Harry didn't know what time it was when the tray of his breakfast was pushed roughly through the door. He snorted awake, incredibly confused when he was staring at a blank concrete wall and not the hangings of his four poster bed. Like plunging into a cold bath, the horror of his situation returned in full force. He rubbed at his face, trying to scrub the hallucination from his eyes but the wall remained. All four walls remained.

He felt stiff and ill as he drew himself to sit up. He grimly went to see what fare his jailors had prepared for him. He saw a bowl of porridge, uninspiring, yet next to it was a sheath of parchment and a stick of what looked oddly like charcoal. He pushed himself up, groaning at his stiff body, and crossed the very short distance. A small lilac memo sat still folded as a small aeroplane. He picked it up, unfolding it.

We have reviewed the evidence that has been brought against you and will start the interview process today at 10am.

Writing utensils have been provided. Please note that any correspondence you wish to make must be with your legal representative only.

There was no signature, no sign of who had given him the parchment. He didn't recognise the hand and he was fairly certain it hadn't come from Kingsley. It didn't sound like him. Harry placed it back on the tray and then carried everything over to his desk. He scowled at the charcoal stick. Of course, if they were too paranoid about him having glasses, they wouldn't let him have a sharp quill.

His insides were squirming at the thought of being 'interviewed'. He didn't need a vivid imagination to work out that it would be incredibly invasive and difficult. He ignored the porridge, feeling too sick to contemplate eating. Why had the memo bothered to give him a time when he had no idea what the time even was? For all he knew, he had minutes before they came to take him for his interrogation.

He walked back to the door, frustrated at the lack of consideration for the simplest things. Sure, he was essentially a prisoner in their custody, but just leaving him locked up without a clue seemed like they wanted him disorientated and on the back foot. The woman who processed him hadn't appeared cruel in any way. In fact, she seemed sympathetic.

Steeling himself, Harry knocked on the metal door.

"Hello?"

He jumped a little at how loud his voice sounded in the stuffy silence of his cell. He then grimaced at how stupid he felt, calling out to his jailors.

The hatch at the bottom of his door suddenly slammed open. Harry yelped in shock, staggering back.

"What is it, Potter?" A gruff voice asked from the other side. Harry gaped at the open hatch in alarm. Had someone been outside his room the whole time ? He then remembered what Kingsley had said. They were taking his security very seriously. A guard outside at all times. Not to stop him from escaping, of course. He was useless without his wand. They were there to protect him.

"Er… any chance you can tell me the time?" Harry asked, his voice horribly meek. Being locked in a cell had humbled him considerably.

"Just past half eight."

He let out a breath of relief. He had some time to prepare himself for the ordeals ahead. He looked down at the ground, his heart starting to race again. It was only then that he noticed that he hadn't been given any shoes or socks. His feet were bare.

"Could… could I have something to wear on my feet?"

The question was met with silence for a moment, then the guard spoke, sounding surprised.

"You don't have any shoes?"

"Um, no."

"Why didn't you say anything?" The guard was baffled. Harry stared at the open hatch.

"Er… because I'm under arrest?" Harry said, inwardly wincing at saying it out loud. He then heard a frustrated sigh. "I didn't think I could ask for anything." He added, trying to explain himself.

"We'll get you some shoes." The guard grumbled. "Anything else, Potter?"

A lawyer would be nice. Harry thought grimly.

"No… thank you," he said instead. The guard grunted in response and slammed the hatch shut, cutting Harry off from the world once again. He pressed his hands against his eyes. The lack of his glasses was already giving him a headache.

He chose to have a shower to give him something to do. The warm water helped clear his mind a little, giving him time to refocus and push aside the mind-numbing fear that was muddling his thoughts. His fear was making him stupid. If he didn't pull himself together, his enemies would have him exactly where they wanted him - out of the way and vulnerable.

At the thought of his enemies, Harry cautiously traced a finger over his scar as the water streamed down his face. It hadn't bothered him while in the Ministry cell. He would have thought by now Voldemort had learned of his predicament. He had his spies in the Ministry, after all. Harry half-expected his scar to erupt with glee and triumph.

A horrible thought sprung to mind then. What if he had an episode during the interview? How could he explain that away without proving the rumours that his scar made him unhinged?

"Shit…" he murmured, turning off the water. He remembered the news article about him last year, how it sparked everything off about the doubts around his sanity. If he wasn't careful, Fudge could easily manipulate the case against him and have him set into a secure wing in St Mungo's instead of Azkaban. Whatever he said in defence for himself, it could be dismissed as the ramblings of a mad man.

Stepping out the shower, Harry looked out to the desk where he left the parchment and the charcoal stick.

"If I can't speak for my own defence, what do I do?" He grabbed his single towel, drying himself as he walked to the desk.

Trust Amelia Bones. That was what Kingsley said. Harry scrubbed the back of his head with the towel as he thought fiercely. She had been fair during his Hearing and he did know her niece. In fact, Susan had been a member of the DA.

He pulled on his clothes and quickly dropped himself in the seat at the desk. He pushed the porridge aside. It was cold and unwanted. He snatched the charcoal and the parchment, settling it down in front of him.

He dragged through his memories, going as far back as before Hogwarts when he lived at the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia loved watching law dramas during the afternoon when Vernon was at work. Sometimes, if Harry finished his chores on time, he was allowed to sit quietly and watch the TV with her. She would sniff and make commentary about the characters, mostly to herself. Harry never spoke. He only ever listened.

But he had learnt. He remembered the really dramatic shows where the innocent were put to trial and the heroic lawyer fought to get them off. They would have witnesses to testify on their behalf, the chance to present evidence to the jury, and then a chance to make their own defence when cross-examined by both the prosecution and the defence.

Of course, magical law was different. Harry experienced that for himself when he was tried before the Wizengamot for a trifle. There was no jury, no unbiased group of civilians to make a verdict. Instead he would go against the representatives of wizarding Britain, all who knew exactly who he was, already had their biases about him. They were corruptible, susceptible to bribes, perhaps even threats.

But what if he could prove that he was in the right? What if he could prove that his actions had been made for the right intentions? Would they still let Fudge accuse him of conspiracy then? Would they send him to Azkaban for fighting against a corrupt Minister and his even more corrupt toadie just so he could help his friends learn how to protect themselves against mass murderers?

Harry scratched the charcoal on the parchment, his mind finally loosening from the shackles of fear.

Get testimonies from the DA

Expose Fudge

Prove Voldemort's back

He sat back at his short list and gave a bitter laugh.

"Easy enough," he said to himself in a low voice. The top item would be a challenge if he couldn't actually write to anyone. Maybe he could request them as part of his defence.

Maybe they're already trying to help. He wondered, his thoughts drifting to his friends. By now, they surely knew what had happened to him. He hadn't returned to the Common Room for a start. Hermione would have worked it out, that much he knew. And he also knew that she would be likely fretting that he was in such trouble. Blaming herself too.

He considered the second item. As he did, he ran a finger over the scars over the back of his left hand. He had proof on him that Umbridge would go to extreme lengths to silence him, but he could just imagine how easy it would be for her and Fudge to say that he wrote it on his hand himself. It was his handwriting. How could he prove that she made him do it in detention? Only they had been present in her office and if Aurors went to search her office, she could easily hide the evidence.

But I'm not the only one.

He remembered Lee Jordan's bleeding hand. How many others had been subjected to the corporal punishment like he had? He was pretty certain that whatever the quill was, it wasn't a conventional punishment. Somehow he doubted parents would be too pleased that Hogwarts had descended into the dark ages as far as discipline was concerned.

He sighed. He would need help to expose Umbridge and Fudge for their censorship and silencing of the truth. His word just wasn't enough.

Which brought him to the last goal. Proving that Voldemort was back. He rubbed at his scar. Any real evidence would have been long since covered up since June. He couldn't imagine Voldemort leaving any signs behind at the graveyard outside Little Hangleton. He was the only witness who would talk and few believed him. He barely made it out of there alive, bringing Cedric's body with him.

Cedric's body…

Harry seethed as he remembered Umbridge dismissing his death as a 'tragic accident'. Anyone could have seen that Cedric hadn't died from an accident. There had not been a single mark on him. The signs of the Killing Curse were unmistakable.

So why did no one question it? Harry frowned, kneading his knuckles against his forehead. It was only then that he realised just how odd the lack of response from the Ministry was. Why did no one investigate Cedric's death? Not a single Auror questioned him as a witness… or even as a suspect. He was the last to see Cedric alive. That should have been suspicious, but no… nothing had happened. Fudge had been the only response to the incident and he…

Harry raised his head, eyes going wide.

"Oh shit…"

The only person who corroborated Harry's story had been Barty Crouch Junior. The one responsible for Harry's kidnapping, for putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. He confessed to everything under veritaserum, an undisputed account. Fudge's response? He had him Kissed.

Harry's head started to spin. Again, in Third Year, when Fudge showed up when Sirius got caught, he didn't wait for justice to be done. He made the order to have Sirius kissed, no questions asked. Only Dumbledore questioned Sirius and made the move to intervene. Why was the Minister dispensing justice? Wasn't that the job of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? The job of the Aurors?

Was Fudge preventing them from doing their job? Was he purposefully stopping them from uncovering the truth?

He started to write more notes. His heart was thudding as adrenaline spiked, energised at the thought of fighting back. A grim smile pulled at his lips. If they wanted him to talk, he'd talk. There was nothing Fudge could do to stop him.

His fingers were blackened from the awkward charcoal when he heard the scraping at his door as the guards came to escort him to his interview session. Harry nervously pulled on the outer robe of his inmate uniform, hastily going to wash his hands. The door clunked open. Harry looked over, backing up. Two guards entered his cell. The first threw something down on the floor. The clatter made Harry jump. He looked down, seeing a pair of plain plimsolls.

"Put these on, Potter."

His instinctive response to be insolent and difficult spiked up at once, but he squashed it. Being uncooperative would not help him in the slightest. He had to be on his best behaviour and do all he could to keep everyone around him civil. He knew from experience from living with the Dursleys that sometimes swallowing his pride and appeasing his tormentors benefited him far better than getting a small piece of satisfaction from acting out.

He stooped down and pulled the shoes on, noticing that they resized to fit around his cold feet. When he straightened, the guards were at either side. He glanced at them, not recognising either.

"You didn't eat your breakfast?" The one on his left noticed. Harry just shrugged.

"I… I wasn't exactly hungry."

The other grunted, noncommittal, and pulled his cuffs free from his belt. Harry froze at the sight of them.

"Arms in front." Harry swallowed and did as he was told, bringing his arms up and his wrists together in a show of surrender. The guard didn't meet his eyes as he locked the cuffs around his wrists. Harry lowered his bound wrists, face twitching from the discomfort. Just like the ones Kingsley slapped on him in Dumbledore's office, they were solid bands of metal with no slack. He couldn't move his wrists apart. The weight of the metal dragged his hands down, hanging limply.

"Alright, we're not going far. The Interview rooms are just through processing." The guard who asked about his breakfast lightly took his arm. Harry didn't resist as they led him out into the hallway. His shoes squeaked on the concrete as he tentatively walked between his escort. It felt so incredibly unnecessary. What did they think he could do? He didn't have a wand and he was pretty lightweight. He wouldn't be able to fight them off, much less the entire Ministry that stood between him and the exit.

It was just as quiet in the processing room as it had been when he had been signed in. No one stood at the desks and Harry could only spy blurred shapes through the entrance he had come through when Kingsley brought him in. Without his glasses, everything was lost behind a smudged haze, courtesy of his particular bad case of myopia that he had for as long as he could remember. He could only really see what was directly in front of him. It made for a disorientating experience, navigating the world half-blind.

"Can… can I ask what the process is?" Harry dared to say as his guards guided him over to where he spotted some doors in the far wall. He could see signs above the doors but he couldn't read them.

"Well, first they need to question you about the crime that you've been arrested for." The guard on his left said hesitantly. "Normally, the arresting officer would lead any questioning, but this has been pushed up the chain."

Harry rocked his head back, closing his eyes briefly as he walked in step.

"Great." He said darkly. "I'm guessing that this has something to do with me being… well… me."

"That and it's the Minister that's leading the charges. I have to say it, kid. You've got yourself in a whole load of trouble."

Harry glared side-along at him and lifted his bound wrists.

"I've figured that out for myself, thanks."

Coming up to the doors, Harry could just make out the plaques. There were three interview rooms. It was obvious which one he was going in. A shining orb of green gleamed in the handle of 'Interview Room 1'.

The guard on his right opened the door. The room beyond was brilliantly lit. Harry squinted against the glare as he was brought inside. Their footsteps clanged loudly in the cube box as they entered. Harry's head craned around, taking in as much of his surroundings as he could. It was a bare, box room with a table taking up much of the space. On one side of the table, two seats had been set out, the other had just one. Harry knew where he was going.

They led him to the lone chair. As he approached, he looked down at the table, his reflection peering back up at him. The surface was polished to a high shine.

"Sit down, Potter."

Harry looked over at the man who had addressed him. He steeled himself and obeyed, lowering himself in the chair. He jumped in surprise when the other guard tucked him, pushing the chair with Harry perched upon it. The guard checked that he was sitting with his legs fully under the table, his chest pretty much touching the edge.

"Put your hands on the table."

He shivered as he raised his arms, resting them on the table with a clunk. The guard gripped the left cuff and manoeuvred Harry's wrists so the bottom of the bands settled into a grove in front of him. With a click, the bands fixed in place. Harry jumped and tried to pull away, but he was stuck fast to the table.

"Sorry, kid. It's procedure. Madame Bones will be sitting in on your interview and we can't take any risks around important personnel."

Harry let out a laugh.

"What exactly do you think I can do like this?" He asked them, incredulous and very scared. It was one thing to be restrained, but as he was, he couldn't move from his position without taking the table with him - which, he noticed, was bolted to the floor.

"You'd be surprised," the other guard said, crossing his arms as he looked Harry in the eye. "Accidental magic happens a lot more when stressed." Harry lifted his chin, looking at the guard, wincing as his shoulders already started to ache from the uncomfortable position. He didn't argue with the guard, recalling how he had blown up Aunt Marge when 'stressed'.

To his surprise, the guards filtered out of the room, leaving him shackled to the table, quite unable to move. With him fastened to the table, there was no need to shut the door. He saw them moving to stand guard on either side of the door. He grimly ducked his head. He knew their presence outside wasn't to keep him secured, but to guard him from any threats. At least they were taking that seriously enough.

Harry then looked around the room, trying to control himself. He twisted his wrists, trying to get comfortable even with the bands of metal trapping him in place. It was small and very claustrophobic. His neck prickled and he had every suspicion that he was being closely watched. He rubbed his fingers over the smooth table top, the metal cool under his hot, sweaty hands.

Voices erupted in the room outside. Harry's head perked up, listening. He heard a loud, barking voice, sounding impatient and authoritative. A lower voice then responded, feminine. He rolled his sore shoulders, straining his hearing that was usually impeccably sharp.

"Is the suspect ready?" The gravelly unfamiliar voice demanded. Harry could see them through the door, blurred in his poor vision. He saw a man of gingery, grey hair and red robes but no other details.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We have a full force at front to stop the bloody reporters getting in, but I want you to stay out here. Just in case one of Fudge's lot tries to strong-arm their way past security."

Harry listened intently, feeling a stirring of hope at the displeasure the man showed towards the Minister. He didn't like the sound of there being reporters close by. That meant his arrest had gone public, then.

The speaker then entered. He paused a moment, considering Harry cuffed to the table, then he strode inside, his details becoming clearer. He was extremely tall and had a mane of greying auburn hair. He wasn't alone. Behind him came a figure that Harry recognised. She was shorter than her companion, stocky, in deep blue robes. He could see the outline of her monocle.

"Close us in and raise the charms." She ordered the guards. The door clanked shut, plunging the room into a weird muffled silence that Harry knew was charmed. No sound was getting in and no sound was getting out.

"Mr Potter, although we have met before, I will still introduce myself," she said at once, not wasting any time. She passed the wizard and strode up to where Harry sat. "I am Madame Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Due to your high profile, my presence is required for your interview."

As if on command, the maned wizard set down two folders on the table. One large bulky purple folder and a smaller, thinner green file. The purple one caught Harry's eye, it being the Ministry's colour. He could see the gold sigil of the Ministry, then underneath, immediately noticeable even upside were three words.

Potter, Harry James

Stamped in large black letters across the nearest corner was the reason why Amelia Bones had to be present.

Extremely Confidential.

"Only myself, the Minister and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot can open this folder." She explained, resting her hand on the purple leather. "I daresay, Mr Potter, you are by far the youngest wizard with a file so secret."

She then looked over to the man who pulled out the seats for them both to take.

"This is Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office." Scrimgeour lifted his head, his eyes meeting Harry's. He gave him a nod as he took his seat.

"I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, Potter, but I don't think we should start this so early with falsehoods." He said gruffly, dragging the green folder to him. Amelia stiffened a little at his hostile tone but said nothing. Harry could sense the animosity immediately, honed to detect threatening behaviour takes to his less than pleasant upbringing.

She gave Harry a curt nod and went to take her seat. The moment she flared out her robes and settled down, Scrimgeour cleared his throat.

"Commencing the first interview of Harry James Potter. Interrogator: Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office." The maned man suddenly said, his voice oddly emotionless. "Supervisor: Amelia Bones."

Harry glanced around, wondering then if the interview was being recorded and if so, how? Obviously there weren't any cameras, yet he had felt that he was being watched when he arrived.

"The purpose of this interview is to question Potter on his role as a suspected accomplice to a conspiracy against the Ministry, spearheaded by Albus Dumbledore who confessed to his intentions last night before evading arrest." Scrimgeour continued, opening the green folder. Harry glanced down, seeing many sheaths of assorted documents stacked inside. Multicoloured tabs stuck out, scribbled with notes, labelling each document. His heart jumped.

That must be all the evidence about the DA.

"Potter, you reserve the right to refuse to answer any of my questions, however doing so may harm your defence. The transcript of this interview may be used as evidence against you. Do you understand?"

Harry licked at his dry lips, looking over to Madame Bones who was staring at him intently. Panic fluttered in his chest, but he forced himself to remain focused.

"Yes."

Amelia then laced her fingers together, still staring, not taking her eyes off him. Her stare made Harry very uncomfortable, but he couldn't afford to let his nerves get the better of him.

Scrimgeour gave a curt nod and leafed through his file. His fingers picked on a red tab and drew out two sheaths of parchment. One he pushed towards Harry, turning it so he could read it.

"I'm presenting Potter with Evidence Article One. This, according to a witness, is the members' list of the illegal vigilante group that Dumbledore instigated."

Harry did his best to hide his stab of anger at the lie. Vigilante group? He looked down at the condemning list, his own name written in his hasty hand at the top. Slowly, he looked down the list, feeling increasingly sick. Would they all get into trouble?

"Potter, can you confirm that your name is on the list?"

Harry looked up at the head Auror. "Yes."

"At the top… and that is your handwriting, correct?"

"It is," Harry agreed. He lightly licked at his bottom lip, thinking quickly. He had to take responsibility for the DA away from Dumbledore if he had a chance of defending their motives. He was already in a lot of trouble, but he could control how much trouble. Taking the fall for the DA was a lot better than being labelled as an accomplice to a hostile takeover. He just had to somehow make his evidence more compelling than Umbridge's and Fudge's.

"At the time that this list was written, the forming of such a… gathering wasn't necessarily illegal. Ill-advised, certainly, and in bad taste, but following the initial meeting that we know occurred on 10th October in The Hog's Head pub, the Minister enacted Educational Decree 24."

Scrimgeour drew out the other document, turning it so Harry could read it. Harry glanced down at it, recognising it as a copy of the decree that Umbridge put up all over the school.

"I am presenting Potter with a copy of the decree. I will read the important part for the benefit of the recording." Harry glanced around then. So this is being recorded? How? "'No Student Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled'."

Harry shifted in his seat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, listening, paying as much attention as he could.

"Did you seek permission from the High Inquisitor for you to continue your group, Potter?" Scrimgeour asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Verbal responses, if you will," Madame Bones interjected. Harry swallowed.

"No, I didn't."

"Yet last night when you were apprehended, you were fleeing the scene where you were meeting with this group. You broke the decree knowing that the risk would be expulsion. All of these students… excepting Miss Edgecombe… should be expelled." Scrimgeour snatched back the document. "It makes me wonder why so many students, many of which are from respectable families, would go against a Ministry order. It makes me wonder who convinced them."

Harry drew in a breath. It's now or never.

"It wasn't Dumbledore if that's what you're suggesting," Harry said, a little surprised at how firm his voice was despite his shaking. Scrimgeour's mouth moved to form a grim smile. He fished through the documents again, taking a thicker stack that was tied together with tabs.

"Indeed? Then who did?"

Harry looked up at him.

"Umbridge did." He said, then saw Scrimgeour's eyebrows shoot up. "Of course, not in person, but she was refusing to teach us defensive magic in class so we decided to take matters in our own hands. She wasn't teaching the curriculum properly and it's OWLs year so-."

"Hold it there, Potter," Scrimgeour cut over him. He turned the sheath of parchment around, turning the pages. "For the record, I'm showing Potter the transcript of Dumbledore's arrest and confession." He found the page he was after and jabbed a finger down. He stared at Harry intensely.

"Do you expect us to believe that Dumbledore's Army was a study group?" He asked him. "When you were present when Dumbledore himself confessed to the purpose of the group… that he was recruiting these students to be involved in his plots against the Minister?" Harry stiffly looked down at the transcript, seeing the damning confession for himself. His jaw tensed.

"I do because what Dumbledore said wasn't true. You can clearly see that he was lying. He said that yesterday's meeting was to be the first one and that he was there to see if we were interesting in joining him, right?" He strained his bound hands over to point at the speech. He looked up at Scrimgeour, seeing him glance down to where Harry was indicated. "You don't think he would have to be present for it? Sort of goes against the point, don't you think?"

Scrimgeour met his eyes, a small hint of appraisal flickering in his yellowish eyes. It was gone before Harry could test if he imagined it. Harry glanced over to Madame Bones and continued.

"The first meeting, the one you know about at the Hog's Head. Was Dumbledore there?" Harry then pointed over to the members' list. "Did that witness who Umbridge had there...Willy Whatshisface... did he report that Dumbledore was there, spewing speeches to bring us over to his cause?"

Scrimgeour's mouth twitched.

"We have already ascertained that the first meeting was not illegal."

"But it was when the group was founded and named," Harry said. "We came up with the DA so it could have two meanings - The Defence Association and Dumbledore's Army. One was the real purpose of the group and the other… was a joke… because we know about how paranoid Fudge is." He swallowed. "And you'd know that because we said as much at the first meeting. Maybe you should get hold of that witness and ask him what he heard. He seemed to know a lot."

Amelia Bones leaned a little forwards, catching Scrimgeour's attention. He turned his head in her direction, then drew back the transcript from in front of Harry.

"If Dumbledore was not responsible for the group, why did he claim otherwise in front of the Minister and two Aurors?"

Harry's stomach clenched with guilt. "Because I messed up. He was trying to protect me from getting expelled."

"He would go to such lengths to shield you from facing the consequences of your actions?" Scrimgeour shot at him at once. "Albus Dumbledore would sacrifice his reputation and his freedom for you?"

Oh no…

Harry took a deep breath.

"Yes because… Hogwarts is the only place where I'm safe. Expelled and without… my wand, I'd be vulnerable and… well…" He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, looking away. Don't talk about Voldemort yet. Stick with what they can't deny. "Whatever you believe, whether or not you think I'm an attention seeking brat spewing lies, you can't deny that there are ten ex-convicts at large all who were Death Eaters and all who might have a vendetta against me. Expulsion for me is pretty much a death sentence."

While not exactly true, as he would likely get to stay at Grimmauld Place with Sirius, they didn't know that he had access to such a place.

Scrimgeour scowled at him and rested his fingers together, scrutinsing him.

"If your life is in so much danger, why did you break a decree that would have you expelled?" He asked him. Harry sighed, looking down at the DA members' list. "Were you forming an army for your own protection?"

"What?" Harry snapped, angered. "Of course not! I told you. The name was a joke." He shook his head, frustrated. "I was teaching them how to defend themselves!"

Scrimgeour looked at him intently.

"You were leading lessons?"

"Yes! Because Umbridge refuses to teach herself. She doesn't want any student using magic in her class. The only time we're allowed to use practical magic is during the practical test in our OWL exam!" Harry exclaimed. " That is what Fudge wants at Hogwarts. Students who are unprepared and unthreatening because he fears the students being used against him."

Harry looked over to Madame Bones.

"If you don't believe me, the evidence is all there at Hogwarts. You just need to look at the educational decrees that Umbridge is rolling out. And if anyone questions her, well…"

He shot a glare at Scrimgeour, then flexed his left hand, showing them the scars. Madame Bones looked at his hand, her brows furrowing as she focused on the lines on his skin.

"So yes, sir, I lead lessons. I lead the DA and I did it knowing that if I got caught, I would be expelled. Dumbledore had nothing to do with it," he balled his left hand into a fist, "so if you want to accuse me of a crime, make sure that it's the right one."

He took in a deep breath, his head giving a spin as a swelling silence grew in the wake of his furious tirade. Scrimgeour stared at him, his mouth settling into a grim line that made dread sear through him. Had he just made a terrible mistake?

"So you are claiming that this organisation was not a militia but an unapproved study club. Should I refer to you as 'Professor Potter'?" Scrimgeour scathingly said after the silence became unbearable. He gave a short, mocking laugh. Anger burned in Harry's stomach. He then clenched both fists and sat forwards.

"Before I started the first meeting of the DA, most of those students couldn't properly disarm. Only two out of the whole DA even knew how to cast a shield charm."

Scrimgeour's bitter, mocking smile slid a little, his mouth turning downwards.

"Since October, when we started, I've taught how to shield, stun, summon, repel. I taught basic duelling stances, how to move in combat… how to dodge." Harry hunched forwards, glaring at the Head Auror. "Can you believe it that most students in the DA didn't even know that you can dodge a curse? So tell me, is that acceptable to you? As an Auror, do you think that it's right that underage students are purposefully being kept from learning how to defend themselves?"

Scrimgeour looked at him directly, about to say something scathing, but Madame Bones lifted a hand, resting it on his arm. He looked over at her, his eyes widening in surprise.

"If indeed the standards of Hogwarts have slipped so low, it will need to come under review." She said, speaking for the first time since the interview started. Harry looked at her and gave a stunned laugh.

"It already is under Ministry review!" Harry exclaimed. "Why the Hell is Dolores Umbridge at Hogwarts in the first place?"

Silence. Scrimgeour looked unsettled for the first time and he looked down at the members list for a moment. Amelia Bones then reached for the list, taking it in her own hands. She considered the list for a moment, then lowered it, frowning.

"That, Potter, is a very good question." Her voice was low. She then pushed the list back towards Scrimgeour. "Will these students corroborate your story? That you were indeed teaching defensive magic that students their age should already have mastery over?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Yes, of course they will. It's the truth."

"Then until we have testimonies from these students, questioning Potter on the subject will get us no further. Rufus… conclude this session."

He didn't look pleased as he drew out his wand and cancelled whatever it was that recorded their interview. Harry noticed that the lights dimmed a little.

Amelia Bones then held out her hand to Harry.

"Show me your left hand, Potter." Scrimgeour pushed the documents back into his file, watching on sourly. Harry hesitantly pushed his left hand as far as it could go.

"I must not tell lies," she read in a hushed voice. Her mouth twitched and she carefully lifted his hand up, moving his skin into the light. "Deep scarring and precise too. This is not the result of a single cut, but many." She put his hand back down and he caught an intense flash of outrage behind her monocle. "Rufus, permit me a moment with Mr Potter alone. I trust your discretion?"

"Of course, Amelia," he said gruffly as he pushed himself up to his feet. He didn't spare Harry another look as he gathered up the file and went to leave the room. Harry watched, bewildered. The door clunked open and Scrimgeour left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The atmosphere in the room lightened at once without his hostile presence. Harry didn't relax. He couldn't with his shoulders tensed and sore, arms trapped as they were.

"Last night was the first time I had a look at your file," Amelia said at once, not going for dramatic pauses. Harry looked down at the file in question. The purple confidential file was resting between them. "It was quite the interesting read but… not for the reasons you expect." She tapped at the purple cover. "It was interesting because there was nothing to read. Other than your instances of underage magic, and the accident involving Marge Dursley, any and all reports that there should be are absent. There is no report about your involvement with the Chamber of Secrets in '93, nor your involvement with Sirius Black in '94. More worryingly, Mr Potter, is the sheer lack of any documentation surrounding the events of last year - not your illegal participation in the Triwizard Tournament or the events of 24th June. At the very least, there should have been some mention of you during the inquest."

She pushed the file aside. "Now, as I told you, only three people have access to your file. While Albus Dumbledore held the seat as Chief Warlock, nothing could have prevented him from controlling what was placed on record about you."

Her brow lowered over her monocle again.

"Why is Dumbledore covering for you, Mr Potter?"

"He isn't," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I have no idea why there's so little on me, but I don't think he would cover up. Actually, I think he would rather that things had been handled properly." He looked up at her. "He would want justice to be done and not covered up, like with… Cedric and…" He shrugged. "Me."

She hummed thoughtfully and regarded him closely.

"I agree with you," she said, "which alarms me greatly, Mr Potter, because if it was not me who has ensured your file be so redacted, and it was not Dumbledore, then that leaves only one culprit."

He looked at her in surprise.

"You.. you mean Fudge has been covering up?"

She gave a grave nod.

"I do and to say as much is sedition, however the evidence continues to mount up. I can no longer ignore it. Either he is concealing evidence to save his position and cover up his incompetence… or there is another motive. He is sabotaging you on orders."

With that, she rose to her feet. She collected the file as she stood, fixing Harry with a firm, serious look.

"You have many enemies and few allies. You may count on me as an ally, Harry. I will help you but you must know that this will be a very difficult time for you. Every piece of privacy will be scraped away, every secret exposed, every word analysed." She paced towards him as she spoke. He felt cold at the implications of her words. "But you are a brave young man and every part your parents' son. Help me prove that Fudge is an accomplice to Lord Voldemort, willing or not, and together we can begin our stand against the true enemy."

After her speech, she took her wand and tapped the table. Harry's cuffs were freed from the groove. He immediately pulled his arms back to himself, cradling them almost protectively to his lap.

"If… if I can trust you, I assume that means you believe me about… everything," he said cautiously, not willing to allow himself to hope just yet.

"I do and you will find that more people believe you than you realise. You have that advantage." She headed to the door, looking back at him. "Which is why first, we must plant the seeds of doubt and to do so, you need to make a public appearance."

"W-what?"

"Fudge has been leaning on the press for too long," she said. "I think it is time we give them a bitter potion to swallow."

The Boy Behind Bars

Following the unbelievable news of Albus Dumbledore's plot to overthrow the Minister from power and supplant himself into the role of leadership, the rumours of his accomplice's arrest have been confirmed. This morning, at nine o'clock, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, announced his statement - which is in full on page 5. Dumbledore's accomplice is, of course, none other than fifteen-year-old Harry Potter. Now currently in Ministry custody, Potter was arrested at Hogwarts after his involvement in Dumbledore's heinous schemes were unveiled. Dumbledore fled the scene, abandoning his young charge to face his crimes. The Minister has announced that Potter will be charged with Conspiracy, Sedition and Fraud. If his charges against Potter are approved, the boy will go to Trial and face the very real threat of imprisonment within Azkaban.

The cowardly flight from justice does indeed reveal the true colours of the wizard once heralded as the greatest of his age. His escape left a young, impressionable boy to take the fall for him. Sources say that the Boy Who Lived has been denied visitors, any correspondence, and as he is famously without family support, no legal representation. Indeed, mere hours ago, Harry Potter was seen escorted from the Interview Room in detainee garb and inhibitors. As an underage offender, Potter must be detained in the Ministry, however it is not Auror protocol to restrain inmates. In fact, we find ourselves asking if these measures are necessary. Is Harry Potter unhinged and dangerous as some claim? Or is he a victim of manipulation and, perhaps, injustice?

Cont… on page 3.

It didn't matter how many times Hermione re-read the article. No matter how many times she seized the paper and stared intently at the huge photograph that dominated the spread, she couldn't help the person moving in the picture. Over and over, the reel repeating, guards escorting Harry through a bleak looking room, the picture slightly shaky as if taken in a panic. Two guards held Harry by his upperarms, marching him off. Harry, to Hermione's initial surprise, had his head down and appeared to be cooperative. She could read his body language, the tense shoulders, the stiff walk. He was very on edge.

At the end of the loop, Harry glanced up at the camera, noticing the photographer. He is without his glasses and squints, but the rest of his face is unmistakeable. His face is in full view, so unmistakably him. What horrified her wasn't what the article called his clothing 'detainee garb'. They looked fairly normal and plain. No prisoner number emblazoned on his robes or something else dehumanising. What had made her actually sick were the thick cuffs of metal, solid around his wrists. His hands were bound in front of him. Not just his hands. They were 'inhibitors'. That hadn't just caged him, but his magic as well.

She rubbed at her eyes and then, she tucked her knees under her chin and stared out the window. Her thoughts were immediately on Harry. She couldn't bear the thought of him in a cell, locked up, alone and scared. What were the Ministry doing to him? Interrogating him for long hours at a time? Would they resort to using barbaric methods like Umbridge?

Would they hurt him?

Desperate to pull herself away from those thoughts, she studied the article again. Her eyes rested on the point about how Harry wasn't allowed any visits or communication…

Her eyes fixed on the point about legal representation.

While in our custody, you have the right to legal counsel and representation.

Kingsley's words while he told Harry his rights came to her. By denying Harry access to legal representation, they were preventing his rights. Hermione gripped the paper in her hands, her face splitting into a smile. An idea started to form in her mind. She didn't know any justicars, any experts in magical law. She just had her books and the Library. Yet she had helped Harry with preparing for his hearing, she looked into the Law and she could do so again. She could act as his legal counsel and there was nothing the Ministry could do to stop her from talking to Harry. As far as she knew, there was no Law preventing her from being her legal aide. Why would they stop her? The Minister wanted Harry to fail, wanted him behind bars and shut up for good. If a girl came to his defence, he'd laugh himself silly and sign the approval.

Her mind bursting with inspiration, her heart jumping with hope, she dived for her bag for parchment. There was just no way she would ever sit idle while Umbridge sat with that smug look of triumph on her face. Not after this.

When Ron returned to the Common Room with a beleaguered Gryffindor Quidditch team in tow, he discovered the very familiar sight of Hermione writing with a fury. Her hands were splodged with blue ink, some spots even dusting her skin, joining with the freckles. He shuffled over to her, drenched through. She twisted in her seat, her eyes wild with determination. With a bound up from her seat, she crashed into Ron, grabbing his arms.

"We need everyone from the DA to write to the Ministry."

"W-What?" Ron tiredly blinking to focus on her.

"Testimonies, Ron, we need them. I… need to work out how to get them to the Ministry without Umbridge stopping them…"

Angelina and Katie were drawn over, all looking tired and peaky like Ron. She faced them.

"We need your help too," she said, her attention on the girls. "I expect Umbridge's classes are less than adequate for NEWT-level."

Ron shook his head, clearing his thoughts enough to work out what Hermione was talking about. He rubbed at his head.

"Bloody Hell, Hermione, slow down. We're done in."

She bristled, letting go of his shoulders.

"I can't slow down, Ron! Who else is going to help Harry? He has no one. Dumbledore can't help him. Sir- Snuffles can't. He has no family and no support… he's all alone." She stepped up to him, his pale face looking up at her in shock. Tears, hot and stinging, smarted in the corner of her eyes. She grabbed the newspaper and thrust it at Ron. He scrambled back a bit, trying to see the cover, rain water dripping off his fringe.

"Look! Look what they're doing to him." She near shrieked. Practically everyone in the Common room was watching then. "They're treating him like a criminal!"

"Merlin's Arse…" Ron said quietly as he read the article. Rain dripped on the paper. "They… can't do this."

"They are. And they can do so much worse. We have to help… we're the only ones who can."

Ron lowered the paper, paler than before. Silence filled the Common Room and Hermione looked around, seeing then all the eyes on her.

"I'll help," Colin Creevey said, moving from his fourth year friends, "what do you need?"

"Me too," Neville said, then Dean smacked Seamus's arm.

"Count us in."

More voices joined in as others stepped forward, even Gryffindors who weren't in the DA. Before long, the voices were getting louder.

"We'll show Umbitch what Gryffindor is about!" Lee Jordan shouted.

"They can't silence us forever!" Someone else cried out angrily.

"Justice for Potter!"

Hermione beamed, looking around, the noise filling her with hope. She turned over to the window, her thoughts going to the person whose voice should be raised with the others in a rallying cry.

Hold on, Harry.