A/N: And somehow, Rita gets to have the last word. Or, at least, the second last. In other news, please see my Livejournal for the seating plan, if you're interested. You'll know what I mean.

Chapter 12: The Finish

By the time Rita had transformed and crawled to and into her messy bed, the shivers were going down. Everything still seemed too small, but that was always slow to wear off after long periods in her other form, and therefore nothing to worry about. The real worry was that if she shifted into a more comfortable position, she'd be sick.

It was several minutes before she moved. The pinpricks she always saw after changing were starting to diminish, but her vision still seemed to cover too small an area. Her eyes glanced this way and that, dipping into the low well of energy she'd nearly drained by following batty old Bagshot and Ian Tatting up and down Diagon Alley. She forced her eyes closed and kept them so for a minute— there. That did nicely for the dratted beetle habit of examine everything around her even while at rest, but didn't quite stop the shivers or the vague sense of nausea.

Rita sighed. Well, until someone invented some sort of dicta-quill small enough for a beetle to use, using memory-enhancing potion would have to do for investigations carried out as a beetle. It magnified the after-effects of working hard in beetle form almost exponentially, making her remember far too much of what it was like to be a beetle for hours after, but it also meant that she could collapse into her bed for that time and not have forgotten a single detail of what she'd witnessed when it was time to write it down.

Which reminded her. "Quill," Rita managed to mumble, putting the necessary command behind it. Something rustled loudly to her left— parchment, she told herself, barely stifling the need to look in that direction. Her favourite quill was already tickling at her hand, helping to distract her further from the now-quiet parchment that her beetle brain insisted was important to look at. Soon, there was parchment settling itself beneath the Quick-Quotes quill, and it was time to dictate.

"Re-readers familiar with Bathilda Bagshot's…ah…leanings for the old and venerable in wizarding history will not be altogether surprised at the family name— strike last two words, surname of her newest paramour. Pause." Rita coughed as gently as she could manage, then wiped at her irritatingly watering eyes before she continued. "Continue. They will, however, be surprised, nay, shocked, at his first name…"

Once she'd started, it wasn't too hard to keep going. This particular batch of memory potion had been strong— the details of the last few hours seemed spread before her on her tatty duvet. Rita soon became too lost in retelling them to notice in time to stop the quill from beginning to write on the bed whenever it needed new parchment.

Like now.

Curses found their way onto the faded lilac cotton for a few moments. They were soon erased. And, after some effort, the quill floated gently above the parchment, re-charmed not to drip and charmed to squeak when it ran out of parchment. Rita sighed, wondering for the hundredth time why on earth Quick-Quote quills were so bloody resistant to simple, relevant charms, and had to compose herself for a moment before the memories would spread out before her again.

Soon enough, the task of getting them down was over with no more mishaps from the quill. Rita cursed at it under her breath as she transferred it back to her desk with a jerky swish of her wand, and sighed in relief that the urge to watch its progress to its destination wasn't strong enough to keep her eyes open. She slumped backwards and was grateful to let them close altogether.

Unfortunately, the memory potion being as strong as it was, she found herself on Diagon Alley once asleep, buzzing silently up and down as she waited for Bagshot to stop snogging her new lover. Somehow, she ended up flying in for a closer look— something she did not recall doing— and suddenly realised she was Ian Tatting now, and that Bathilda Bagshot's lips felt as dry as parchment beneath hers. And ugh, they tasted of ink—

"Rita!"

Rita groaned. She despised nonsensical dreams— such a waste of time, really, especially when Bagshot could bloody well be transforming into Ian Tatting, who was as hot as Bagshot was haughty. And still with the papery lips—

"Rita, wake up!"

Oh god, not Jane, Rita begged the dream. It ignored her, manufacturing Jane's commanding, bossy tone in the excited tone she was wont to thrust on Rita at inappropriate moments—

"No, don't you turn over again, you great cow!" Jane was all but shouting now. "Wake the bloody hell up!"

Rita's hand groped warily upwards, just the same. She found nothing but pillow and— ugh, parchment, stuck to her face.

"That's more like it," Jane said, her voice shredding the last of Rita's hazy, irritating dream about her. "God, get up, I don't have time—"

"This better be important," Rita snapped, interrupting. Jesus, this was not the day for interrupted sleep, not when she had to sleep off the fucking memory potion and the nausea. Why on earth can't she just—

"…Antares Black is being expelled, you idiot!" What Rita could see of Jane's face among the green flames in her fireplace twisted into a triumphant scowl as she sat up. "Important enough for you? Because I—"

Rita, beyond words, waved frantically at her until she stopped. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Jane snapped. Rita looked around for the clock, and felt herself go still with excitement. Today, practically. "And I'd better be going if I want to be awake to actually see it—"

"What charges?" Rita asked plaintively, stumbling out of bed. "I'm sorry I snapped, love…"

"Sure you are," Jane said, looking mollified…instead of talking about the charges. "It's geas-worthy, Rita."

Rita opened her mouth, then closed it. "Why isn't he already expelled?"

"No idea," Jane said, shaking her head. Her new hairdo looked hilarious in the flames, but Rita was far too excited to snicker at the spring-spring of Jane's glossy, manufactured curls even now— a geas-worthy set of charges was a front page story for weeks. "And it's not final, somehow. I think that's why Headmaster Dumbledore's coming down; to see it gets done."

Rita blinked hard, and shook her head. "Doesn't fit. Who'd stand up for the boy, eh? Who's usually at the small governor meets again?" Jane glared at her. "Humour me, Jane, I can never keep that straight—"

"There's a schedule, Rita— look it up sometime, for god's sake."

"Jane!"

Jane huffed. "Fawcett, Grimstone, Ogden, Dobbs, Summers and Malfoy. Just the six of them; it's a half-session."

Rita was already shaking her head. "Definitely doesn't fit," she said to no one in particular. "Malfoy would die happy if that brat was run out of Hogwarts, and I can't see anyone but Doreen Summers even caring if it's all done legally. And maybe Grimstone, she's young enough to pity him. But if his mother's in attendance…"

"Oh, she'll be there," Jane said, nodding. "Applied to me by Floo for a front seat."

"Why on earth? It's closed to the public; only Dumbledore and maybe—"

"Actually, it's not. Why d'you think I've suffered your bloody muttering for so long? You can come, Rita, just don't come as yourself."

"But why—"

"Malfoy came down here as soon as he got the details for tomorrow," Jane said, sounding annoyed. Rita turned to stare at her as she continued on. "He popped in by Floo minutes after. Filed a motion carried by unanimous vote of the board members that'll be there that the hearing be open to the public."

Rita had to force herself to breathe, let alone look properly at Jane. "He called you 'clerk' again, didn't he?"

"Two fucking years, I've worked here," Jane said darkly. "I may be a gossip, but I know how to do my bloody job. Ogden never fails to ask me about my mum, batty as he is."

"Prepared, was he?" Rita muttered to herself, letting her imagination draw up the scene. Jane would be flitting confusedly round and about her small office, trying to get the rolls and rolls of parchment that serious trials always produced. Lucius Malfoy's entrance by Floo would be graceful, perhaps; he would apologise for making her jump. "Well, except for your name." Jane snorted. "Stupid of him, since you could easily have forgotten to file his little request." Rita smiled wickedly. "Of course, you didn't, did you? Merlin, you're invaluable."

"Really and truly?"

"Oh, yes," Rita said, now eyeing the Floo powder pot above her fireplace. "Lend me your pensieve after, will you?"

"Lend me your account number for an hour in Gladrags next week, and you can have it all summer," Jane said, smiling slyly. "The rumours, Rita. Everyone's saying Olive Bernard's new line'll beat Malkins' into the ground."

"You might want to ask for something else, you know," Rita said, grinning. "I doubt that Bellatrix Black will be long there if her son's expelled from Hogwarts."

"Spoilsport," Jane groused. "God, my knees hurt."

"I'll buy you the finest murtlap essence I can scrounge, darling," Rita said, just to annoy her. Jane just rolled her eyes and was gone, leaving the way clear for Rita to inflict an early-morning call on someone far more important— her editor. Being no stranger to his notorious indecision, she made sure to cast a strong cushioning charm on the hearth before kneeling and casting the powder into her uncomfortably warm fire.

"Barnabas Cuffe's residence," she rattled off, taking care not to roll her eyes as she did so. As much as she mocked Barney's house's unoriginal Floo Register name in private, she'd always been careful to keep such insults as far from his ears as she possibly could. And coming from a family as paranoid as his, it was only natural that he might put some sort of shady monitoring spell on his Floo connection.

Rita sighed. Now, how to go about this without getting hexed…

It was surprisingly easy. Barney was at the fireplace well before she'd begun to get hoarse from shouting for him, and he looked quite sane, if quite sleepy and quite vastly irritated at her intrusion. Knowing her time for explanation to be short, Rita launched into her story as soon as he seemed within certain hearing distance.

"A trusted source Flooed me news that Antares Black is as good as expelled just minutes ago," she said, as quietly as possible. "A very trusted source."

Barney's mouth, which had fallen open at the first mention of the name 'Black', closed abruptly. "Where's the article?"

"In your hands, tomorrow— well, now tonight."

"Tonight?"

"As good as expelled, Mr. Cuffe. Quite different from surely expelled. I—"

"And what's to stop you from speculating, Rita? Have you lost your mind?"

"I could speculate this morning, or know by this evening, all right? Listen, Barney— I will be on the spot. Bellatrix Black will weep and rage before my eyes. Have a memory diffusion platform ready for me by three this afternoon, and you will have pictures of her raging."

"And if someone else has the story before us?"

"You'll likely be told to send someone to cover the meeting board of governors as soon as is humanly possible, actually," Rita said, trying to contain her gloating. Failing. "Lucius Malfoy might even tell you himself."

Barney's eyes were closed; his face was still with anticipation. "A trusted source."

"Truly, Mr. Cuffe. I'll owl you the Bagshot article, of course, but still. I'll need that memory platform set up when I get to the office."

"You'll have it," Barney said, nodding sharply. "Now let me get the bloody hell back to sleep."

Rita smiled slightly, nodded, and did as he asked. She doubted he'd sleep at all— most likely, he was drumming Lance or Katy out of their beds and telling them to write up something, anything about young Black's expulsion. It would still fall to her to go out and soak the event in her memory and spill it out onto paper, of course. Half in case things didn't go quite as excitingly as she'd predicted, and half because he knew her memory and her imagination, and knew no one else at the Prohpet could beat her at writing the salacious.

Let others be polite, Rita told herself, smiling hungrily in the dimness of her room. The sordid is mine.

Despite everything, when Rita's super-shrill alarm woke her hours later, she found herself reluctant to leave her warm bed. She ignored the ache her knees had picked up on remembering from last night by dint of reciting headlines for the story she would chase this morning to herself.

"Black Expelled," she said out loud, when she realised she was falling asleep on her feet. Her voice sounded tired, and it was painful to speak around her too-dry mouth. She summoned some while she put together her disguise— a tatty grey robe, scraggly wig of greying brown hair and just a hint of Transfiguration ensured she looked a little like a poor, tired version her mother, and definitely not like herself. "For my grandson," she tried whispering, to see what she sounded like. "His mam don't teach him enough about the law."

A quick look in the mirror upon her door made Rita smile ruefully. It was comical to see herself like this, like the people whom lordly folks like Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange did not notice at a scene. Like the people she sought out for interviews, who had watched the scene unnoticed and would not be remembered for revenge.

"Out you go," Rita said to herself, letting the smile become as weary as she liked. "Time to get to work."

Minutes later, she was walking the streets of Hogsmeade, a warm bottle of Butterbeer clutched in hand. Rosmerta had barely looked at Rita as she served her; strike one for the costume. No one had eyed her with anything but pity or mild interest; strike two. Now all that was left to her was to brave the cold morning until eight o'clock, when the meeting of the Board of Governors would begin.

Standing about in the street being jostled by the morning crowd heading for the train station palled quickly, so Rita sought out a seat. As she lowered herself into one of the benches that dotted the tiny public garden opposite the post office, she felt rather than heard the sudden pauses of conversations in the street. The whispers that replaced them helped her pin down the source of the disturbance: Bellatrix Black, walking past the post office with her son on her arm.

Rita was up on her feet and following them before she even realised she'd stood up. Bellatrix did not look back more than once, but Rita took no chances, keeping as far back from her as was possible— looking at how easily Antares' hand lay in his mother's own did not erase the things that Bellatrix had done. Satisfaction bloomed in Rita's belly as she noted the worn state of the pair's robes. Only bloody right, as far as she was concerned.

The two of them reached the town hall minutes later. However, instead of going in, they paused and turned to face Rita.

To accuse me, Rita thought. She was not sure why she herself had stopped— the look on Bellatrix's face was cold, but hardly violent. Play it out, you fool, Rita told herself, forcing her legs to move so they carried her past the two and into the town hall. It seemed a horrible choice, but was necessary if she was not to give herself away. Not that she had any idea how that would happen, since neither of them likely knew how she looked—

The sound of Bellatrix's paralysed her. "Are you here for the meeting of the school board?" Clear, polite, but with a strange tightness in it, that was Bellatrix's tone. Unfortunately, Rita could not quite get herself to volunteer more than a nod. Headlines flashed before her as she turned to meet Bellatrix's eye to lessen the rudeness of her spare reply. The savage calm on her face only made the headlines in Rita's head more gory. "It isn't open to the public, I'm afraid."

"A shame," Rita made herself say, feeling relieved that her voice shook a little, as it would add to her disguise. "My son's boy don't know much about Hogwarts law— I thought I could see some today." She waved a hand in Antares' direction. "That your boy?"

"You read the papers," Bellatrix said coldly, drawing the boy ever so slightly towards her. "I'm sure you know." Rita looked down; she couldn't help herself. "You're just too frightened to sneer to my face." The small movement Rita could see out of the corner of her eye made her want to scream. "Well today, you can go back home and tell your grandson that you bearded a Black in her den. He'll believe you, you know. People will believe anything."

"M— much obliged, ma'am," Rita said, to fill the silence that fell. When she looked up, she wondered that she hadn't died from the hatred in the look Bellatrix had trained on her. "I'll just be leaving, then."

"Not so fast," someone said, their warm voice coming from the door behind Bellatrix and her son. "The trial was voted open to the public last night." Lucius Malfoy came into view, navigating past them all with a delighted ease that made Rita wonder. "Come, dear," he called past them. "If you want a good seat, you'd better hurry; it's obvious to me now that they'll go quickly."

"No need to shout," Narcissa Malfoy said, slipping into the crowded corridor with the same ease. She ignored Bellatrix entirely, moving past her and her son like they were part of the walls. And well for her; Rita wondered that no one was fainting yet at the hatred oozing from the woman. "You were right, though; that walk did me good."

"My own sister." The sound and feeling of it carried, ensuring that everyone's eyes went to Bellatrix's intensely calm face.

Except for Narcissa's eyes. She looked about in perfectly feigned confusion, then spoke. "Did you hear something, Lucius?"

Malfoy smiled. "Not at all. Come, darling; let's find you a seat." They walked on, turning right into what Rita supposed was another corridor that led to the room where the trial would be held. The silence that gathered in the corridor they left seemed to weigh Rita down.

Odd, then, that it was broken by the boy. "Mum," he said quietly, tightly. Rita's breath caught at how the ugly look on his face faded into worry, into concern. "We'll be late."

"We won't," Bellatrix said, calm gathering over the rage on her face. "Do you hear? We won't." The look she directed at her son raised the hair on the back of Rita's slightly sweaty neck.

There's more to this, she found herself thinking, watching Bellatrix shepherd her son down the same path as the Malfoys. Has to be.

The corridor turned out to lead straight into the front hall of the building. Rita, after wracking her brain, decided that the entrance Bellatrix had led her to had to be some sort of back entrance. Setting aside the shivers that gave her when she remembered the way Bellatrix had looked at her, Rita found herself eyeing the Malfoys in a new light. They had to have chosen that entrance on purpose, just as the reviving walk Narcissa Malfoy had blithely mentioned had been carried out on purpose. No one would have missed the significance of Bellatrix Black and her son and the Malfoys being spotted walking towards the town hall on a Thursday morning. Whether or not the speculative headlines about Antares' expulsion had already hit, it would be all too easy to connect those sightings to what would come after. In a nutshell, the Malfoys had very cannily set the stage for total humiliation for Bellatrix.

A dangerous proposition, Rita thought. Encountering the woman before the trial had done nothing but strengthen Rita's supposition that she might do murder before the week was out. Watching her stiff back now as people milled around in the front hall, Rita found herself wondering if murder would be done during the trial. Dumbledore's appearance had only seemed to make Bellatrix angrier; the only real thing that Rita thought might give her pause was the presence of her son. Even then, that probably depended on who was at the other end of Bellatrix's wand— the way that boy kept eyeing the Malfoys, he wouldn't bat an eye if it happened to be either of them.

Jane's clear voice cut through the noise of the governors and the others in the front hall, quieting them all. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Room 15 is ready for meeting 6 of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Seating is limited, so only concerned parties, witnesses and the governors may enter. Four seats will go to members of the public, the identities of those members being determined by the usual method." Jane held up a scroll briefly, then opened it. "In order of recorded entrance, then." Rita's mouth fell open— today, the last person she wanted to enter that trial room as was herself. "Fawcett, Mary. Dwight, Lisa. Malfoy, Narcissa. Bernard, Olive. Please make your way to the first door on your right through this corridor, thank you. Trial will begin in half an hour."

Rita tried not to sigh in relief. Despite that, one escaped her as Jane scrutinised her briefly with her wand and then nodded her on into the corridor. She'd forgotten how well Jane did with details. Rita stretched out her walk to the trial room as much as possible, hoping to spot the important faces she might have missed earlier while in the grip of fear. It paid off— not only was Professor McGonagall present, the other three heads of house were as well. Every one of them looked grim, and that distracted Rita until she realised that there was one more Fawcett involved in this trial.

"Sorry, excuse me, coming through!" The sharp warnings Angeline Fawcett called out as she levitated a bulky black briefcase into the trial room did not hide the odd satisfaction in her tone. Rita followed her in, feeling more intrigued than ever.

Mary Fawcett, already settled into one of the seats nearest to the door, exchanged a significant look with her cousin-in-law as she passed by. Itching with curiosity, Rita apologised her way into the empty chair on the other side of the Mary Fawcett as quickly as she could, so as to preserve a good view of everything. Unfortunately, minutes after she'd settled into it, Severus Snape slid into the seat in front of her, Professor McGonagall lowering into the seat beside him. And, by the slightly nervous look on Angeline Fawcett's face, Bellatrix would be sitting by her in the front row as soon as she was done settling her son in a chair by the large, covered platform in front of the governors' long table.

On the other side of the open door, things were not much better. Narcissa Malfoy sat nearest to the door in the last row and was conversing very politely with Olive Bernard, who was seated uncomfortably beside her. Professor Sprout was right in front of Mrs. Bernard, and she was conversing with Professor Flitwick in a far more relaxed fashion. Andrew Bones was in front of her, probably here to represent the Ministry— didn't notice him earlier— and he was not talking to Professor Dumbledore at all. Bones looked every bit as nervous as Dumbledore looked calm, and almost as nervous as Antares Black did in his lonely chair in front of everyone. Then again, he was likely one of the youngest people in the room.

Which said something— the Ministry of Magic couldn't know what was slated to happen this morning. The last person they'd want keeping an eye on this event was someone who could be rattled by Dumbledore or any of the other players on the school board, and Andrew Bones looked to be that person. Then again—

"Silence, please." Jane said, closing the door behind her. She walked briskly to the front of the room, raised her wand and begun the session by whisking off the cover on the platform in front. Rita sat up and blinked hard— that can't be a memory diffusion platform. It was huge, its dull black surface absorbing the light in the bright room and fixing the attention of everyone in it. Who built that?

Jane answered her question. "As you can all see, an enlargement was requested of our usual diffusion platform. We have Professors Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall, Sprout and Snape to thank for this rapid change."

Lucius Malfoy, second from the right end of the table, shifted importantly in his seat. "Clerk, who requested this?"

Angeline Fawcett's voice cut over Jane's slightly pained reply. "I did, Mr. Malfoy. I was of the opinion that the board would prefer a closer view of the evidence."

"Of what evidence, Ms. Fawcett?" Lucius shot back. "In the brief we were all sent, mention was made of two, or at most three pieces of evidence."

"Hold your horses, Lucius," Tiberius Ogden said, from the other end of the table. "We're yet to even begin the meeting."

"Oh, I'll be glad to address Mr. Malfoy's concern," Angeline said quickly. "We had not yet obtained permission to show the evidence, them being memories of the defendant."

"Why so? He committed his crimes a little more than week ago, if I'm not mistaken," Lucius said, a thin smile on his face. "You had ample time to obtain such permission."

"Begging the pardon of the board, the circumstances that led to our discovery of his crimes left us all quite…busy," Angeline replied, looking mysteriously undisturbed by the probably sound argument Lucius had just put forward. Rita bit her tongue to contain her excitement; she'd been right in thinking there would be more to this trial than a simple review-and-expell case. "I assure each governor that the reasons for our delay will be fully explained by the evidence and testimony that will be given."

"Assurances already," Lucius said, his smile widening. "Looks like we'll be here all day."

"Meeting 6 of the Hogwarts Board of Governors of the year 1992 is underway," Doreen Summers said, her tone coldly polite. She frowned at Lucius, who was now smiling down at his folded hands on top of the table, and continued. "Being a half-session meeting held in the town hall of Hogsmeade on Thursday, September the twenty-fourth. I will begin by reading a summary of the minutes of the most recent meeting. These minutes are available after this meeting with the minutes of this meeting and all others in the office of our Clerk, Ms. Goodsbody. Now, in the last meeting…"

Rita, satisfied that nothing important was being said, diverted her energy towards looking around the trial room as closely as she could without seeming to. Angeline Fawcett had quietly opened the large briefcase, and was nonchalantly going through the veritable forest of diffusion vials. Rita soon found that she couldn't quite make out the spidery script on the labels attached to each vial, and quickly resigned herself to speculating about them instead. She could see what looked like several elaborate uppercase A's on some labels— Antares' memories, perhaps?— but nothing beyond that, so she continued to let her gaze wander the room.

Angeline's clear, confident tone drew her attention back to the front of the room. "…contends that he is innocent or can be held so, by reason of frequent and persistent loss of personal control of his mind, body and magic, such loss being caused by a Dark article in his unwilling possession." Rita could not stop herself from licking her lips— possession, that sounded like. But by whom?

Morgan Grimstone, leaning slightly forward in her seat beside Lucius, seemed just as interested in the answer. "A Dark Article?"

"A muggle diary infused, to wit, with parts of the soul of one claiming to be Thomas Marvolo Riddle," Angeline said slowly, not sounding quite as assured as before. "Or, as we more commonly knew him, Lord Voldemort." Her voice shook on the last words, and whatever she had wanted to add to that was lost in the murmur that followed.

"Ridiculous," Doreen Summers said over and over again. "Such lies!"

"Do you believe me now, Gerry?" Lucius was saying loudly to Gerald Dobbs, who was seated on the other side of a faintly green Morgan Grimstone. "They're here to waste our time on dreams and suppositions—"

"If you'll let me continue," Angeline said fiercely, her sharp tone cutting across the noise. "If you had let me continue, you would have heard me say that I did not believe what I was told when asked to represent Mr. Black. You would have heard me say that I now believe that there is more than enough evidence to show that that young man is not a criminal in the making, but a hero. Will you at least do him the courtesy of of listening to the facts? None of us here believe what the conspiracy mongers at the Quibbler believe. I assume that we all know that memories can be altered, but not faked. That pensieves show the truth."

She snatched up a vial and set it on the diffusion platform; its clink could be heard in the silent room. "What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is nothing but a large pensieve. Listen to his memories, if you won't listen to him." She flicked her wand at the platform. "Begin."

The lighting in the room dimmed as mist rose from the platform and filled the room. It cleared quickly to reveal a bright toilet— "The boy's bathroom on the first floor at Hogwarts School on Tuesday, September the 22nd." Angeline's voice seemed to come from far away. "Enter the defendant and his friends."

On cue, the door to the toilet burst open, and Antares Black was dragged inside by a young girl and boy of about the same age. He looked pale and sick, and the concern on his friend's faces picked at Rita. When he spoke, she could barely hear him. "You shouldn't be in here," he muttered. "Tracey—"

"Get his bag, I think he dropped it," the other boy said, obviously ignoring him. "Go on, I'll handle him." The girl let go of Antares' other arm and raced out the door, with an obvious result. As Antares' friend buckled under his dead weight, he struggled to hold him up, and quickly chose to prop him up against the door. Antares slid down, eyes vacant; his friend tugged frantically on his arms. "Antares, I can't hold you up forever," he snapped, the worry on his face increasing. "Just— get on your feet, on your feet, that's it." Antares barely complied, allowing himself to be dragged into one of the stalls and propped against one of its walls as his friend opened a toilet bowl. "Just lean over there, that's good—"

Antares did not move. His friend shook him once, gently, then again, not so gently. "Are you listening to me?" When he let go, Antares began to slump to the ground, looking paler than ever. "Shit. Just – just stay there, I'll go get Tracey— I'll just be a second, all right?" As his obviously panicked friend fled the toilets, Antares slumped over the toilet bowl, insensible.

Just as slowly, someone shimmered into being just in front of Antares' stall. A faintly transparent boy with a prefect's badge pinned to his fresh robes, with a hungry look in his green eyes. Rita felt sick, and wished she could protest the way the diffusion platform was drawing her into the stall with that boy as he walked in and shut the door. Antares, though insensible to his surroundings, immediately noticed him. A blank fear seemed to settle on him. Rita wondered if it was the same as the fear that had her gripping her knees so hard that she could feel them even in the memory.

Breathing slowly, she tried to reassure herself that that boy could not be— had not been—

"Sorry I did that," the boy said, leaning easily against the stall door, looking quite unconcerned at how Antares was now starting to shiver. "You weren't taking it as well as I thought, so I thought I'd just—"

"Fuck around with my memory?" Antares said. He sounded only slightly less at death's door than how he looked. "Why?"

"Why…?" The boy stared at him, disbelief clear on his face. "Because you don't leave enemies behind. Not alive, anyway."

"But they're—"

"That was your fault, though, wasn't it? Still," the boy said, a thoughtful expression sliding onto his face, "I suppose we could kill the mandrakes." Rita's mind raced uselessly— why mandrakes? Why? "That'd keep us safe for months extra, I think, and it'd only be a simple frost spell—"

Antares had stopped shaking, and a strange kind of certainty was surfacing through the fear on his face. "I am done," he said slowly, "with killing things."

For his pains, the boy gave him a amused, tolerant smile. "You're done when I say you're done," he said, calmly. "Or did you think that great fat snake came from nowhere?" The boy shook his head. "You owe me."

"I don't owe you –"

"And if you don't pay me back, our little memory spell will kill you," the boy continued, as if he hadn't heard Antares' shaky protest. "The Sharing spell's a little touchy like that. But you know that already, don't you?" His smile grew a little wider, becoming vicious. "Next time, when someone tells you to read up on a spell, do it. Although I doubt you'll have that problem with me, from now on. Will you?"

Antares gulped audibly, and was soon shivering again. Rita barely heard the rest of what the boy said, being too absorbed in watching this faint, blue version of the boy she'd seen in the courtroom. Anger joined her fear— no matter what Antares Black had done, it was hardly enough to deserve whatever torture he was being put through here.

Torture it was; worse, pleasure at inflicting such mental and perhaps physical torture was clear in the older boy's hard, green eyes. "…you will pay that debt exactly as I wish. Got it?" He faded suddenly, startling Antares, and Rita shivered as she saw a faint mist settle on him.

The loud, insistent knocking began the last horror of the memory. Rita found herself fighting the urge to retch as she watched Antares move out of the stall, the colour now back in his thin face contrasting horribly with the dull fear in his eyes. He slowed once or twice, his internal struggle clear in the way his eyes roved wildly, but he was soon at the toilet door, where his friends could be heard pounding to be let inside. Rita closed her eyes as the door handle began to turn, unable to watch any longer.

The laughter forced her eyes open. The boy was there again, standing over Antares' cowering, limp body, which blocked the toilet door. "It'll be easy once you're dead," he said, smirking. "He'll even help me – feel that?" The door was shifting against Antares, the thumps and curses getting louder as his friend tried harder to get in. The boy leaned close over Antares, a nasty smile on his face. "I wish you could watch. Obviously, you can't have everything…"

Rita held her breath as he took Antares' head in his solid-looking hands, chanting something—

Nothing happened. For a moment, anger and surprise warred on the boy's face as he glared down at Antares, chanting again. Then suddenly he tried to move back, shock clear on his face. He could not— his hands were stuck to Antares' pale face. Unmoved by his struggles, they turned a blistering red, and began shrivelling before Rita's eyes. Satisfaction burned through her as she watched mortal fear form on that arrogant young face, burning away what little sympathy his painful, inhuman screams raised in her. She found herself unable to look away as he and Antares convulsed and shook, as colour returned to Antares' face even as the boy's face shrivelled and shrank. A dark liquid began to spread under Antares, alarming her momentarily until she saw that the boy was now gone, and that the little light remaining in the toilet showed the liquid to be mottled blue and black.

Then everything was over— the door had burst open, and Antares' wild-eyed friends were panicking and shouting at each other over the sight of his limp body, and soaked robes. The sight of Tracey, the girl, shaking Antares' shoulder and desperately ordering him to keep his eyes open began to fade, but not before Rita saw a tired half-smile appear on his face.

Angeline Fawcett's voice was upon them all again even before the mist from the platform had dissipated. "I heard and believed the explanation of just how the defendant managed to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named early yesterday morning, but do not believe I can do it justice, or answer the board's questions about it. Therefore—"

"Wait," Lucius said. He was pale, paler even than the other young Frederic Fawcett, who was seated on his left. "I demand proof!"

"Proof of what?" snapped Ogden, from farther down the table. "If you are blind and deaf this morning, Mr. Malfoy, do the board the courtesy of informing us of your condition so we can remedy it before evidence you can apparently neither see nor hear is shown to us."

"Oh, I saw that memory just as well as you did, Tiberius," Lucius snarled. "I demand proof that Antares Black is not still possessed, and has not manufactured—"

"Lucius, he's twelve," Morgan Grimstone said, eying him in disbelief. "However talented he is—"

"Governors, if you sincerely believe that He-who-must-not-be-named would seriously subject himself to being patronised by all six of you this morning, the rest of my arguments are useless," Angeline spat, now truly angry. "Care to ask for more proof, Mr. Malfoy?"

Rita, ignoring how Lucius was glaring at Angeline, looked instead at her family members. Frederick Fawcett's colour had all come back, and Mary Fawcett, his wife, had a tight smile on her face. They know, Rita thought. They must know—

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, despite the fact that you are not still requesting proof, I have proof to give you nonetheless." Angeline snapped her wand toward the briefcase behind her, and an old, dirty book rose out of it. It was turning gently in an airtight bubble, and continued to do so as Angeline held it in her hands. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is your proof," she said, dispelling the bubble. The book crackled in her hand as she opened it, and soon it was floating over to the other end of the table, where a still-pale Doreen Summers received it gently.

With difficulty, Rita took her eyes off the book, watching Summers' face as she read whatever was in it. Her expression changed rapidly from surprise to disgust, and when she passed it on to Ogden, she levelled that look directly at Lucius. Ogden did the same as he passed it to Dobbs. Rita watched Lucius from then on, marvelling at the fear that flashed across it as Morgan Grimstone coldly handed the book to him. His expression from then on was stony, and he handed the book on to Frederick Fawcett as if it were just what it looked like— a tattered old book.

"Fraud," he said, as Angeline walked around the diffusion platform to accept the book from Frederick. "A cheap fraud."

"The book bled ink as its true owner died," Angeline said, not even looking at Lucius as she turned away. "A rather intricate fraud, if a fraud at all. And rather strangely connected to that evil young man we all saw die screaming minutes before now after threatening the life of Antares Black and his unlucky friends." Rita noticed that Antares shrunk in his seat as Angeline floated the book past him; she did not blame him. "I think you'd quite like it to be a fraud, Mr. Malfoy. Which begs some serious questions."

"Questions that would be begged if it was a fraud, Ms. Fawcett," Lucius said, sounding bored. "At least tell me you'll try to connect it to me with hard evidence."

Angeline turned again, and smiled. "Hard evidence, eh? Well, if the board wishes to see evidence…"

"Mr. Malfoy does not speak for the board, Ms. Fawcett," Summers said sharply, eyeing Ogden and Dobbs. "I think we can agree on that. Can we not?"

Murmured agreement answered her, making Lucius' expression stonier still. "No benefit of the doubt? Governors, try to recall that this is my word against that of a delinquent child—"

"Your word against memory," Angeline snapped, interrupting him rudely. "Your word against proof, against truth. Mrs. Summers, I believe you've worked with Mr. Malfoy since he begun his tenure on the board. In your opinion, in whose handwriting is the signature on the last page of this diary?"

Lucius's hands twitched. "Fawcett, that could have been forged all too easily—"

"In my opinion, that signature is in Lucius' hand," Doreen said quietly, her voice tight with anger. "Without a doubt, it is his hand."

Lucius waved a slightly unsteady hand in Angeline's direction. "So, then. An intricate forgery, as you said earlier. I do have enemies, Ms. Fawcett— could this not be their work?"

"You speak of enemies, do you?" Angeline said, lifting another vial from her briefcase. She replaced the other one with it. "All to the good. You see," she gave him a hard smile, "I will speak of enemies too."

Lucius had no reply to that. The look in his eyes, however, was quite a good approximation of someone who had found himself cornered. Then the mist of the diffusion machine was filling the room again, and they were abruptly in Flourish and Blotts' crowded store on the day of Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing. Rita watched the following confrontation almost greedily, and didn't need Angeline's clear, cutting warning to tell her when to watch Lucius' hands. Sure enough, an old-looking diary was casually slipped into Antares' cauldron almost as soon as Bellatrix arrived on the scene. And Lucius had plenty of time between then and when she left to ensure the book was not immediately visible— from the way they parted, Rita rather thought that Bellatrix would have burnt it on sight if she'd seen it right away.

The fading mists revealed the trial room again, and did nothing to reduce the new tension surrounding Lucius at his place at the governors' table. Angeline removed the vial from the platform slowly, letting the mutters build. "Do you desire more hard evidence, Mr. Malfoy? I have with me a memory indicating exactly where young Mr. Black found that poisonous diary. Just in case you've entirely forgotten where you put it."

Lucius' smile was forced. "You slander me most grievously, Ms. Fawcett."

"Governors, I submit to you that Mr. Lucius Malfoy be…temporarily removed from among your number for the duration of this trial," Angeline said calmly, shifting her large briefcase into Dumbledore's hands. "His bias is evident."

Before Lucius could say anything, Jane's clear, nonchalant voice was filling the room. "The submission is marked as received, Ms. Fawcett. Will the chairman consider it now, or later?"

"Now," Doreen Summers said flatly. "Fellow governors, I move that Lucius Malfoy step down as governor on the school board of Hogwarts for the duration of this trial, due to evident bias against the defendant."

"This is slander!"

"I second the motion." Dobbs did not flinch at the dirty look Lucius gave him, being far too busy giving him one right back. "Ogden, your vote?"

"I vote that he step down. Permanently."

Dobbs smiled, just a little. "I'll take that as a yes. Grimstone?"

"Aye." Her hands had fisted on the table. "Aye."

"Fawcett?"

"I also vote that he step down permanently," Frederick said quietly. If anything the look Lucius gave him made him look slightly pleased. "To be blind to such incontrovertible evidence is despicable, and entirely unworthy behaviour of a governor on the board."

"And how on earth would you know unworthy behaviour, Fawcett?" Lucius snarled. "Apart from how it dances with you at your legendary parties every Sunday night, of course—"

"Only if I was drunk or entirely insensible to the consequences of my actions would I ever have handed that diary to a child," Frederick shot back. "Do you have such an excuse, Lucius? Pardon my disbelief, but you looked about as sober and thinking as anyone here when you slipped it into his cauldron—"

"And don't dare say you didn't know what might happen if it fell into the boy's hands," Ogden snarled. "Why else would you carry such a dangerous article with you? Unless you'd have us believe it a keepsake of your nightmarish experiences with He-who-must-not-be-named's ravages of your mind—"

"Perhaps I am mistaken, Ogden— just when did the DMLE give you the right to judge me for imaginary criminal acts?" That silenced Ogden, but only barely. Frederick Fawcett and Morgan Grimstone had drawn their chairs away from Lucius on either side of him, and the strange look on his face indicated that he'd not been able to ignore that.

"You've made your point, Lucius," Doreen said, finally. "We cannot try you here. I sorely wish we could, but that is neither here nor there. However, as unfit as we are to try you, you are surely more unfit to aid us in trying the case of this young man. Step down, immediately."

Lucius rose sharply, the shriek of his chair mirrored by that of Narcissa's. She moved calmly for the door; not so him. He glared hatefully at Antares as he stalked past him, and therefore missed the look Angelina and Frederick exchanged.

"Chairman, a quick question," Frederick said, loudly. "None of us are allowed to leave these sessions prematurely, are we? Even after stepping down from our positions?"

The look Lucius gave him was murderous. "You wouldn't dare."

"Not that I'd like him to stay," Frederick continued, ignoring him. "Far from it. But I know very well that his first stop will likely be with the nearest newspaper editor he can find, to discredit the results of this hearing, at the least."

"The geas we accepted is binding even in the case of dismissal, Frederick," Ogden said. "We do have that."

"A geas can be broken," was the deliberate answer. "If he is here—"

"You have no right," Lucius spat, "to detain me here against my will—"

"I have that right, Lucius." Heads turned in Professor Dumbledore's direction, though his interruption had been quiet. "Do you dispute it?"

Lucius bared his teeth. He gave no answer, knowing as well as everyone else that no one would be too interested in exactly what law gave Dumbledore the right to detain whomever he wished as saw fit, especially not if Lucius was on trial for possession and wilful distribution of Dark objects. So Narcissa sank stiffly back into her seat, and Lucius accepted Angeline Fawcett's offer of a seat…beside Bellatrix Black, whose dark smile was the ultimate insult.

"A mere spectator already," Rita heard her say to him, sweetly. "Sneer at me now, why don't you." When the answer she waited greedily for did not come, she laughed softly.

A sign of things to come, Rita thought, stark curiosity gnawing at her insides. Good things.

Tales of horror, brave struggle and human weakness— good things indeed— filled Room 15 of the Hogsmeade town hall for almost two hours. By the end of the first hour, Rita could have written the verdict of the board herself.

"Innocent," Doreen Summers had said, her voice steady with promise, "by reason of repeated, persistent and involuntary loss of personal control. For the various acts perpetrated against his fellow students while in full control of his mind, body and magic, guilty," she'd continued, her voice becoming stern. "As punishment, we strip Antares Black of his privileges and duties as Hogwarts Apprentice for one full school year, and advise that he take up his duties on the start of the following term once that school year is ended."

Rita, however, still couldn't quite believe what she had seen. The stilted, frantic conversations and frightening scenes had somehow all coalesced into strange, incontrovertible fact— that Antares Black had, for the last month or so, been a partially unwilling instrument of an insubstantial but equally threatening version of You-Know-Who.

There were things that hadn't been explained, of course. Rita didn't think she'd been the only one to notice how artfully Dumbledore, while in the witness' chair, had danced around the question of why that Invisibility cloak had been sent to the boy by mistake. Obscure hints had been made that seemed to fully satisfy only the older members of the board, and Rita had marked the way some of the tension had eased from Bellatrix's stiff back as Dumbledore was politely given leave to regain his seat. Rita's tongue was still sore from how she'd bitten it when the Headmaster was called to the governors' table for a private discussion, and had spoken at some length to them behind an infuriatingly strong silencing charm.

The expressions of the Malfoys as Antares' partial pardon was read out was almost compensation enough, however. And Bellatrix's proud, simple statement after that had driven that secret conversation out of Rita's head almost entirely. Almost.

"Your son has been cleared of all charges, Ms. Black," Doreen had said slowly, after Bellatrix had spoken. "Why would you wish to withdraw him from Hogwarts?"

"He needs rest," was Bellatrix's simple answer. No one had argued with her, and Rita could do nothing but suppose that that too was somehow related to whatever reason Dumbledore had refused to give to the entire room. The abrupt, barely explained withdrawal of Antares from Hogwarts would play extremely well at the Prophet, of course. And since Rita could hardly have openly complained or sought a far more detailed explanation, she'd resigned herself to the fact that a significant portion of the events that had led them all here would probably not be told.

Rita smiled to herself, barely feeling the cold as she finally stepped out of the town hall. If anyone was good at working with half a story, it was her. Almost without thinking, she hung back beside the door and watched until Bellatrix emerged from it, her son in. There was a small, satisfied smile on Bellatrix's face as she guided Antares out into the dim afternoon. The intensity of the look she gave him made Rita catch her breath; that was love, fierce and strong, and yet afraid.

Rita watched the look disappear in something that was close to awe. Perfect, she thought. Perfect for the front cover.

A/N: And it is done. Finally done.

Hope you liked the ride.