AN: This chapter was written by me, StellaStarMagic.
June 15, 1998
"So, the Wizengamot will be present as well?"
Daphne hummed her confirmation, noting the distinct tone of displeasure in Harry's voice. "The presence of a full Wizengamot jury is not mandatory for the early court hearings but it was stated in the letter that every member has to be present once the trials of Hogwarts students begin."
They had just exited the ice cream parlour and were now heading towards Gringotts, their pace leisurely and comfortable. It was an odd and unfamiliar situation she had found herself in. To be walking next to Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley through the streets of Diagon Alley while Harry Potter carried an infant – who, most certainly, was neither his nor Ginevra Weasley's child! – in a baby sling was not where she would have expected her Monday morning to go about. Yet, here she was doing exactly that. The curious gazes cast their way felt like a million pinpricks washing over her skin, making her so itchy and uncomfortable that she nearly broke her poise and raised her hand to adjust the tight collar around her neck. The hushed whispers from witches and wizards all around them seemed to magnify as if they were being screamed directly into her ears. How Harry and Ginevra were ignoring them was beyond her and she envied them for it.
Daphne couldn't help but wonder if she was being judged from afar and a traitorous, resentful voice in her head was telling her that that was exactly what was happening. After all, she was no stranger to doing the same thing to others on multiple occasions before. The bright blonde hair and gentle features along with her soft curves and aristocratic strut in her step always gave her away immediately as the eldest daughter of Aliénor and Symeon Greengrass. They had never been the Malfoys, of course, and would never be the Malfoys, but the Greengrasses had been a very recognizable family still. Once upon a time she had soaked that up. Now, however, she despised it.
"How's your sister?" Harry suddenly asked her.
They were walking past a row of closed shops, the doors and windows barred with thick wooden planks. Harry's godson was taking everything in with wide and curious eyes, his grubby little hands reaching and grabbing at something only he could see in the air. She envied him, this little innocent soul. There was nothing in his life he needed to worry about and he had the love of a doting godfather.
"Astoria is doing well, thank you. She has been feeling better since the war has ended."
"Was something wrong with her?"
Daphne turned to Harry, who had a surprisingly concerned expression on his face. "I apologize. I thought you knew. Astoria has just been a very sickly child since the day she was born."
"We magical people can treat muggle sicknesses without any trouble, remember?" Ginevra told him from his other side.
Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "Right, right."
"Astoria gets sick very easily, however. Her immune system is not strong enough to withstand even the weaker muggle ailments and she needs more care and medicine than your average witch or wizard would need. The stress from the war and so much death and destruction did not help," Daphne added with a whisper.
"I see...well, I'm glad she's doing better now."
Daphne glanced at Harry from the corner of her eyes and was surprised to see a genuine smile. It was fascinating to her to see him still care. The world had taken much from him and yet demanded even more and somehow he still managed to care. It was an inspiring quality to witness, she had to admit.
They reached Gringotts a few moments later and Professor McGonagall was already waiting for them outside the imposing marble building. Daphne noticed a pair of goblins standing guard in front the burnished bronze doors, clad in goblin-forged steel armour and holding large battle axes. The raised brow and slightly widened eyes showed the professor's surprise blatantly and Daphne couldn't blame her. After all, even she wouldn't have thought that a short detour for some mint and chocolate ice cream would result in this.
"Mister Potter, Miss Weasley – and who have we here?" Professor McGonagall's stern face softened at the sight of the baby in Harry's sling.
The little boy was gripping Professor McGonagall's finger with a coo, which made the headmistress's smile all the more radiant.
"Teddy," Harry answered softly, running his hand through the still ginger hair Teddy was sporting. "Remus's and Tonks's baby. I'm not sure if I told you or if someone else did, but they made me his godfather."
"And Teddy is lucky to have you, Harry," the Professor replied with a soft smile, which took on a sad quality a moment later. "Though it does feel improper to call him lucky when he is now an orphan as so many others, does it not?"
There it was. Daphne took a shaky breath as another victim of this war was added to the list which weighed so heavily on her mind. She had not killed or tortured or even unwittingly sent children to detention where they would end up being tortured. And yet, she felt so immeasurably guilty. How many more Teddy's were out there in Great Britain because of people like her? Because of people who stood by, adding fuel to a raging inferno with their disdain of muggles and muggle-borns? Not caring about the countless deaths, about the countless lives lost, about the countless families torn apart and destroyed forever? Families just like her own?
And that was ironic, wasn't it? Until it had impacted her own family – her own happy, loving and wrong family, she had not cared. The victims of this war had not mattered to her until she had become a victim herself.
How was this supposed to prove herself to be a good person? She desperately wanted to trust in Tori's judgement of her character, but that traitorous, self-destructive voice in her head was loud. It was so very loud and insisted on telling her that someone, who would only understand how terrible something was when it happened to them...was no better than those who committed the acts themselves. That standing by and remaining indifferentdid not make them a good person.
"...and I fed him a couple of hours ago already, but he should get hungry again soon–"
"Merlin's knickers, Harry – sorry, Professor – but mum will be there too. It's not like we've never seen babies in the Burrow before."
Despite her troubling thoughts, Daphne couldn't stop her lips from curling up at that. She hadn't expected Harry Potter to be such a...mum.
"I did not expect to see you, Miss Greengrass," the headmistress suddenly and rather unexpectedly addressed her.
Daphne blinked for a moment, before turning to face Hogwarts's headmistress. "Before heading to the ministry, I made a detour for some chocolate and mint ice cream when I met Harry and Ginevra at Fortescue's with young Teddy here...who, so I learned, is not the result of a secret and illicit love affair between Harry and Ginevra but a metamorphmagus instead."
"I should certainly hope so," Headmistress McGonagall said with a raised brow towards the furiously blushing pair.
"Yes, then Harry offered that I should join you two so we could head to the ministry together," Daphne continued her explanation. "I hope you do not mind."
"I rather approve even," Professor McGonagall answered, again with a small smile on her lips. Pansy and she had had a bet going on whether Professor McGonagall had ever smiled in her life and she was sure that she had just won. "After these horrific past years, I believe it to be high time that we move on from old prejudices and mistakes. Find solace and guidance in new connections instead. There is no one better to help you in this endeavour than Mister Potter here." Professor McGonagall then turned her attention to Harry. "Shall we leave then?"
"Uh, sure, Professor," Harry said, shooting nervous glances at the goblin guards who, strangely enough, were now giving him particularly mean looks for some reason. He then hugged Ginevra goodbye and smooched Teddy, who was now strapped to Ginevra's chest, noisily on the cheek, making the infant squeal in glee.
"Goodbye Ginevra," Daphne said after a moment's hesitation, "it was nice meeting you."
"Right, uh, bye," Ginevra added with a small wave.
Then, Daphne mimicked Harry and held tightly onto Professor McGonagall's arm before the by now familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube followed a moment later.
The courtroom was already rather tightly packed by the time they entered, which surprised Daphne a bit, considering that the only trials held today would be about the Snatchers.
Harry, Professor McGonagall and she were seated in the visitor's gallery, which was a balcony above the courtroom. Rows upon rows of benches filled the magically expanded room. A lone chair was placed in the middle of the space in front of the benches and the seats for the Wizengamot were placed to the chair's left, from where they'd take the role of the jury.
"Shouldn't you be there as well?" Harry, seated to her left, asked her.
Daphne gave him a surprised look. It was no secret that Harry Potter's knowledge about the wizarding world was rather limited, so she hadn't expected him to know about her Wizengamot seat.
"It is not mandatory for this trial yet. As I have said earlier, I do have to be present on my Wizengamot seat once the trials for the students begin," she explained. Daphne then sighed quietly to herself.
Thinking of those trials made her think of Pansy. Oh, why did she have to open her mouth at that one critical moment? Pansy wasn't a bad person per se. Pansy was mean, yes, and incredibly elitist. But, and Daphne was very aware of that, so was she. Or maybe she used to be. These days, there were too many questions floating through her mind. All of their money and status had not saved her parents from those on whose side they supposedly had been. The same could be said about so many other families. All that chatter about blood purity and pureblood families and traditional family values – it all meant so little now. Hadn't this war been based upon these very values? Weren't the Death Eaters supposed to be championing pureblood values for all of wizardkind? Weren't families like hers – noble bloodlines of old with family trees whose roots reached as far back as to the Roman occupation of Britain – supposed to be protected by the Death Eaters? Weren't they supposed to be invaluable members of magical society? Weren't they supposed to be the cornerstones of a new age for Magical Britain?
It all rang so hollow now. Empty words after empty words spewed from the mouth of a bitter half-blood posing as a pureblood, deceiving everyone around him except for Albus Dumbledore and later his protegé, Harry Potter.
And now, Pansy, the Malfoys, the Crabbes and Goyles, the Notts, her family – they were all the most hated families of Britain. Not muggle-borns, not half-bloods, no. Those old, rich, pureblood families. The cornerstones of Britain's magical society that had started this war in the first place.
None of their riches, traditions and family trees had any value left in them. Pansy's name was dirt. Malfoy's name was dirt. Her family's name was dirt. The Notts' name was dirt. Crabbe and Goyle. Those were just the ones from her year. She could go on and on. To say that it made her feel sick to the stomach would be a vast understatement.
"Have you decided what you want to do yet?"
Harry's sudden question startled her because his voice was aimed directly at her now. Daphne stared at him with wide-eyed confusion and couldn't stop her lips from twitching bashfully at his raised brows and his amused little smile.
"I apologize, I was lost in thought," she explained, feeling quite embarrassed while trying to sort her cluttered, confused and chaotic headspace out. "I didn't quite catch what you meant by 'deciding what I want to do'."
"I was asking what you plan on doing regarding school," Harry repeated, still smiling. "Whether you want to repeat the seventh year or not. And don't worry about it," he added, waving her apology off. "I think that everyone tends to get lost in thought these days."
"That we do," Professor McGonagall commented from Harry's left.
Daphne nodded her thanks for his understanding, crossed her ankles properly and placed her hands gingerly on her lap. "I do wish to return to school," she answered, toying with a fingernail, a habit she had curbed before beginning her educational career in Hogwarts. Since their father's death and their mother's disappearance, however, she had begun doing it again, though she wouldn't have noticed had Tori not pointed it out. "The past term...it was not…" She shrugged, then frowned, a hangnail on her index finger irritating her. Unable to resist the temptation, she brought her finger to her mouth and bit the dry piece of skin off. "What?" she asked Harry, who looked at her as if he was seeing something new and unfamiliar. It made her uncomfortable.
"Nothing, actually. I'm just used to you being all…" He rang for words.
"All what?" Daphne demanded.
"You know, all fancy-like." He held up a hand as if he was holding a cuppa and stuck out his little finger.
"Oh." Daphne cleared her throat, not sure what to say. It wasn't like Harry was wrong, after all. "Well, my parents never approved of that habit, but I suppose I fell back to it since the war started."
Harry shrugged. "I suppose there are worse ways to deal with your nerves." Then he leaned forward and glanced down to the courtroom. "Kingsley's there. I think it's starting."
And as if Harry had been speaking to the entire room, the murmur of ongoing conversations began to ebb, bated silence now filling the air. The newly appointed Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had finally arrived in the courtroom, along with Chief Auror Gawain Robards and a small group of Aurors trailing behind them. They both took their places at the raised Podium to the chair's right, just in front of the visitor's gallery and across from the Wizengamot seats, while the Aurors stationed themselves across various parts of the room, watching over the assembly. Daphne was surprised on Robards's behalf because he took his place next to Minister Shacklebolt, who held his wand to his throat. A moment later, his voice rang across the courtroom loudly and clearly.
"Dear witches and wizards of Magical Britain, we...are all gathered here today for...closure." The Minister took a moment to look around. Daphne wasn't sure whether she just imagined it, but it felt like he lingered a moment or two longer on Harry next to her than he lingered on anyone else. "Because closure is what we all need to move on from the horrors this war has brought upon us," he continued. "Closure is what we need to heal. Closure is what we need to rebuild and grow anew, to progress better and grander than ever. Closure is what we need to ensure that we, as a community, should never have to repeat the same mistakes as our predecessors did. However, for closure, we also need to function, which is, as loath as I am to admit, impossible as of this moment." Minister Shacklebolt paused again, his hands placed on the dark, great desk in front of him and Robards. "Our ministry is in severe disarray. It had been fully infiltrated by He-Who-Must – no." The minister stood suddenly taller, prouder and defiant. "By a terrorist. Not a pureblood. Not a champion for the pureblood agenda. A simple terrorist. A simple man with a name: Tom Riddle."
A swell of murmurs and mutterings arose from the assembled crowd. The recent development surrounding the Dark Lord, revealed by the Daily Prophet, had impacted Magical Britain and surely the magical society beyond Great Britain as well. He had always appeared larger than life itself to his followers and enemies, inciting terror with his sheer presence. To find that he had such a mundane name – that he had not even been a pureblood – was nothing short of earth-shattering and it would surely remain so for years to come.
Minister Shacklebolt waited patiently for the commotion to eventually die down before he resumed his speech. "Tom Riddle and his forces had infiltrated our ministry. Every head of every department has either been killed, placed under the Imperius for months or even years or is on the run. Many members of the Wizengamot have been ousted or suspended from their positions because of confirmed or suspected ties to Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters." He made a sweeping gesture with his hands, indicating the many empty seats of the Wizengamot jury. Then, he faced the courtroom and guests again, eyeing them evenly. "Which is why – as is my right as the Minister of Magic of a nation in deep crisis – I have officially invoked the Emergency Powers Act."
The noise erupting now throughout the courtroom was no mumbling or murmuring but rather an explosion. Many had jumped to their feet, shouts and yells were echoing throughout the chamber. It was impossible to make out even a single word in the chaotic noise.
A series of loud blasts coming from the court overseer's raised wand broke through the sea of loud voices and uproar. "Order! I repeat, order in this court!"
Slowly, silence settled around them once more and the overseer lowered his wand.
"I am aware that this is unprecedented," the Minister continued, "but so is our political crisis. We cannot proceed to restore order within our government by waiting for new department heads to be selected and voted by the remaining Ministry officials. As my first move during this act, Chief Auror Gawain Robards has been appointed as the interim head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." He then stared across the courtroom. A member of the Wizengamot – one of the Dashalots, if she wasn't mistaken – stood up from his seat and shouted at him with a pointed finger, but he was too far away from her to make out the words.
"Elder Dashalot," Minister Shacklebolt addressed the man coolly while Daphne was whooping in her head to celebrate herself for having been right, "I am not doing this to undermine the Wizengamot. You may all still vote and I urge you to do so to give me different opinions on the matter at hand. My emergency powers will last only until the state of emergency is declared to be over." He then added dryly, "Which I am also responsible for deciding."
And the courtroom erupted in disarray once more.
"Well done, Kingsley," Harry muttered next to her and Daphne was quite surprised to see a look of utter satisfaction etched onto his features.
"You cannot possibly approve of this?" Daphne asked him, not hiding the shock on her face. "Do you understand how easily this law could be abused? Anyone less righteous than Minister Shacklebolt could plunge us right into another war before we had even begun to recover from the last one!"
"That's just it though, innit? Kingsley is righteous and I trust him to do the right thing with this power handed to him," Harry argued. "And he'll know that he can't leave the law as it is. But for right now, it is necessary."
Loud blasts echoed through the courtroom once again, effectively silencing everyone.
"I will do right by our community and I will give what is needed right now: honour, justice and decisiveness." Minister Shacklebolt then glanced across the courtroom at the Wizengamot jury. "Qualities that some important members of Magical Britain in important positions have proven to be sorely lacking after Tom Riddle's first great war." Daphne's eyes widened at the blatant insult while she could see Harry nodding in approval from the corner of her eyes. "If memory serves right, after all," Minister Shacklebolt continued, speaking loudly and ignoring the few angry calls coming from the Wizengamot seats, "many members from this very body itself had been acquitted of any wrongdoings based on cheap, fabricated lies, which had been easily and readily believed by the Wizengamot jury."
Daphne's mouth went dry. This was it. This was what should have happened during the last war – she knew that now, she understood and realized that now – and it had been a long time coming. No second chances, no little holes to slip through. Everyone was going to be held responsible for their deeds.
"Ladies and gentlemen, dear witches and wizards – the time has come to take the first step on the road to our recovery and to end this dreaded chapter of Magical Britain's history," Minister Shacklebolt addressed the courtroom once more. "Over the coming days, Tom Riddle's followers will all be put to the stand to receive as complete and just a trial as we could possibly give them, no matter the fact that they have robbed our loved ones of the same chances we are giving them, starting with the so-called 'Snatchers'. Let us begin."
Minister Shacklebolt nodded towards an Auror standing guard by a large door at the far end of the courtroom. The Auror immediately opened it and another two Aurors brought in a haggard-looking, young blonde man into the courtroom. He was stumbling and struggling to walk. It was obvious that he had little strength left in his body. It was no secret that, after the Dementors had returned to Azkaban, the Dark – no, Tom Riddle's – followers had been rounded up and thrown there before their scheduled hearings. The effect was clearly visible, even from high up.
"Heath Colten." The new, temporary head of the DMLE, Gawain Robards, began, speaking up for the first time after having used sonorus on himself as well. "Twenty-two years old, male, born in Kingston upon Hull, living in Gillingham. You are being charged with five counts of kidnapping, five counts of aiding a national terrorist, two counts of aiding in murder, two counts of aiding in torture and one count of aiding in rape and these are the only things we were able to pin on you without veritaserum." His voice then hardened. "This time, we do not need the approval of the Wizengamot to sentence you, unlike the trials after the last war. So, you might as well tell us the truth right now. What else have you done?"
Without any warning, the young man broke into sobs. Ugly sobs; the kind when saliva, snot and tears would leave stains on your face and clothing. The kind when you'd hardly be able to breathe. His wails filled the courtroom and he leaned forward, gripping his hair with his hands, almost tearing at them.
"I needed money!" He screamed hoarsely. "I just needed some fucking money!"
"Didn't you have any idea who the bloody hell was paying you, boy?!" Robards growled out. "You knew how it worked. Speak his name and get snatched. Bloody think his name and get snatched. Organize resistance and get snatched. House fugitives and get snatched. You knew and you still went through with it, no questions asked."
"What was I supposed to do?!" Colten cried out.
"Did they force you? Threaten family?" he demanded.
"N-no!"
Robards scoffed and shook his head in disgust. For a moment the only things audible were the sniffles coming from Heath Colten. Daphne was grateful that his voice had not been amplified.
"Do you deny the charges?" Robards finally asked.
Colten shook his head.
"Do you have anything to add? Anything to maybe reduce your sentence?"
Again, Colten shook his head, sobs rocking his body.
Robards shrugged then glanced at Minister Shacklebolt. The Minister nodded and stood up from his chair, facing the jury.
"Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, please prepare your wands for your votes." The Minister waited for a moment, giving the Wizengamot jury the time to raise their wands. "Should Heath Colten be judged guilty for his charges of kidnapping? Those who vote yea, do so now."
Daphne was not surprised in the least when the wand of every single member of the Wizengamot shot green sparks.
"Should Heath Colten be judged guilty for his charges of aiding a national terrorist? Those who vote yea, do so now?"
Again, every Wizengamot member present voted guilty. And they did so for his charges in murder, torture and rape as well.
Minister Shacklebolt nodded and turned around to face Colten. "As per the Emergency Power Act I have the last word and I will say that I concur with the Wizengamot's vote. Heath Colten, you have been found guilty of all of your charges in kidnapping, aiding a national terrorist, aiding murder, aiding in torture and aiding in rape. I hereby sentence you to life in Azkaban."
The Aurors who had brought him in had returned to pick him up and were now more or less dragging him out of the courtroom, amidst the booing and derogatory shouts from the press and attending crowd.
"This sounded more like an interrogation of a suspect," Harry noted, "or at least how I imagine that to sound like."
"They have too many culprits to interrogate and not enough personnel. Meanwhile, the public demands justice," the headmistress explained from beside them. "It is not the best possible solution, but given the circumstances, I cannot say that I disapprove."
The low murmurs of conversations were silenced again by the arrival of the next Snatcher. He was a tall, bald and bulky man, someone who had most likely seen and been a part of a fistfight or two in his life.
After he had been placed on the chair, Gawain Robards began to read the man's personal information. "Aiden Bitterwood. Twenty-nine, male, born in Yeovil, living in Exeter. You are being charged with twenty-three counts of kidnapping, twenty-three counts of aiding a national terrorist, ten counts of aiding in murder, eight counts of aiding in torture, five counts of aiding in rape, two counts of rape, two counts of murder." Robards placed the parchment he was reading from back on the desk and just stared at the man contemplatively. Meanwhile, Daphne felt a surge of hatred rushing through her, secretly hoping that this Aiden Bitterwood person would get the Kiss. "Is there any way you can think of to defend yourself against these charges?" Robards finally asked.
"No, Sir," Bitterwood replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
He appeared less affected by his time in Azkaban or maybe his mass of muscles needed longer to waste away enough for it to be noticeable.
"What was your reason for joining Tom Riddle's forces? Your 'Dark Lord'," Robards added because Bitterwood appeared rather confused at the name.
"To aid his cause," Bitterwood answered, turning his head to look at Robards. "To become one of his most trusted men. To rid our world of those who steal our magic – of mudbloods." The way he said it was so matter-of-fact and casual that one would think he was commenting on the weather.
"You wanted to become a Death Eater of his Inner Circle," Robards summarized.
"Yes, Sir," he replied, a note of pride in his voice.
"Since you appear to be more coherent than your predecessor, I shall ask you some more questions," Robard explained, leafing through his stack of parchments before stopping at one and nodding to himself. "Have you had contact with anyone from the Inner Circle? Have you had a handler of sorts? Someone pointing you to specific targets?"
"No, Sir."
"Would you care to elaborate? Did you have no...guidance of sorts, considering your goals? Why did you have noticeably more victims than your predecessor?" Robard kept pressing.
"Who was my predecessor?" Bitterwood asked with a frown.
"One Heath Colten."
Bitter Wood furrowed his brows, appearing to think hard about the name but then shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."
Robards raised a brow, again leafing through his parchments. "So, inside of the structure, there was not much contact between the different groups of Snatchers?"
"No, Sir."
"Would you care to elaborate?" Robards gave him a bored look. "We don't need the Wizengamot's approval to use veritaserum. The Emergency Power Act is in place."
The brief moment of hesitation was the first real emotion Bitterwood had shown during his questioning. "I…"
"Do you wish to elaborate on your own accord or do you wish to be forced to elaborate?"
Daphne frowned. That was hardly a choice. Then again, that man didn't deserve to have a choice.
"Every...group of Snatchers operated as a separate entity," Bitterwood ground out. "We had clear structures – a hierarchy – within those entities. I was second in command after starting as a grunt and our former second in command had died during a raid."
"Who was your leader?" Robards asked.
"Doesn't matter." He shrugged. "She is dead."
"Who was your leader?" Robards repeated his question, though his voice had gotten firmer.
"...Amy Rook."
Robards dipped his feather into the ink bottle on the table and scribbled something on a piece of parchment. He tore a piece from the parchment and motioned for an Auror guarding the courtroom's entrance to come over before handing the Auror the ripped piece of parchment. The Auror read the note, nodded and hastily left the courtroom.
"What about my earlier question? Have you or...this Amy Rook had contact in any way to the Inner Circle of Death Eaters? Have you been given specific targets?"
"No, Sir. For as long as we did not end up catching targets of political interest, we were supposed to operate and function on our own."
"Very well. And you plead guilty for all of your charges? Even the charges of rape and murder you committed?"
Bitterwood chuckled humourlessly and let his head drop to the high back of the chair. "What's the point? Someone squealed anyway and if I denied it you'd just use veritaserum. Just bloody get on with it."
Robards raised a brow, then turned to Minister Shacklebolt, who then rose to his feet.
It was time for Aiden Bitterwood to be sentenced.
"I'm surprised Kingsley actually sentenced him to be kissed," Harry admitted as they were walking towards the ministry's atrium after court had been adjourned for the day.
"I am not surprised by the sentence itself but rather by the fact that Minister Shacklebolt had the guts to make use of it," Daphne replied. "I don't think a single convicted criminal during the last war was ever punished with the Dementor's Kiss."
Headmistress McGonagall had bid them goodbye earlier, stating that she would be meeting an old friend and head straight back to Hogwarts afterwards. That left just Harry and her now, to follow the throng of people who had attended the trials. There were several officials wandering about in the hallway, some appearing to be lost and others strolling with purpose. Yet all of them were looking haggard and in too much of a hurry to notice them. The understaffed Ministry was clearly keeping them busier than ever.
"He has a strict code of honour but when it comes down to it he also has a lot of grit," Harry explained. "Right now, there is no one better for the job than him."
Reaching the atrium, Harry slowed down next to a small cafeteria, which Daphne did not remember being there before.
"Huh. That's new," Harry stated, apparently as surprised as she was. "I'd like to take a look. Care to join me?" he offered her.
After hesitating for a moment, Daphne gave a small, shy shrug. "I do not see why not."
Aside from Tori and Uncle Marius, she had no one left in her life anymore. Even with Pansy, things were tense, to say the least, and they had not spoken since the end of the war. If Harry Potter of all people was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, she'd be a fool to say no. By no means was she a people person, as awkward and shy as she was, but that was not to say that she didn't crave genuine human interaction. And, if nothing else, Harry Potter appeared to be a rather genuine person. It made her curious about all the tales and rumours surrounding him during their school years before the war.
They stepped inside and found themselves a nice, quiet booth at the corner, which allowed her to relax a bit. Harry handed her the menu but Daphne raised her hand to decline.
"I drink peppermint tea only," Daphne told him.
"Really? No black tea?"
Daphne shook her head. "No."
"Earl Grey?"
She shook her head again. "No."
"Green tea?"
"No." She allowed herself a small smile. "Only peppermint."
"Huh. Good to know, I suppose," Harry said with a chuckle.
They sat in amicable silence until the waitress came to take their orders and left, but not before shooting them – and Harry in particular – several looks over her shoulder. The silence continued until she had her hot cup of peppermint tea brought to their table and Harry was served his slice of treacle tart with clotted cream. Harry took a bite of his tart and nodded approvingly while chewing slowly.
"This is some bloody delicious treacle tart," he said after swallowing his mouthful. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course," Daphne answered readily.
"You, uh, might not like the question though."
"Well…" She exhaled, resigned to what was to come. "It was only a matter of time, I suppose. Ask away."
"How exactly was your family involved in the war?"
Daphne paused for a moment to gather her thoughts before replying. "Neither of my parents were Death Eaters, mind you, but my father funded them heavily and interacted with them during balls, parties and such." She frowned. "He was interested in the war's supposed goal but not in the leader. He hated the idea of marking and essentially enslaving himself to someone he did not deem as his peer."
"So, he was basically a follower without getting his hands dirty," Harry concluded with a slight frown.
Wincing inwardly, Daphne had to admit that he had the right of it, as harsh as it sounded. "I suppose so."
"How come you've been able to retain your seat in the Wizengamot then?" Harry continued his questioning. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to say that you shouldn't have it. I'm just genuinely curious because Kingsley said that many members have been sacked for supposed or confirmed ties to Death Eaters or Riddle's cause."
Daphne shrugged and took a sip of her tea. "That's fair. The Aurors had indeed paid a visit to our home earlier this month. They had questioned us extensively – under the influence of veritaserum to boot and let me tell you, it is a most unpleasant experience – and they had raided my father's office in search of any evidence, which my uncle did not appreciate at all." Uncle Marius had been this close to completely obliviating a particularly smug Auror and dumping her off in the middle of nowhere out in the Scottish highlands.
Looking past Harry and the window behind him, Daphne let her gaze wander from person to person; ministry workers, applicants for the many vacant positions, simple civilians looking to appeal for financial help. They all had their own stories to tell regarding this war, written in blood and loss. As had Tori and she. As had Harry.
"My family has been fined a hefty sum as reparations for our role in this war," Daphne added as an afterthought. "Granted, neither Tori nor I have even had an actual role in the first place, but you understand what I mean. I suppose it beats being dragged off to Azkaban," she muttered with a shudder.
"And at least you can move forward now. Start over. Be a better person." After finishing his treacle tart, he leaned back against the chair and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's more than I can say about others. And I appreciate you actually apologizing, you know." Harry cocked his head to the side. "You've been the only one so far to bother. You know, er, from your lot." Blood purists. "That took some guts and I appreciate that."
"Thank you. And I meant it."
"I know."
June 25, 1998
The trials of the few remaining Snatchers passed by in pretty much the same manner and Daphne had spent a sizable amount of time following those trials in Harry Potter's company. She'd go as far as to say that they had become rather well acquainted in that time. He was pleasant enough to talk to, though most of the time their conversations were rather superficial. Still, she got to know him personally at least, plus, she now had someone else to chat with other than Astoria or Uncle Marius.
Now, however, she did not have her new conversation partner next to her. Now she had taken over her Wizengamot seat alongside Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, Ernest Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, who were joining as the future heirs of those seats along with less noteworthy members of the Wizengamot.
Daphne watched with trepidation as a pair of Aurors brought in her dear and close friend Pansy Parkinson to the chair in the middle of the courtroom. How Pansy was ever going to get out of this scrutiny she was experiencing even now, Daphne could not even imagine. There were Death Eaters, there were murderers, torturers, rapists and then there was Pansy, the Parkinson heiress who had wanted to hand over the sole hope of the entirety of Magical Britain just because she was a coward.
Daphne did not agree, however. She understood where the general populace was coming from, but she did not agree. Daphne saw in Pansy a teenage girl, just like she was, who had been scared out of her wits as everything she had believed in came crashing down, just like she had felt. But – and that was the key difference – where she had shut down and focused all of her efforts into protecting Astoria, Pansy had immediately grasped at the one straw offered by the Dark – by Tom Riddle – and that was to hand over Harry Potter.
"Pansy Parkinson, seventeen years old, female, born in Cardiff, Wales and living in Cardiff, Wales. You are being charged with over a hundred counts of aid in the torture of minors." Pansy whimpered at Gawain Robards's words and so did she. "Is there anything you wish to say to defend yourself?"
"I didn't know that they were being tortured, I swear!"
But we should have known, Daphne thought solemnly.
"Is that so?" Robards asked, feigning confusion. "That is quite curious. A particular victim came forward to us and said, and I quote, 'I begged her to not send me to detention. I told her about the torture. I cried. She laughed in my face.'"
"T-the Carrows said th-they wouldn't…" Pansy whimpered again and she looked nothing like the girl she used to know.
There was not even a hint of the girl with immaculate posture, perfectly manicured fingernails and just an overall picture-perfect pureblood princess. She was a mess. Her hair looked hardly brushed, her robes were dishevelled, her eyes were rimmed red and puffy and she was slumping in the chair. Daphne desperately wished that she could see what was going on in her old friend's head. Was it guilt that ate at her or was it something else?
"You believed the Carrows? Known Death Eaters?" Robards had both of his eyebrows raised high.
"I wanted to believe them," Pansy whispered. "My family knew them f-for a long time."
"Miss Parkinson," Robards said, leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk, his piercing gaze fixated on Pansy. "You are a young and talented witch with her whole life ahead of her. Right now, however, this very life is hanging on a very thin thread. I am urging you to be as truthful and thorough as you can possibly be during my next series of questions." He took a breath. "I am reminding you: over a hundred separate charges. You are being charged with aiding in the torture – the repeated usage of the Cruciatus, one of the Unforgivable Curses – on minors. Minors. Many of them will suffer for the rest of their lives because of it. Physical ailments. Mental ailments." Robards glanced at Neville with a look of apology. "Please do forgive my lack of tact, Elder Longbottom, for saying this but we are lucky that none of those poor children ended up like Alice and Frank Longbottom."
"It's quite alright, director," Neville Longbottom called out quietly from a few rows next to her. "I agree after all."
The interim head of the DMLE nodded at Neville and returned his attention to Pansy. "Do you understand the predicament you find yourself in? You are facing the possibility of the Dementor's Kiss."
Pansy paled noticeably and began swaying on her seat. For a moment, Daphne feared that Pansy was going to lose consciousness right there in the middle of the courtroom but her face just crumbled up and she began to sob uncontrollably. Her body was shaking violently and Daphne had to look away in discomfort. Seeing her close – her best friend like this hurt. It hurt that she could do nothing to help her and it just really drove home how severely this war had affected them. It wasn't just the big and obvious casualties. It wasn't just the deaths of many parents, siblings and children. There were also the little things, the small details in their lives...like having to watch your best friend being tried and questioned in court before hundreds of people and crying hysterically while you sit in the jury and have to vote for her sentence.
It took several minutes for Pansy to calm down and for the trial to be able to continue. Sniffles coming from her could still be heard, even from across the room.
"Do you feel well enough to continue, Miss Parkinson?" Robards asked.
Pansy didn't answer but nodded instead.
"Very well. Have you been tasked by anyone – be it students or Death Eaters posing as teachers – to hand detentions to specific students?"
"Yes, Sir," Pansy answered softly, a far cry from the loud confidence she was usually exhibiting. "T-the Weasley girl w-was o-often a target…"
"Ginevra Molly Weasley," Robards clarified.
Daphne noticed Pansy glancing up at the stands from the corner of her eyes. She most likely knew that Harry was there.
Robards began leafing through his stack of parchments. "Why was she targeted specifically?"
"Because of her relationship to Potter...they used to be a couple", Pansy answered, her voice still so very soft. Daphne wondered if Harry could even hear a word of what Pansy was saying.
"I see. And despite any of this, it never crossed your mind even once that the torture could be fact rather than a mere rumour?" The way Robards phrased the question made Daphne terribly embarrassed about herself.
We should have known.
"It...did, but...I didn't want to believe it. I just wanted to mess with the mud –" She stopped herself but it was too late.
The sudden swell of angry shouts from the assembly made Pansy shrink away in her chair and only the loud blasts from the overseer's wand silenced the crowd again.
"Think carefully about your choice of words, Miss Parkinson," Robards told her, his voice low and firm. "Very carefully."
"I'm sorry...I just...I just wanted to mess with the – the muggle-borns and half-bloods," she answered in a small voice.
"I see. So, in conclusion, you dismissed the blatant truth in the hopes for some…'innocent fun'at the expense of your fellow students." Robards looked at her with a mixture of pity, disappointment and second-hand embarrassment.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for anyone to – to –" Pansy faltered and just stared blankly into her lap. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
"And yet, it did happen. That you didn't mean for the tortures to happen does not help those young souls who will suffer for the rest of their lives as a result of your carelessness," Robards said. "I cannot believe that someone can be so ignorant to events around them that they miss the most obvious signs. Have you never discussed these things with your peers in your common room, girl?"
Pansy shook her head. "We joked about it but I don't think anyone really knew what the Carrows were doing, except…" Pansy hesitated and glanced towards the Wizengamot seats. Her eyes locked onto her and Daphne nodded, urging her friend to talk, to save herself. Pansy looked away again, her eyes on her hands resting in her lap. "Crabbe, Goyle and Nott."
"Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Theodore Nott," Robards clarified while writing something on a piece of parchment. "According to the accounts of one Harry James Potter, Vincent Crabbe did not survive the spellcasting of his own Fiendfyre. Why do you think they knew?"
"Because they were the ones who told me when I was supposed to send Weasley to detention," Pansy explained.
"And you never found that curious?" Robards insisted. "You never found it curious when these three particular students demanded that you give a specific student – a student who was well known to be closely involved with Harry Potter himself – detention?"
"It was easier to just...ignore the signs, I suppose," Pansy finally relented, defeat clear in her voice.
"I see." Robards stared at her thoughtfully, his back leaned against his chair and his arms crossed over his chest. "Do you regret ignoring the signs? Do you regret taking the easy path out?"
Pansy sighed. "...I was never brave but...yes. Yes."
Robards kept staring at Pansy then he exhaled heavily and looked at Minister Shacklebolt. "I have no more questions, Minister."
The Minister nodded. He stood up from his chair to face the jury. "Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, please prepare your wands for your votes." Daphne stood up and raised her wand, her heart pounding in her chest as Minister Shacklebolt continued. "Should Pansy Parkinson be judged guilty for her charges of aiding in the torture of minors? Those who vote yea, do so now."
Daphne held back, her eyes on her friend who kept staring into her lap valiantly. She could not imagine the terror Pansy had to be feeling right now. She could also not imagine the terror of all those students sent to be tortured by the Carrows.
"Those who vote nay, do so now."
Daphne concentrated, the tip of her wand alight with red sparks. She glanced towards the visitor's gallery, up in the balcony and, for a fleeting moment, she wondered whether she had just disappointed Harry Potter.
"As expected. I am conflicted as well," the Minister admitted. "Please sit down, esteemed members of the Wizengamot." Daphne did just so, finding it hard to breathe. "On one hand, Miss Parkinson, you have willfully ignored the suffering of your fellow students. On the other, you are but a child who was forced into a situation no young witch should be forced into. Of course, some of these children have a penchant for mastering difficult situations in ways not even we adult witches and wizards could hope to. Not all of us can be brave and valiant, however." The Minister let his gaze linger on Pansy, who, for the first time during the entirety of her trial, was sporting an expression of fragile hope. "I do believe that you genuinely did not wish for your fellow students to suffer the way they did. But I also believe that your willful ignorance and abuse of your position of authority were extremely negligent and that is what led to needless suffering and permanent ailment for so many young students. It truly is a shame." The Minister paused for a moment before speaking again. "Pansy Parkinson, I hereby sentence you to five years of house arrest, confined to your family manor with no subsequent authorization to leave the premises. This is a very lenient sentence, Miss Parkinson and a chance to do better. Do not squander it because there will not be another."
And under the uproar that followed, Pansy, guided by an Auror, quickly fled the room while Daphne just sobbed in relief.