Disclaimer: Dude, it's not mine.
Author's Notes: Um, I had fun with OC names this chapter. That's all I'm saying. (Well, and I'm sorry for the wait between chapters.) Don't forget to review, lovelies!
o.o.o.o
When the world came back, Harry found himself in a small, boring room. The ceiling and floor were dreary gray stone that made Harry's eyes hurt with their coldness. The walls probably were made of the same stone, but Harry couldn't see them. For grouped around him were even more Aurors than had been on the Dursleys' front lawn.
It was a very crowded room.
Almost all of them had their wands pointed at him. An imposing female Auror stepped forward, holding out her empty hand expectantly. Harry, and the Auror who'd given him the Portkey, just looked at her.
"Well?" she snapped, extending her hand even farther (Harry hadn't thought it would have been possible).
Harry blinked at her. So did his escort, asking blankly, "Huh?"
"Potter's wand!" The hand came out even farther. "You're to turn it over to me now."
"Don't have it," the Auror mumbled, embarrassed.
The female blanched. Her hand didn't waver at all, though. "What? The Minister made it very clear -- of the utmost importance -- you don't have it!"
"We couldn't find it!" Smythe protested defensively. "He didn't have it on him, and we can't go in the house. We Accio-ed it but it wasn't there either."
The female Auror still looked supremely put-out. "Then where is it?"
"Maybe he left it at Hogwarts?" someone from the crowd of Aurors suggested hesitantly.
A loud, obnoxious male just next to the other spoke up scornfully, "Potter never leaves his wand! The Minister was very clear, Potter never leaves his wand. Remember last year? When Potter --"
"Potter," Harry interrupted, glowering and trying to stand up, "is right here, thank you very much. What's going on?"
Most of the Aurors ignored him. Smythe allowed Harry to stand, but kept a firm hold on his wand arm, even though he didn't have his wand. Quite a few of the Aurors closest to him took hurried steps back.
But one, a young female with watery blond hair, actually came forward, smiling slightly.
The belligerent female with her hand out glared at the younger Auror. It didn't look as if the girl was breaking any rules, however, as no-one outright stopped her.
"Very well," snapped the Auror, finally withdrawing her arm. She was still refusing to acknowledge Harry's presence as a human being capable of rational thought process. "We'll just have to take as he is. But mark my words, this is going on my report." The other Aurors looked at each other uncomfortably, as she swept imperiously from the room.
"Right then, we'd better get a move on," Smythe muttered uneasily, eyeing the still swinging door. "Someone grab hold of his other arm, would you?"
The young blond stepped forward instantly. "Oh, I will," she said brightly, curling one hand loosely around Harry's upper arm. The other she slipped around Harry's wrist, smiling brightly.
Smythe shot her a sideways glance and almost smirked. "All right. Hold open that door on your way out, Bidge." The room was half-empty already, the Aurors filing out slowly.
The Auror Bidge, a squat, rather rotund little man with a large curling mustache, smiled slightly. Obligingly, he held the door open as Smythe and the blond pulled Harry through it, into an even more boring stone corridor. Then the little man fell in behind the strange trio. Harry felt a wandtip in the small of his back, and turning to look over his shoulder, he grunted in annoyance to see only Bidge's congenial grin. Bidge winked.
There were Aurors everywhere in this hall. Most of the ones to the right of the door Harry'd come through were just standing, wands out and staring warily down toward him. Those on the left were preceding slowly down the corridor, their backs to Harry. Harry recognized quite a few of them as having come from the room he was just in.
"Someone's really pulling out all the stops for this farce," Harry muttered, bad-tempered. Smythe shot him first a stern, then an amused look out of the corner of his eyes. The blond actually snickered. Harry turned his head to look at her, not having expected any kind of favorable response.
"Oh, Mr. Potter," she whispered, looking amused, "You have no idea how much most of these Aurors agree with you."
"But naturally," interjected Smythe quietly, "that's mostly because half of them are scared of you and don't want to admit it."
"Of course they don't," Bidge snapped jovially. "A scrawny little sixteen-year-old like this? Unthinkable for a grown Auror to be afraid of him!"
The blond -- Harry would really have to figure out her name -- snickered again. "Ah, Bidgy, that's so true."
"All the regular Hit Wizards are terrified, of course -- there's a reason we got saddled with it," Smythe supplied, smirking.
Frowning, Harry glanced around at the three of them, and then said in as quiet a voice as he could muster, "Are you lot supposed to be talking to me?"
"Probably not," replied Smythe, unconcerned. He smiled at Harry's confused expression. "You'll find that there are some of us that don't really care for Madame Tribble, or her orders, Mr. Potter."
The blond gave Harry's wrist a little squeeze. "Madame Tribble would be that officious bitch you met back in Arrival and Containment Room 3. The one after your wand?" she whispered teasingly. Bidge snorted, his wandtip momentarily leaving Harry's back, presumably as he laughed.
Harry blushed.
"I'm Auror Pennywesh," added the blond. She smiled brightly, squeezing his wrist again. "But you can call me Flora." Here she winked.
Harry blushed again.
"Pennywesh..." Smythe hissed, glaring at her. She snickered.
"Sorry, Ben. Sorry, Mr. Potter. I couldn't help myself," she explained unrepentantly. Harry mumbled something, not looking at her. Her smiled widened, "Dora was right, you are easy!"
Smythe rolled his eyes and rather roughly tugged his charge around a corner, dragging Pennywesh with him. Harry, though, turned to her, perplexed. "Huh?"
"Oh, that's right," she said, almost apologetically. "Dora's my best friend, she --"
"I believe you know her as Tonks," Smythe explained before Pennywesh could confuse him further. "She and Flora trained together. The two of them together are impossible."
Bidge chuckled behind them. "Aw, Smythe, you're only saying that because Tonks never lets you near Flora alone." Smythe glared over his shoulder at the round little man behind them.
"I'm the only one that calls her Dora," Pennywesh informed Harry, snickering. "And she and Ben never get along."
Feeling way out of his depth, Harry just looked at her.
"We get along," Smythe protested indignantly. "We just don't agree all the time."
"Try most of it," suggested Bidge, a chuckle in his voice.
Pennywesh shrugged a shoulder, as if the technicalities didn't concern her much at all. "Okay, okay," she said, still cheerful. "So sometimes they get along... sort of."
Smythe glared at her. "Not getting along is a word for Shacklebolt and Madame Tribble, not Dora and me."
"Ah, right."
"What?" Harry interrupted, trying to stare at all three of them at once. "Kingsley Shacklebolt?"
"Yeah," Pennywesh confirmed, nodding. Her grin had disappeared. "We heard that you knew him. And oh, you should have seen him when he heard that you were being arrested and your little group --" Here she paused, giving Harry a meaningful look, " -- group couldn't do anything about it. He was so furious, he barely managed to get us in position in time --"
"Ah, bloody -- Shh, Flora," Smythe suddenly hissed, urgent. After descending a staircase, they'd rounded a final corner and come upon a door which was obviously their destination. Aurors lined the walls all around the door, which was being held open by an especially stuffy-looking Auror -- it was the one who'd seemed to be in charge at Privet Drive.
Pennywesh's grip on Harry tightened. She nodded grimly. "Right. Mr. Potter," she instructed through her teeth, so low it was barely audible, "you're going to have to trust us on this, but do not speak if you can help it."
And then they were through the door, Bidge still behind them.
At first glance, the room was just as bare as Arrival and Containment Room 3, if significantly emptier. But then Harry noticed the chair planted directly in the middle of the cell, underneath an incredibly bright little ball of light. It was to this chair that the Aurors led him.
He almost completely missed the other chairs, in a row against the left wall, and the tables, against the right wall. Sitting in one of the chairs was one of Harry's least favorite people ever: Cornelius Fudge, current Minister of Magic.
Remembering all the trouble Fudge had caused with his refusal to believe that Voldemort had returned, as well as the grief he'd been put through at the hands of Fudge's pet associate Umbridge, Harry growled unthinkingly. For some reason, this caused Fudge's bodyguards -- two of the largest men Harry'd ever seen -- to take involuntary steps backward. The Minister almost shifted uncomfortably.
Smythe and Pennywesh held firmly to his arms, the blond shooting him a small warning glance, while Bidge poked his back anxiously with his wand.
"Ah," exclaimed the Minister, a very self-satisfied expression covering his face. He stood up and marched toward Harry. The two large Aurors came with him. Harry had to actively stop himself from sneering. "There. We meet again Mr. Potter."
Also in the room was Madame Tribble -- whose name Harry secretly thought sounded like a kind of doggie chow; in fact, he wondered if that wasn't the kind Aunt Marge's dog Ripper preferred -- and, as he stepped in and closed the door, the officious Auror who'd performed Harry's initial arrest.
Though he was sitting now, the three Aurors who'd brought him in made absolutely no moves to leave. Because Harry wasn't sure what was going on, and they seemed friendly, Harry was glad they'd stayed. Also, it seemed to annoy Fudge, who kept glancing from them to Madame Tribble, almost as if he expected her to order them out of the room. And, despite looking at the three Aurors with a rather sour expression, Madame Tribble said nothing.
Looking at Fudge's smug face, Harry couldn't help himself. "What's the meaning of this?" he snarled, directing his question not to Minister Fudge, but the Auror Madame Tribble.
There was a noise from Harry's side, and then Harry's back screamed with sudden fire. Wincing, he closed his mouth resolutely. Not even Fudge was thick enough to not realize what a slight that was. His eyes grew wide and angry. Madame Tribble snorted like a furious horse.
"Potter?" the Minister asked scathingly, more as a formality than from any real need for conformation. Still feeling the warning burn along his back from Bidge's wand, Harry only grunted. "You are no doubt aware, Potter, why you have been arrested. This questioning is --"
"Actually, I have no idea why I was arrested," snapped Harry, but instantly regretted it when the burn on his back again seared angrily. Really, weren't these three Aurors supposed to be on his side? He was starting to doubt it.
Apparently amused, Fudge shared a glance with Madame Tribble that seemed to say 'didn't I tell you this would happen?' He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, Potter, this questioning is merely to ascertain whether you will admit to your crimes."
Harry stared at him incredulously. Fudge made it sound like they'd already proven he was guilty. This was ridiculous, absurd. Utterly unbelievable. "Admit to my -- You mean you want me to confess!"
Harry didn't feel a burn, so he glanced quickly around at the Aurors. The faces of Smythe, Pennywesh and Bidge were all ostensibly, studiously blank, but he thought he could see a furious gleam in each of their eyes. They were all glaring at Fudge through their cold, stony faces. This made Harry feel slightly better about things, but not much.
"Precisely," declared Fudge, beaming smugly.
"Mr. Potter," said Madame Tribble, "The first instance we wish to address is that of the 'Chamber of Secrets'..."
Harry's eyes got wide and he tensed up.
"I understand that you let a monster--"
"It was a basilisk, and I didn't--"
" --A basilisk loose on your fellow students." Madame Tribble stared at him shrewdly. "It is a fact that you are a Parselmouth, are you not?"
Harry was beginning to realize what was going on. He'd been accused of crimes that he wasn't going to be given the chance to defend himself of -- if this fiasco was going to get a trial, they'd already had it, without him. They'd done it to his godfather, and now they were doing it to him.
He didn't think they'd get away with it, but they were trying.
(Where was the Order?)
He hated Cornelius Fudge.
"Well, uh, yes, I am," Harry agreed reluctantly, but seeing the triumphant expressions on their faces, hurried to add, "But like I said, I didn't set the basilisk free! I killed it!"
Vaguely put-out, Fudge pressed, switching tactics easily, "Ah, well then, who did? I assume you know, having had to defeat their creature, as a potential threat to your future power."
Ginny, Harry thought, going pale. If I tell them, they'll do this to her, too. I will not incriminate Ginny!
"Does it matter?" he asked evasively. He knew that they could take his refusal to provide them with another culprit as evidence that he was lying about not having done it, but he would rather get himself in trouble than do that to any of the Weasleys.
Madame Tribble looked down her nose at him, whispering something to Fudge. Whatever it was she said, it seemed to please Fudge, for he puffed his chest out just a bit, looking smug.
"Very well," the Minister declared. "Moving on, there is the matter of you assisting an escaped convict to evade Ministry personal..."
Realizing that they must mean Sirius, Harry groaned resignedly and prepared himself to defend the dead godfather who was the cause for most of his recent depression.
This wasn't going to be fun.