Waaa! New chapter. I have not forgotten. Enjoy!

Chapter 31 – The Ministry's Plan

For breakfast the next morning Harry had toast, scrambled eggs, tea and a hastily scribbled note that read: Harry, please meet for coffee. I need to talk to you. Yours sincerely, A. Weasley. At the bottom was a London address.

"Kreacher found it for Master," the house-elf cooed in a disturbingly eerie fashion as he loaded the table with more toast. His gaunt cheeks and long nose were covered in scratches and bruises from the harm he'd been forced to inflict upon himself after his rebellion against Harry's command of never again calling Sirius 'dog'. It was hard to feel sorry for him.

"It was stuck to the paper. Kreacher is a good elf who knows that Master likes his paper," the elf continued with a sneer.

Harry bit back the first retort that crossed his mind. If he had expected Kreacher to disappear again after the incident with Mrs Weasley, Harry had been wrong. The most disturbing part of it all was that in a way Harry was almost relieved that it had happened. If it had not been for Kreacher's schemes he was not sure he would ever have mustered the courage to tell them yet. It was embarrassing to be sure but it might also be true.

He turned the note over and discovered what looked like a bright blue chewing gum.

When Sirius plopped down beside him not five minutes later (Kreacher quickly retreated to his cupboard), black hair combed back from his face and still wet from his bath, he was quick to pronounce his suspicions. "Better send him a Patronus to make sure, Harry. Anyone could leave a note for you."

"But no one knows where I live," Harry objected. "The house is Unplottable."

His godfather's expression was enough to kill the mood for further debate. "Send him a Patronus," Sirius repeated firmly. "Or I will."

o.O.o

The small café two blocks away from the Ministry was experiencing a post-breakfast lull as Harry pushed open the door and stepped inside. Unfortunately this only made Mr Weasley's sunny yellow suit, his at-least-two-numbers-too-large polka dot Wellingtons and his tartan woollen cap stand out more. He was partially concealed behind a thumbed issue of Your Yacht and You ('The anti-foul advice you thought you needed to pay for!') but surfaced as the small brass doorbell attached to the door chimed at Harry's arrival.

"Aha! Harry! Come, come! Over here!"

Dodging the doubtful glance of the waitress behind the counter, he hurried over to the eagerly waving Mr Weasley. The café was decorated in pink and mint green with lots of photographs and posters covering the walls. Mr Weasley had chosen a small, shockingly turquoise sofa for himself. Apart for the two of them, the waitress, and a ruddy man in his early forties lost in a book a few tables away, they were alone.

"Hello, Mr Weasley," said Harry, a lot more quietly for his part as he sank down on one of the poufs scattered all over the floor. "Uh, nice suit."

"Why, thank you, Harry," Mr Weasley beamed at him. He leaned forward a little with a conspiratorial wink, "Thought it best to blend, you know. Ah! But would you look at this!" He pushed his magazine across the table. "Yachts! They're like cars, Harry! But – would you believe it – they run on water without the wheels!?"

Harry could practically feel the waitress sharp stare drilling into the back of his head. "Really?" he mumbled.

"I've read it twice," Mr Weasley informed him. They've even got these…" He began flipping through the pages enthusiastically and his voice sank to a dramatic whisper, "These… oh, the Muggles do seem to love them… these horrorscopes…"

"Horoscopes?"

"Exactly! Apparently I'll have to be careful to not… trust any… well, I guess it is some form of salesperson investing in these yachts because Mercury – the planet, Harry – is square something. I don't quite recall but it was most fascinating! Can you believe it! Imagine believing that boats are somehow connected to some celestial magic, eh?" He grinned.

"Imagine that," Harry repeated lamely. "Um, Mr Weasley… Why did you want to talk with me?"

Some, if not all, of the glee drained from Mr Weasley's face at that. He suddenly looked quite serious. "Order some coffee, Harry."

"But?"

"Give her something to do," he suggested quietly with a furtive glance at the suspicious waitress.

So he did. And when they were settled again, both with full cups, Mr Weasley murmured a quick privacy spell. "Now," he said, sitting back a little in his sofa, eyeing Harry carefully, "The Burrow is in quite an uproar."

Harry felt his face redden. It seemed to be doing that a lot these days. "Yeah…" Mr Weasley did not look angry though. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Yes, Harry, I knew. Or suspected as much, at least." His voice was rather gentle even as he frowned. "I must ask – because I must – if you are all right? Is this… this relationship with Sirius really what you want?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I really want it. I love him."

Mr Weasley absorbed that. "Very well. Very well." He took a sip from his coffee and nodded. "They are… disappointed, Harry. That you didn't tell them."

His throat suddenly felt tight. "I know Ron's angry…" he began but Mr Weasley's tiny smile cut him off.

"Ron is… confused. For all the male relatives we have I've never heard of one who is, well," he cleared his throat, "a homosexual." Now it was Mr Weasley's cheeks' turn to acquire a deeper shade. "Of course, among pure-bloods that is a topic considered… Well, it is never discussed at all, really." He set his cup down.

"To tell you the truth, throughout the years I never did pay much mind to the fact that we arepure-bloods… But… Well, we might be more liberal and open-minded than most other families but customs and tradition are not customs and tradition because they were invented yesterday. And they permeate our lives and minds on different levels whether we like it or not. But that is not why Ron is confused. He wonders, I think, why his best friend never came to him to discuss this part of himself. This choice." His yellowed shoulders sank, almost as if in relief, when his little speech was done.

Harry dropped his gaze to his coffee. "Because it was Sirius," he murmured, the words bitter on his tongue. "It was wrong, somehow."

A small space of silence followed that. Then Mr Weasley spoke very softly, very calmly. "It's not wrong, Harry. It's shocking, I'll grant you that, but it's not wrong."

Harry swallowed. He could have hugged the older man. "I'm sorry I upset them."

"You should tell Ron and Hermione that," Mr Weasley smiled.

"Well, I'm sorry I upset Mrs Weasley."

"Ah." His smile faded away. "Yes, I suppose the timing of that revelation could have been better."

"She hates Sirius," said Harry flatly.

Mr Weasley sighed. "Yes, right now she does. I won't lie to you, Harry. Right now she really does hate Sirius."

"But it was my choice to be with him. He did not force me into anything."

"I know that, Harry." Mr Weasley nodded. "I know that. And Molly does, too, deep down, I think. Or she would be flinging curses at Grimmauld Place as we speak. And she would be right to do so, if that had been the case."

Harry slumped in his seat. He was relieved when Mr Weasley did not pursue the subject further but instead took a sip of his coffee.

"Now," he said as he returned his mug to the table. "There is one more thing."

"What?" Harry tried to shake off the gloom that had settled in him and sound interested.

"I need you to accompany me to the Ministry. Kingsley wishes to speak with us both."

This really did spark Harry's curiosity. "Kingsley? About what?"

"I don't know," said Mr Weasley, "but I suggest we finish this and then get going."

o.O.o

Mr Weasley got far more compliments for his clever Muggle disguise at the Ministry than he ever would have got in the café. Harry politely held his tongue and avoided being pulled into any discussions. It seemed like the novelty of having the Hero of the wizarding world running around among them had quickly worn off among the Ministry workers because even though there were long looks and hushed whispers and pointing only a handful wizards and witches approached him to shake his hand or cup his cheek. Harry experienced a genuine relief as he wove his way through the early lunch crowds buzzing through the Atrium.

He did momentarily stop in his tracks, though, when he spotted the old security desk being polished. "I thought they were content with using passwords?"

"Ah, well." Mr Weasley looked slightly uncomfortable. "They were, to begin with, but then they ran out of ideas for cheerful instruments and turned to fruits instead. When so many got 'kumquat' wrong and ended up at home again after three failed attempts at flooing in they decided that older, proven security measures have their undeniable value.

Harry hid a grin and wondered if Eric Munch would get his old job back as Security Guard. Then he realised that he did not even know if Eric was still alive and his grin fell away.

It was decidedly quieter on level one and only a few heads poked out of doorways as Harry and the colourful Mr Weasley walked past. Harry did his best to ignore them.

"Here we are," Mr Weasley straightened a little as they came to a halt before Kingsley's door. "So…" he gave Harry a peculiar look but it was gone so quickly that Harry wondered if he had imagined it. "Let's go in."

Kingsley wasn't alone. Harry's eyebrows shot towards his hairline as he spotted Algernon Pod, the Chief Warlock, seated in one of the visitor's chairs, hands clasped in his lap, atop his white beard. His large amethyst ring glinted in the light of the torches.

Kingsley himself was seated behind his desk, immaculately dressed in robes in lilac with intricate sliver embroidery and, as usual, a matching fez. He smiled as Harry and Mr Weasley appeared on the threshold. Algernon Pod did not.

"Arthur, Harry," Kingsley got to his feet and came to greet them with handshakes. "It is good to see you both." His deep voice was warm and relaxed and Harry felt a bit of tension seep from his shoulders. Kingsley gestured at the tiny wizard already seated. "Algernon Pod, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. I don't think you have met before. Algernon, I'd like to introduce Arthur Weasley to you, and Harry Potter."

"Mr Weasley, Mr Potter." The old man's voice held a dry tinge that seemed to have nothing to do with his general mood – which Harry could not seem to figure out anyway. Pod's face was quite empty as he inclined his head slightly. "A pleasure, I am sure."

"Now, Arthur, I asked you here because I have some news regarding Ms Granger's parents." Kingsley seemed barely able to contain a smile. "They have been found and have had their respective memories restored. They will be transported back to England shortly."

Harry's heart took a leap. "That's great!" He could just imagine Hermione's extraordinary joy at this bit of news. Or perhaps he couldn't, not completely, since she was always so controlled but he could imagine the gist of it at least.

"Certainly it is." Kingsley was grinning now. "I understand that Ms Granger is still living at The Burrow. You may inform her of these developments as soon as you see her, then, Arthur."

Mr Weasley was beaming, too. "Excellent news indeed! You have our gratitude Kingsley."

But Kingsley waved a hand dismissively. "The least I could do." Then his eyes slid sideways. "Now, Harry… Why don't we sit down?"

With a new wave of apprehension stealing through him, Harry was guided to take a seat in another chair, next to Algernon Pod. Mr Weasley, however, remained standing.

Harry had expected Kingsley to speak first but it was the Chief Warlock who shattered the silence. He spoke very slowly and thoughtfully. "I understand, Mr Potter that you have been to see Mr Draco Malfoy in his cell, here at the Ministry?"

Harry turned around a little in his seat. The elderly wizard's eyes were keen on him under snowy white eyebrows. He swallowed. "Yeah, I have."

"And what, pray, was the purpose of these visits?"

Glancing over at Kingsley only told Harry that he apparently was expected to answer these questions honestly. "Mr Pod, with all due respect, I believe that is between myself and Mr Malfoy."

There was a flicker in Algernon Pod's eye. "Oh, Mr Potter," he said, almost indulgently, "I think not." He unlaced his slender fingers, allowing for the light to momentarily play in the amethyst. Then he laced them together again. "In fact, your business in Mr Malfoy's cell is as much your own as it is ours."

A twist of anger sparked Harry's temper. "How's that?" he asked bluntly.

Pod's gaze did not waver. Nor did his calm. "Mr Potter, you are meeting with one of our most famous and high risk prisoners on a regular basis. No doubt, you are planning something, yes? You see, that is what you are known for, after all. Now, it so happens that not only you have plans for Mr Malfoy." He licked his thin lips. "Therefore it is imperative that you inform us of your arrangements."

Harry looked to Kingsley again. "What are you planning?" The streak of anger transformed into fear. "What are you going to do to Draco?"

Kingsley spread his hands on the smooth desktop. "Harry…"

"No!" Harry slid to the edge of his seat. "You can't! You can't send him to Azkaban! He's innocent!"

"Harry…" Mr Weasley's hand on his shoulder was surely meant to be reassuring.

"No," he repeated with urgency. "Anything Draco did was because he was forced. Because Voldemort threatened him!"

It didn't matter that Voldemort was dead – that it was Harry himself who had finished him off – his name still caused a rift in the thickening air around them. He could see Kingsley's jaw harden and Mr Weasley's hand on his shoulder jumped. Algernon Pod's small, sharp intake of breath was the most animated action that he had displayed so far.

Harry did not care. He pressed on instead. "Draco's innocent and I can prove it. I mean to speak for him at his trial."

"Mr Potter…" Pod's rustling dry voice cut through the churning desperation in Harry's belly. "That is very admirable, to be sure, but quite unnecessary."

Harry gaped at him. "Unnecessary?!" Then the truth dawned on him. "You've already made up your mind!" He did not care that he was probably yelling at one of the most influential wizards in Britain. He pushed out of his chair and swivelled to glare down at the Chief Warlock. "You've already decided on your verdict!"

But Pod only gave a peculiar twist of his lips. "After a fashion, yes," he admitted placidly.

"So at the trial you will sim-"

"There will be no trial."

Harry stared.

Algernon Pod looked up at him. "There won't be a trial for Mr Malfoy."

"What do you mean there won't be a trial?"

Pod shook his head. "I suggest you rein in your temper, Mr Potter."

It was hard to swallow down his response and draw a deep breath instead but Harry managed. He refused to sit down again, however, but Pod seemed satisfied nonetheless.

"Very good," he said softly. "Now, by your leave, Mr Potter, I will tell you that we have decided to not try young Draco Malfoy in the courtroom but…" he made a well-calculated, sweeping gesture with his hand, "set him free."

Harry stared at him in utter disbelief. It took him a moment or two to regain his ability to speak. "You are going to release Draco?"

That was when Algernon Pod's face broke into a smile of satisfaction. Harry was not sure smiles suited him better. "We are."

"Why?"

"Because, as you say, the boy is innocent."

No matter how hard he tried, Harry could not make the pieces fit together. "Then why did you lock him up in the first place?"

"To make of him… an example, if you wish." Pod's eyes gleamed. "To harry his parents? To blunt his edges? To ruffle his feathers? I am sure, Mr Potter, that you are well acquainted with the infamous Malfoy arrogance?"

Harry felt like he was being hit with a series of brain-dislodging hexes. "You… you never meant to accuse him… formally? Of anything?"

"Oh, come now. I am sure you agree with me that imprisonment and isolation is punishment in and out of itself, hm?"

"This was his punishment? Imprisonment and waiting and fearing a trial and a verdict that would never come? Fearing Azkaban?" Harry could barely form the words through his anger. "Fearing that the Dementors would suck out his soul?!"

Pod smiled broadly now but did not deign him with an answer.

"And what would you have done if I had never come to visit him and begun planning for his trial?" Harry shot at him, all of his anger and all of his frustration finally leaking out of him: Kreacher's betrayal, both of them – one so long ago – and Mrs Weasley's revulsion at the sight of him and Sirius together, and all the bloody useless, pointless, heart-shattering death he had ever seen. All of it collected like a blazing storm of wrath in his chest and he heaved it out in one final, cathartic explosion in the face of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. "For how bloody fucking long WERE YOU GOING TO KEEP HIM?!"

Tears stung his eyes and his throat burned as Mr Weasley's hands, both of them now, gripped his shoulders and tugged him back. Kingsley rose behind his desk and in the corner of his eye Harry saw that he had raised his wand. But Pod gave a miniscule shake of his head and sat completely serene.

"For as long as we deemed necessary."

"Fuck you!"

"Harry!" Mr Weasley gasped.

"I don't care!"

But Algernon Pod looked up at him, those intelligent eyes sharp and never fearing him. "Oh, I think you do, Mr Potter. Or we would not be having this conversation."

In the end it took both Mr Weasley and Kingsley to calm him down and get him to breathe properly again. Harry's chest ached, his head was pounding and he felt as though he had run a mile or a hundred with a hippogriff on his back.

When he was back in his chair and seeing clearly again, Algernon Pod moved. He slid off his seat and smoothed down the front of his robes. "Well, I think I am done here. Having thus informed Mr Potter of our intentions, I must be on my way. Minister," he added, giving a little bow in Kingsley's direction, the tip of his beard brushing the floor.

Harry paid him no heed but when the door swung shut behind him it seemed easier to draw breath.

Kingsley let out a long sigh and bent to retrieve something from one of his drawers. He tossed the chocolate frog at Harry. "Eat."

Harry stared at it. He recalled with a pang all the chocolate that had been pressed upon him by Professor Lupin and Dumbledore in the past. Kingsley's gaze was firm across the desktop. Harry shook his head.

"Harry…"

There might have been a warning there but it did not matter. It did not matter that the first twinges of shame were beginning to sneak over his heart, Harry had had enough. He looked up at Kingsley. "I'm sorry," he said, barely getting the words through his teeth, "for screaming at Pod." A strange feeling was creeping up through his chest, shoving at the shame and pushing it away.

Kingsley's eyes locked with his. "I did not like his plan when I heard of it. I found it inhumane."

"Then why did you agree to it?"

"Do you remember your last visit here? I told you we needed Pod."

"But you are Minister for Magic," said Harry, his voice oddly calm to his own ears.

"It is not that simple, Harry. Imagine what would happen if the Minister had sole control over everything that went on at the Ministry. If I always had the last word. If every single decision and process had to be approved by me. Imagine, then, if I were to become power hungry, tyrannical… a despot. What would happen then?"

Mr Weasley sank into the chair next to Harry. Kingsley mirrored him and lowered himself into his own chair. "Pod has been granted the authority to oversee and reform the judicial system. I might need to reconsider the amount of freedom allotted to him."

Harry rose to his feet. "When will Draco be told?"

"He will be set free as soon as possible."

"What will happen to him?"

"That, I don't know, Harry."

"Who will tell Draco?"

"Ministry officials," Kingsley said, and there was a firmness to his voice now, no doubt discouraging Harry from doing anything that was strictly prohibited. "Protocol must be followed. At least on this point of order."

"I see." He took a step back. One step towards the door.

"Harry…?" Mr Weasley sat up straighter. "What are…"

But Harry could not say. He was burning up, his edges smouldering. His shallow breathing scorched his lungs. He had had enough. He did not care that he slammed the door in their faces as he went.

TBC