement on some faces. "Through ignorance, wilful pride and small-minded cruelty, the Ministry has caused more damage to the Wizarding communities that can as yet be counted. We have no faith in a Ministry that has repeatedly sought to harm our friend, for no reason other than petty spite or an inability to face up to the facts."
"Your appalling impertinence and insubordination aside, boy," Scrimgeour growled across the room, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation about his opinion of Longbottom's words, however as with Augusta watching on with those steely eyes he had to be restrained. "You forget your place. A child has no right to lecture the Ministry of Magic over deeds done or undone. I would have thought a Longbottom would have learned some respect."
Augusta's eyes flash fiercely and she makes as if to stand, but Neville holds her gaze calmly and she sinks back into the chair with a slight nod. A pity. That would have been entertaining to watch. However, that interchange is a passing of the baton. She has offered Neville the right to speak in her place and the right to defend her House. A flash of something I can't quite identify flashes over his face.
"I have been instructed to respect those who deserve it." His voice is calm in the face of Scrimgeour's anger and I marvel at the difference in this boy from where he was earlier this year. He wears his confidence like a cloak, shifting and shimmering around him; he has been to the very darkest depths of his mind and soul and he has come out stronger and balanced. Both boys have come a long, long way. "If the Ministry wishes for the respect of the House of Longbottom, the Ministry will have to earn it."
The ripples from that body blow can be felt as they spread across the chamber. Faces turn towards Augusta, expecting her to have words for her unruly grandson, to revoke the insult that he had just offered on behalf of her house. Augusta however says nothing. She does not move, she does not speak. She simply sits with a slight smile as she gazes at the young man in front of her. My mind shuts down for a moment as I process the implications. Neville is not yet of age, but Augusta has just fielded him to rights to speak on behalf of her, in an official capacity, as head of the house.
Scrimgeour clearly understands the ramifications as well as I do and his eyes darken considerably as he looks over the group of us with a cold gaze. With heavy eyebrows furrowed he looks more than faintly dangerous as his gaze sharpens and fixes on Neville. He is not a man who forgets a humiliation and I fear Mister Longbottom has made an enemy today. Scrimgeour is no Fudge however. He is far shrewder an opponent, and has more experience in when to pick his battles. You cannot survive that long as an Auror without that skill unless you want to be as eclectically bodied and half sane as Mad-Eye. He will not forget, but he will not act now.
"If that is all," Scrimgeour's tone is low and I can feel rather than hear the anger rippling below the surface. "Then I will move this to a vote. The motion as I understand it is for Mister Diggory to take guardianship of young Master Potter…"
The use of the term Master in this context grates on my nerves, it is a term used for young boys. Even by the time our youngsters reach Hogwarts age, they are entitled to the term Mister. From anyone else I might think it a slip of the tongue; from Scrimgeour I have no doubt that it was a deliberate slight. This is neither the time nor the place for that particular conversation although he cannot miss the fire in my eyes. Before the man can continue his sentence however, Harry takes us all by surprise in stepping forward sharply.
The boy's breath is quick and sharp, his face pale but his face is set and I would recognise that stubborn look anywhere. I have seen it many times in the last six years and never once has it boded well for any of us. My heart skips a beat once more. With two swift steps, he stands at the centre of attention, every eye in the room upon him. Without thinking I step forwards as well to stand at my boy's side. I am not the only one to step forward; Severus is almost in step with me and Amos is only a half-step behind.
"I stand…" He falters and I can see Scrimgeour about to step in but with a cough my courageous, foolhardy boy recovers his nerve and re-starts. "I stand before you today, Harry James Potter. I stand before you and I have something I need to say."
He stumbles to a halt again, but now the whole chamber has gone eerily silent and is watching with rapt attention, so there is nothing Scrimgeour can say that would not seem churlish. Harry however doesn't look at Scrimgeour, instead as I watch he seems to steadily catch the eye of every witch and wizard in the room. As he turns slowly, I can't help but notice the reactions of those assembled; some smile fondly, but many look down and few hold his gaze longer than is strictly necessary. In those reactions I realise what young Potter is doing; he is playing on the Wizarding world's guilt and shame at how they have treated him.
"To you sitting there in judgement, the guardianship of a sixteen year old might seem pointless. After all, I come of age this year, so why does this decision matter?" I wince slightly at the obvious melodrama in the boy's tone, but he is sixteen after all and from my many years of experience I am more than aware that a sixteen year olds brain is hard wired for melodrama. "But to any of you who are considering voting against this guardianship motion, I have a story to tell you."
I watch as he takes a steadying breath, now looking at Scrimgeour directly. Unlike the remainder of the assembled witches and wizards, Scrimgeour meets the boy's gaze directly, not flinching away.
"Not even six months ago, I cut my wrists in the middle of the night." Harry's tone is plain, matter of fact and he doesn't react to the gasps of horror, shock and disgust around the chamber. Those emerald eyes stay locked on Scrimgeour's yellow, almost feral gaze. Neither of them so much as blink. "There were many reasons. Somehow, the Ministry of Magic managed to be behind many of them. I was mad, bad and dangerous. I have no doubt that those were words right out of Fudge's mouth and into the papers. My Godfather, someone who was willing to take me away from my relatives, relatives who hated magic and hated me, reviled me and hurt me, couldn't because the Ministry wouldn't give him a trial. I was thought to be a liar and an attention seeking hoodlum for a whole year, because the Ministry executed Bartemius Crouch Junior before questioning him."
Now those emerald eyes flick across the chamber and there is judgement in them. He is judging those assembled and he is finding them lacking. Not that those of us standing at the boys side didn't already know that. A few of the wizards shift uneasily in their seats, but his gaze moves across all of them quickly, dismissing them as unworthy of his attention.
"He was 'no loss' according to the esteemed Minister Fudge," Harry spat out, voice now filled with venom and loathing. "No loss, except for the loss of truth for twelve months. Loss of the opportunity for the country to rally against Lord Voldemort, build defences and stand together. Loss of twelve months of my life to hatred, ignorance and spite. Because there was a lot of that." He turns so he is directly facing Delores Umbridge, her self-satisfied smirk dying slightly as that cold, expressionless gaze turns on her. "And to add insult to injury? You haven't removed this worthless excuse for a witch from her position of power. After all the damage she did to those of us under her care, all the hurt and the pain she caused, she is still…"
"Hem…"
That evil, toad faced woman makes to interfere, but stops as both Severus and myself take a single step forward. Even here, where we are supplicants, Severus is not a man the majority are willing to take on and Delores is at heart a coward and a bully. She drops her gaze instead and writes something frantically on a piece of parchment before passing it to Scrimgeour. The look he gives her however holds no illusions about Delores' nature. It is not by his choice that she is still sat at his right hand I realise. So whose decision is it, if not the Minister of Magic?
"I must not tell lies," Harry's voice drops to a near whisper, but the silence of the room is such that nobody could miss a single word he says. "And so I hold all of you to account for near destroying me. It was not just Fudge's incompetent bumbling, nor your expectation of either a saviour or a madman. It was not just Skeeter's vile pen at the mercy of a merciless administration nor even this vile woman's hatred and cruelty, forcing children to write lies in their own flesh all countenanced by every one of you who allowed Hogwarts to be infiltrated by the Ministry. No. I hold all of you to account. Every single one of you. Whether you actively spoke against me or simply let the rumour mill speak for itself. Because so very few of you stood for me and of those who did, few of you let me know. And so I felt alone, battered and embattled."
He takes two steps forward, dropping his robe to the floor and pulling up the sleeves of the shirt underneath. There is no missing the scars. There is no denying what caused them. He has given them no choice but to accept their part in that.
"And so today you have a choice. You have near destroyed me once. This is your chance to make up for it."
With that the boy steps back again, into his circle of protectors and friends, eyes down to the floor. It isn't until I place my hand back on his shoulder that I realise he is shaking. The thick robes he's wearing cover it well and those watching would not be able to tell, but it occurs to me that he is standing in the exact place that he was nearly expelled for defending himself and his blasted cousin last year. That alone would be enough to shake far more experienced heads than young Harry. And yet here he stands.
"Those in favour of Amos Diggory taking guardianship of Harry James Potter?"
Scrimgeour speaks before any further interruption can interfere and as I watch the rustling transforms itself into a sea of hands across the room. A quick glance across them says that there are more than half, more than three quarters even and it's as though a vice that I didn't even realise was on my chest releases with a spring. The breath all of let out collectively is almost a whoop but not quite.
"Those opposed to Amos Diggory taking guardianship of Harry James Potter?"
One lonesome hand rises into the air, although there are at least a half dozen hands which have not been raised at all, including Scrimgeour's I note. Abstaining is better than opposing however. And that one lonely hand looks decidedly out of place with no support as the toad like face attached to it contorts in fury.
"That would be settled then," Scrimgeour declares without even bothering to look at the lone open dissenter. "Full legal guardianship, and all rights and responsibilities contained within such, of Harry James Potter is transferred to Amos and Amelia Diggory with immediate effect."
There will be time for any ceremonies or fanfare later; for now, we have the result that was hoped for and it is with great relief and hope that our group falls out of the room, into the waiting press of teenagers and standing slightly further back Remus Lupin and the Weasley parents. The look on our faces gives the answer they are looking for before any words have left our lips and there's a raucous cheer from what appears to be an assembled Weasley army. Within moments all three of my boys have been mobbed by the waiting spectators. Only months ago I would have stepped in anxiously. Now it is a pleasure to see the genuine smile light up all three of my boys faces, delight and success shining in their eyes. The pair of emerald eyes however fly back, skimming over me and fixing on the proud face besides me. His hand reaches out silently and Amos doesn't need any further cue, stepping forward into the group to a renewed cheer.
The time for fanfare is apparently now.
We have come a long way this year just passed and we still have a long way to come. We still have a war to win. But for now we will celebrate and rejoice. We will continue along the process of grief and healing.
Most importantly, we will do it together.
