Author's Note: Hello! Yes, your eyes don't deceive you, this fic is still alive lol. Huge apologies for the immense delay with this chapter. A lot has kept me distracted these last few months and I was only able to add to it in pieces for the longest time. I hope this chapter delivers despite the long wait. Thanks to StellaStarMagic for helping with me this chapter, in a lot more ways than one :P
This chapter is written by SeaFeudJagger.
June 27, 1998
"Wand, if you please."
Harry fished for his recently repaired wand in his pockets and handed it over to the on-duty guard. His bum ached from sitting on the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room for so long before he was finally called upon.
The security witch lifted the wand close to her face and eyed it suspiciously. Then she turned around and passed it over to a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk on the other side of a warded glass window. The man closely inspected every inch and angle of the wand for several minutes, writing on a piece of parchment on the table, running his fingers along the wood and muttering words that Harry couldn't make out.
Finally, he seemed satisfied with himself and returned it to the guard. "Holly, eleven inches. Phoenix feather core. It's Ollivander's handiwork, alright. I'd recognize his style anywhere."
The guard nodded and faced Harry once more, her look now apologetic. "Sorry for the delay, Mister Potter. The Minister's been strict with us on maintaining the highest security protocols. Identities of all visitors have to be marked and verified in detail, even scheduled visits approved by himself or the director. Can't have anyone try to break in and set the detainees free."
"Oh, uh, that's alright," Harry said. "But what do you do if someone's under polyjuice?"
The dark-haired witch smirked wryly. "That's why we have visitors wait in the sitting room for a solid hour or two until the effect of the polyjuice runs out. If they try to flee or pull out more of the potion to drink from before the time is up, I stun 'em and Wesley over there rings for the Aurors."
Harry whistled. "That's pretty clever." Kingsley was clearly wasting no effort to prevent the Ministry from being infiltrated again.
From behind the glass, Wesley sniffed disdainfully. "Only two attempts have been made so far and done so poorly if I do say so myself. Lydia quickly disposed of them before I could even raise the alarm."
"Doesn't mean it'll be the last though. Sooner or later one of 'em Death Eater tossers or their lackeys will try something different and get the better of me," Lydia said seriously. "We're too understaffed here in the DMLE and have no concrete way of identifying whether someone's actually who they say they are. It's a pity that we can't just install surveillance cameras in every corner of the Atrium to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious passing by."
Wesley frowned at her. "How would that even work? Those hunks of junk the photographers lug around are too conspicuous. Anyone trying to infiltrate the Ministry would spot them from a mile away and avoid it easily."
"Nah, see, I hear the Muggles are now able to turn their cameras even smaller and could plant dozens of 'em in places where no one would even think to look. They can see through every single one and watch what's being shown by the cameras in real-time."
"Preposterous! How could they even keep track of so many cameras at once? The Muggles would need a bigger staff than we do to manage all that."
"They have a bloke that sees everything through the cameras on this monitor they have in a secret room where it all connects together."
The wand inspector looked befuddled. "What in Merlin's name is a monitor?"
Lydia rolled her eyes and began explaining to her colleague what a monitor and, to an extent, a computer exactly was. From the way she spoke, Harry had a feeling this wasn't the first time the topic had come up in conversation.
After accepting his wand back, he quietly slipped through the now opened doors leading down to the Ministry holding cells and left the two to their argument.
The discussion about security cameras had Harry thinking about the Marauder's Map and how useful it was in identifying everyone who stepped foot inside of Hogwarts over the years. It also made him wonder why similar magic was never used in monitoring the halls of the Ministry itself. Granted, that definitely would have foiled his, Ron and Hermione's infiltration scheme into the Ministry over a year ago, but still, it could have been useful in preventing such a thing from needing to be done in the first place.
He would have to mention it to Kingsley later.
Harry passed by two more guards on his way down until a long line of thick cell doors came into view. Each of the doors had strange-looking runes carved into the iron frame which glowed faintly in the dark. He struggled to recall the cell number Robards had given him before the patrolling guard eventually pointed him in a direction towards the end of the corridor.
Another on-duty guard standing next to the door greeted him with a nod and then opened it for him with a loud creak.
Inside he found a closely packed room where the only source of light came from a small enchanted window that allowed faint rays of sunlight to pierce through the encroaching darkness. There was a plain-looking cot pushed against one side of the wall while a table and chair were positioned on the other end.
Narcissa Malfoy lay slouching on the cot and raised her head at his sudden entry, straightening herself to a more dignified position. Harry doubted that any attempts could add enough dignity to distract from her current circumstances.
Harry pulled the chair close to the bed and sat down on it, chewing on his bottom lip, unsure of what to say to the woman sitting across from him.
They stared at each other in tense silence for several long moments before he finally spoke.
"I never got to say thank you."
She blinked at him in confusion. "Whatever for?"
"For saving me back in the Forbidden Forest. For lying to Voldemort about my survival. If you hadn't…I don't think we would be having this conversation right now if it weren't for you, Mrs Malfoy."
That moment still kept him awake on many nights; it left him wondering how the events could have unfolded had things gone differently. If Voldemort had ordered Bellatrix or her husband to make sure that he was dead instead…he was certain that he would have been killed on the spot.
Narcissa pursed her lips slightly before glancing down at her tightly clasped hands on her lap. Her appearance was a far cry from the image of a prim and proper pureblood lady Harry normally associated her with. Strands of blonde hair were sticking out in many places and her usually youthful face looked haggard and tired. For once, she didn't look as if she was smelling something nasty under her nose. Bags under her sunken eyes indicated that she hadn't been sleeping well, if at all.
"I just wished for the war to be over," Narcissa said quietly. "Draco…I needed to know if my son was safe. I wouldn't have been able to bear it, had he perished during the battle." Her face then hardened. "At that point, I couldn't have cared less about the Dark Lord's cause. Draco's safety was my sole priority."
Harry nodded to himself. It didn't come as a surprise to him that the reasons for Narcissa's decision to lie about his death were, for the most part, self-serving. From the tidbits he'd seen and gathered after shuffling through Riddle's memories, the Malfoys seemed to have fallen out of favour following Lucius's failure to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. Knowing how Riddle didn't pull back when punishing his own followers for even the smallest of failures, it was little wonder that, sooner or later, some would begin to question their allegiances. It made Harry question just how deep her loyalties towards Riddle truly ran.
Regardless of why she did save him, he was still grateful. And he could understand her worry and desperation to ensure her son's well-being above all else, even over any loyalty she might have held for the pureblood cause. While he might not like Narcissa, Harry would not begrudge her that.
After all, he knew all too well how indomitable a mother's love was.
However, there was one thing that Harry was itching to know. "What made you so certain that you could trust my word?" he asked. "We were on opposite sides of the war. I could've easily been lying about Draco just to save my skin."
Unless she was able to read his mind and extract the truth. But Harry was unsure if Narcissa knew how to use Legilimency. He hadn't felt any invading presence in his thoughts, unlike the sessions with Snape, and she hadn't made direct eye contact with him when she had inquired about Draco.
There was a bout of stillness until Narcissa lifted her head to look at him. "The Dark Lord has always proclaimed to be untouchable by death…that no one, not even Dumbledore himself, could have been able to get rid of him for good. His defeat at your hands as a babe had been nothing more than a fluke, Bella had insisted.
"And yet, there I found you lying on the ground, alive and unharmed, after having been struck by an Unforgivable that has taken countless lives before you without any effort – surviving his Killing Curse once again, for a second time…I couldn't believe what I was seeing."
Narcissa stared intently with those piercing blue eyes. "I don't know whether or not you are the 'Chosen One' or the 'Prophecy Child' or whatever rabble the Prophet spews these days. But at that moment I was more than ready to believe in anything. The risk I took may seem mad to you, but so is witnessing a boy shrug off the deadliest curse known to wizardkind. I thought…I thought that, perhaps, there was a chance this war could be won after all."
The way her gaze scrutinized him made Harry uncomfortable enough to break eye contact and glance away. Somehow it was even more unsettling than the attention he garnered from the wizarding press and populace lately.
Since his attendance in the trials had been recently made known to the public, he'd had to dodge several nosy reporters trying to gain his attention after court and insisting on an exclusive interview. If it weren't for the watchful Aurors or McGonagall's steely gaze keeping them at bay whenever they came too close, Harry was willing to bet a few galleons that they would've outright snatched him if it meant getting their scoop.
Still, that didn't discourage a large crowd from converging by the entrance of the Ministry building just to have a peek of him or murmur among themselves whenever he entered or exited the Atrium.
While he couldn't say for certain if he'd ever get used to the widespread notoriety his name drew, Harry liked to think that he had gotten much better at handling the attention and publicity surrounding him over the years.
He had never wanted to disappear under his invisibility cloak more than when he had to pass through those throngs of people and their stares every single time just to get to the Floo. Yet not even the Deathly Hallow could hide him from the faces he kept seeing in his nightmares on most nights.
Harry cleared his throat and adjusted the tight collar around his neck.
Eager to shift the point of conversation away from him, he suddenly recalled the reason for his visit. "Right, well, I'm sure you must be wondering why I came here today."
"No doubt the Minister sent you to happily inform me of my upcoming trial," Narcissa said dryly. "He needn't bother. I'm aware of what fate awaits me for Lucius's role in the war and my family's public support of the Dark Lord. This 'trial' will be nothing more than a grand spectacle to invigorate the masses and serve as a warning to other purebloods like me that are currently under investigation." She laughed without humour. "If nothing else, I shall give them a show they won't forget."
Harry raised a brow. "You don't seem too worried about it."
"On the contrary, Harry Potter, nothing has plagued my mind more since the war had ended and I was brought into this cell…except for Draco's safety." For a moment, Narcissa's perfect mask slipped and a shadow of deep worry crossed her face before she sighed heavily. "And yet, I must keep up appearances, if not for my own sake. There is little I can say or do in my defence that will change their minds and so I am resigned to it."
"Actually, I'll be speaking up in your defence at the trial."
At first, Narcissa didn't seem to register what he just said, then her eyes widened comically as she stared at him, mouth agape. "What?"
"Yeah," Harry scratched the back of his head, "I spoke with the Minister and Director the other day about vouching for you, how you directly lied to Voldemort for me back in the Forbidden Forest and ultimately saved my life. Kingsley's willing to reduce your sentence to only one year in Azkaban, but Robards remains sceptical and wants to further investigate your personal involvement in the war before coming to a decision. Probably the reason why your trial's been pushed back a few days," he added with a shrug.
"I…but…why would you do that for me?"
"Because you saved my life," Harry said simply. "Why you did it doesn't really matter much to me; I'm still grateful. This is just my way of expressing my thanks."
"But why?" Narcissa insisted.
Harry opened his mouth, closed it again and looked away. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I still think you are a terrible, selfish person who got through most of her life without facing any consequences for supporting blood purity," he finally said, "but…you love your son. You risked everything for him by lying about my death…just like my parents who faced Voldemort and sacrificed themselves to protect me. I don't want to take that away from Draco, no matter how much we hated each other's guts. In the end, your love for him was the key to winning this war."
And he truly meant that.
Narcissa seemed to be at a loss for words, staring at him unblinkingly as if unable to believe what he was saying. Then her shoulders began to shake. She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a choked sound and in the next moment she was breaking down in tears. Her hands covered her face to try and shield herself away from him, but her relieved sobs were made only louder in the silence of the closed-off cell.
Harry had to turn away, uncomfortable at witnessing such a vulnerable and private moment. He needed to get out of here.
"Right, uh, I'll see you at your trial then, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said quickly. Standing up, he turned around and raised his hand to knock on the door, signalling to the guard outside that he was ready to leave.
A sudden grip on his wrist caused him to freeze up, his hand immediately reaching for the wand tucked into his robes. Harry swivelled around to find Narcissa leaning just over the cot and tightly clutching his sleeve. There was a look of plea in her eyes
"Please…" she croaked, "if you would do me this favour, then please extend this same courtesy you've given me to my son. He's innocent!"
Harry stiffened and eyed her incredulously. Surely she didn't truly believe that?
"Mrs Malfoy, Draco spent almost an entire year trying to murder Dumbledore and nearly got Katie Bell and my best mate killed in his bungled attempts! Surely you can't expect me to speak up for him after that?" Harry protested, all the while trying to tug his wrist away from the distraught woman, but to no avail.
"He had no choice in the matter! The Dark Lord…he purposefully gave Draco this impossible task to punish Lucius, expecting him to fail and get himself caught or killed. You must believe me, he truly didn't want to do it. He admitted to me himself!"
Harry bit his lip hard, his thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions as he recalled that terrible night at the Astronomy Tower, where Draco had hesitated at killing Dumbledore when given the chance and ultimately refused, which prompted Snape to execute his plan with the headmaster to kill him in Draco's stead.
But then, the years of scorn and bullying he endured from the Slytherin boy returned to him with a vengeance and he had to clench his fist in order to contain the wave of growing resentment within him.
By this point, Narcissa had dropped to her knees on the floor and shuffled closer to him, clutching his left hand with both of her hands and head raised, her tear-stained face imploring him anxiously. Seeing Mrs Malfoy on her knees in front of him as she was begging for her son's freedom had got to be one of the most uncomfortable moments he had ever experienced in his life.
"Please, Harry Potter, I beg this of you. If you must, withhold your defence at my trial in return for Draco's. Surely the Minister would be willing to listen to you and dismiss the charges from Draco if you say so," she pleaded. "I love my son and it is unfair for him to spend the rest of his life rotting in Azkaban while I am allowed to leave after only a year. I cannot handle such guilt weighing down on me."
"Mrs Malfoy…it…it's not that simple," Harry sighed, already feeling the echoes of a headache starting to creep in.
Kingsley was open to concessions in Narcissa's case since there didn't appear to be any solid evidence of her actively aiding the Death Eaters in waging the war, even from some high-ranking detainees or suspects that were forced to confess under Veritaserum. They had too few Aurors that were adept in the mind arts to properly question the captured Death Eaters in their custody and were being stretched too thin performing other duties that were just as essential.
Draco, however, had the Dark Mark on him, which immediately exposes him as a full-fledged member of Voldemort's ranks. Considering the numerous atrocities committed by the Death Eaters throughout the course of the war with little to no attempts of hiding it, much of the affected wizarding populace was vehemently calling out for their blood and angrily demanding their arrest and capture. Not even the junior members would be exempted from this and he had a feeling that Kingsley would not budge on this point even if he'd asked.
"...he is my only son and my last remaining family. I have no other. There is no one left in my family worth turning to –"
At that last remark, he snapped completely.
"Andromeda Tonks," Harry cut in sharply, his voice cracking like a whip.
"What?" Narcissa seemed utterly confused with this sudden turn of the conversation.
"What's wrong? Don't remember the sister you abandoned? Is she not good enough for you?" he demanded. Memories of holding a mourning Andromeda in his arms along with his newborn godson, who would never be able to meet his parents, only sent his blood boiling even further.
"I…" Narcissa's voice faltered
"And what about your niece, Nymphadora? Or her son, Teddy? Unable to accept their existence just because she married a werewolf, is that it?" Harry retorted sarcastically with a sneer worthy enough to match Snape's. "So it's not enough that that mad sister of yours killed Sirius, she just couldn't help herself from murdering more of her family in cold blood and leaving her niece's only child an orphan. I bet she had a grand old time bragging to you about that before Molly put her down for good," he spat.
"I…no, no, no…Bella, you couldn't have…" Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Unable to bottle his rage any longer, Harry angrily snatched his wrist away from Narcissa's now slack fingers and banged his fist three times against the iron door. With a loud creak, the door was unlocked and Harry pulled the handle wide open to leave, but not before giving one last glare at the shell-shocked Narcissa, who looked to be even more distraught than she had already been earlier.
"You have no idea what it's like to lose a family, Narcissa Malfoy," Harry muttered, his voice dangerously soft. "And if you continue with that line of thinking, then you will truly have no one left in your life once you return to that manor of yours with nothing but the ghosts to keep you company. Keep that in mind the next time you come to me speaking of unfairness."
At that final word, he slammed the cell door shut with a loud bang that reverberated against the walls.
June 30, 1998
"Narcissa Malfoy," Kingsley started, his voice deep and sonorous. "In light of the recent testimony delivered by Harry Potter, and the votes cast by the esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I have come to a decision."
The tension in the chamber was so thick that you could cut through the air with a diffindo. Everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath for the verdict to be given.
"You have been found not guilty of the charges of casting Unforgivable Curses or any manner of dark magic. You have also been cleared of the charges of assisting in the murder and torture of fellow wizards and witches." His eyes then narrowed as he stared down at her in the middle of the courtroom. "However, you are to be found guilty of the charges of sheltering the terrorist Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters within the premises of your family manor in addition to harbouring prisoners of war in the cellars beneath your home.
"I hereby sentence you to one year in Azkaban, to be followed by nine months of confined house arrest with no subsequent authorization to leave the grounds throughout the duration of your sentence. You are also required to pay a fine of six million galleons as reparations for your family's public support and involvement in Tom Riddle's war. Failure to do so will result in the seizure of any and all assets that are in your possession to be sold off as recompense." Kingsley eyed her evenly before firing a loud blast from his wand. "This trial is concluded. Bring in the next one."
Harry drowned out the cacophony of voices that immediately began speaking all at once – shouts calling for comments from the Minister, jeers and mockery directed at the defendant, heated arguments on whether the sentence was too lenient or too harsh – and instead observed the rigid figure of Narcissa Malfoy as she was led by an Auror away from the courtroom.
Earlier, when he went down to the stand to speak on her behalf, Harry noticed that Narcissa did not once make eye contact with him. She had responded to questions raised by him, Kingsley and Robards, but otherwise lowered her gaze every time he glanced in her direction. It may not have been noticeable to the rest of the court, but her hands also kept shaking in her lap throughout the entirety of the trial.
Thinking back on his angry outburst in the holding cell a few days ago prompted Harry to close his eyes and groan out loud in embarrassment.
While he had meant every word he'd said, he did not mean to lose his temper like that and shout at her. He thought he was long past losing control of himself. Recalling the temper tantrum he pulled in Dumbledore's office back in fifth year still had him cringing from time to time.
He wouldn't blame her if she became wary of being around him after that.
"That was a noble thing you did, Mister Potter," McGonagall, seated right next to him, said evenly.
Harry blinked and shook his head before responding with a shrug. "It was the least I could do, considering what she did for me back in the Forbidden Forest and all." Not even his recent ire towards Narcissa would make him consider changing his mind about vouching for her.
"That may be so, but I doubt many would be willing to take such action without expecting something in return, especially for someone like Narcissa Malfoy." McGonagall pursed her thin lips. "While she may not be the most pleasant person to deal with, she is certainly no Bellatrix. I pray that she reflects upon her own actions and beliefs throughout her stay in Azkaban. She is lucky that the Minister even allowed her to return to the wizarding world after serving her sentence. Her husband will not be so fortunate…not unless you're willing to extend your generosity?"
Harry scrunched up his face. "No offence, Professor, but I'd sooner snog a Thestral before vouching for Lucius Malfoy."
McGonagall's lips twitched. "I would have presumed you were confounded had you done so."
He snorted and leaned back against his seat, barely stifling a yawn as the next defendant was brought into the centre of the courtroom – an indignant-looking witch who would not look out of place in a Potions lab.
"Freeda Greenleaf, thirty-one years old, born in Upper Flagley, living in Yorkshire. You are being charged with providing all manners of potions and concoctions to Death Eater sympathizers responsible for the murders in Tutshill, along with a reported case of assault against one Phineas Greenleaf." Robards finished reading her charges before glancing up at the seated witch. "How do you plead?"
"Not guilty," she answered immediately. "That wretched brother of mine should be the one standing on trial here. He's the fiend who's been stealing potions off my pantry!"
"You mean the brother you fired jinxes at in broad daylight in a public space within Cashew Alley?" Robards clarified with a frown.
"That's right! Little bugger blocked his fireplace when I tried to fire-call him that morning demanding what he's been doing, sneaking around my shop at night. Went to visit his apartment myself and he ran before I could even say a word!" Freeda exclaimed in frustration.
"Well, according to his statement, he once caught you speaking with a suspicious individual that entered your shop who has been later confirmed to be a member of a gang that was funded by a blood supremacist family."
"If by suspicious individual he means my prat of an ex-boyfriend, whom I cut ties with three years ago, then he's not wrong there," she snorted. "Funny how he failed to mention what he was doing in my shop that day, making a mess by rummaging through all of my supplies in the back while his partner distracted me with a piss poor attempt of getting us back together."
Robards's frown deepened, shuffling his papers. "And yet, there have been other instances when eyewitnesses have stated that you've…"
Harry began to zone out after listening for the first couple of minutes. After several weeks of attending numerous court hearings, he had to admit that novelty of it began to wear off for him. This one was looking to be another complicated session with a drawn-out deliberation.
When he had first agreed to attend these trials, he expected them to be more or less clear-cut and straight to the point. Many of them were but there were just as many instances where it was frustratingly unclear whether the convicted was actually guilty or not by the time the verdict had been decided.
Some people claimed to have been framed by the use of Polyjuice Potion or other means. Then there were those who swore to have been under the influence of the Imperius Curse or that they had been confounded. And then there were the ones who said that they had been blackmailed and coerced or had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Harry struggled to keep up with it all and couldn't figure out how Robards ever managed to find the time for these cases in addition to his other duties as director of the DMLE.
He couldn't imagine being the one to decide someone else's fate when there were so few facts and so much uncertainty involved that it would be impossible to not have a bias — Malfoy immediately coming to mind.
That sudden thought brought a slight furrow to his brow.
"Say, professor," Harry started slowly. "Has Malfoy been up to anything in Hogwarts…y'know during the past year and a half?"
"Draco Malfoy?" McGonagall asked. "None that I was made aware of…if I recall correctly, I did not see much of him outside of classes and during meals in the Great Hall. From what Horace has told me, Mister Malfoy seemed even more reclusive than he did in the previous year."
That wasn't saying much, Harry thought, considering he'd been plotting and failing to kill Dumbledore.
"Even in the Slytherin Commons, he is said to have kept mostly to himself and that he did not linger much with his usual companions." She then sniffed before continuing in a much sharper tone. "But even then, I would not entirely rule out his involvement with the Death Eater activities that transpired inside the castle. There were too many who helped the Carrows spy on the students and not all of them from Slytherin House. If it weren't for Miss Weasley and Mister Longbottom's efforts, not to mention Severus's watchful eye, I dare say the atrocities they committed would have been far, far worse."
He didn't say anything in response to that. Instead, he opted to watch the rest of the proceedings in the court below with a conflicted frown on his face.
July 5, 1998
Harry polished off his plate while stifling a yawn about to escape him before letting out a loud burp instead. Flushing in embarrassment, he quickly glanced around the cafeteria but there were very few people present considering how early it was and so he relaxed. The full English breakfast he just had was a good start to the morning in what was bound to be a rather eventful day.
McGonagall had sent him an owl the previous night expressing her disappointment that she wouldn't be able to attend today's trial because she had urgent business as Hogwarts headmistress which she could not postpone. She had been waiting for this particular trial for so long that Harry could sympathize with her frustration at not being there to witness it in person. At the very least she'd be able to hear it live on the wireless.
With his belly full, Harry leaned his head back against the plush booth seat and let out a chuffed sigh, basking in the relative stillness of the empty cafeteria.
In spite of the stressful array of court hearings after court hearings that seemed to occupy most of his time these days, he felt strangely…free, for lack of a better word.
This had been a war that was decades in the making – a war for blood supremacy that lasted for years before being cut short because of one madman's paranoia. Then, suddenly, it was reignited and forced upon him because of a prophecy Riddle feared and obsessed about.
In a morbid sort of way, despite losing so many people dear to him to the war, it felt as if the oppressive weight that had been looming over him for so many years had been finally lifted.
He was now free of Voldemort, free from his destiny. The Boy-Who-Lived was gone.
He was just Harry now.
In a way, he was more normal than ever before.
It made him feel guilty just thinking about it. How was he allowed to be so carefree and alive after all of this when so many had lost their lives because of his mistakes, his indecisiveness, his impulsivity?
His parents. Sirius. Remus. Tonks. Would he be betraying their memory and sacrifice by wanting to be just selfish for once? That he wished to feel enjoyment for once in his life and just seek his own happiness… rather than dwell and focus on repaying for his mistakes in the past?
For a moment, he was tempted to search for the Resurrection Stone back in the Forbidden Forest. Just to speak with them one more time, seeing their sad smiles, hearing their soothing voices, needing to know. But eventually, he stamped out that desire. It would only serve to feed that craving hunger deep within him, lingering on what could have been, rather than what had come to pass.
He'd never truly know. Though deep inside he'd like to imagine that they'd be happy for him that his life was finally his own.
Glancing down at his watch, Harry noticed that there were only fifteen minutes left until court would begin but he wasn't too concerned. After all, he and Ron had been able to make it to many classes right before the bell rang and with much less time to spare than he had now.
Still, Harry mused as he eyed the empty seat opposite of him. I have a feeling that Greengrass isn't usually the type to cut things close when it comes to punctuality.
The clicking sounds of hurried approaching footsteps echoed from the entrance of the nearly empty cafeteria, revealing a stiff and harried-looking Daphne Greengrass.
Upon spotting him seated in a booth near the far corner, her shoulders visibly sagged in relief. She made her way towards him with quick steps, though she visibly did her best not to run.
"Have you been waiting for long?" Daphne asked urgently. Before Harry could even respond, she continued without pausing for breath. "I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting. The line for the lifts was dreadfully long and a few ruffians were making a fuss nearby so security had to be called to quell the situation first before allowing us in. And then the woman at the front desk had the gall to stall me and have me speak to her manager first before allowing me entry, all because she noticed my family name!" She visibly scowled at that. "The nerve of some people."
"Easy there, Daphne. It's not like we're in a rush."
"Not in a rush?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Court starts in twelve minutes!"
He gave a casual shrug. "Plenty of time."
Daphne stared at him unblinkingly before slowly shaking her head. "How you managed to keep the professors from failing you for your tardiness over the years is beyond me, Potter."
"Snape certainly tried his hardest," Harry replied cheekily. "You wouldn't believe how motivated one can get once the threat of expulsion becomes a serious possibility. Never a dull moment, that is."
"Quite the thrill seeker, are you?"
"A seeker I may be, though I prefer seeking the snitch rather than thrills."
Daphne rolled her eyes. "And a joker as well. Is there anything that clever tongue of yours can't do?"
"Convince Gringotts to stop assigning me an armed escort every bloody time I pass by," Harry grumbled, almost to himself.
Recently, he had managed to get into contact with two construction firms who expressed their interest in handling the renovations of 12 Grimmauld Place. They exchanged several owls and eventually agreed upon a meeting to negotiate further.
Though their offices were located in just Diagon Alley and Civic Alley, both firms insisted on holding the appointments within the private meeting chambers of Gringotts Bank. Apparently, it was standard practice when conducting official business across Magical Britain that involved the signing and fulfilling of contracts. Despite his misgivings, Harry had reluctantly agreed.
The goblins were not pleased in the slightest at seeing him return. While he wasn't banned from entering Gringotts per se, considering Voldemort's downfall had allowed them to regain control of their bank, the goblins did not take too kindly to the fact that three young adults had managed to successfully outwit and breach their security only to get away unscathed. They had made it a point to have three goblin guards follow him at all times whenever he was within the premises to make sure he wouldn't try to wander off and break into their vaults once again.
In addition to that, the security measures in the bank had been amped up to the point that Harry doubted he would be able to sneak in the bank with just his invisibility cloak anymore. Not that he would ever do that, of course, but the prospect grew tempting each time his three hulking "bodyguards" shadowed him at every turn.
Daphne was giving him an odd look at that remark. He just shook his head in response. "Shall we go, then?"
"Ah, if you don't mind, I'd just like to order something before we leave. I haven't had breakfast yet since I was in such a hurry and –"
Harry merely raised a brow and held up a takeout box filled with freshly baked scones, topped with strawberry jam and clotted cream, which she had taken a great liking to during their previous excursions into the cafeteria.
"– I wanted a quick bite at the least…" Daphne trailed off, eyeing the box with surprise. "Oh. Um, thank you, Harry. That was rather thoughtful of you."
He shrugged. "Think nothing of it. Now, let's go before we're actually going to be late for the trial. Merlin knows I wouldn't hear the end of it from Hermione if I did."
After leaving eight sickles on the table for his meal, Harry and Daphne swiftly exited the cafeteria. They hastily made their way down the hall towards the lifts which, thankfully, had barely any people lining up for it this time around. It didn't take long until they were inside an empty lift and the golden grille shut behind them. The faint rumblings indicated that they were descending to Level Ten.
While they were waiting for their lift to arrive on their floor, Daphne opened the lid of the pastry box and released the buttery smell of freshly baked scones. The delicious scent whiffed in the air around them, the heating charms weaved into the box keeping them as newly warm as possible. Harry chuckled when she breathed in the heavenly aroma and let out a contented sigh.
As she scarfed down her last-minute breakfast with gusto, Harry took the opportunity to give her a once-over.
Unlike the last few times they had seen each other, Daphne had her long hair tied up in an intricate bun with just a few strands of blonde hair let loose across her face. She wore a slim-fitting yellow robe over a button-up green blouse that was visible just below the neck. From beneath the hem of her robes revealed a hint of stocking along her legs that slipped into a pair of low-heeled black shoes. Completing the look was a fashionable russet cape clasped over her shoulders stopping just around the back of her thighs.
She certainly looked pretty and sophisticated, especially when standing next to him in his plain black robes, plaid shirt and moleskin trousers.
"You're not joining the jury today?" he asked.
Daphne paused mid-chew into her third set of scones and blinked at him owlishly. She tried to say something but he couldn't understand a word with her mouth full.
"Manners, Lady Greengrass," Harry tutted exaggeratedly.
Her blue eyes narrowed slightly at that and he struggled to keep a straight face.
Right as she finished swallowing, Daphne harrumphed, turned her nose up and her gaze away from him. "Well, if you must know, I've no need to be part of the Wizengamot jury for the immediate sessions. The next trials are to be focused on the Ministry workers or officials. So, I'm free for the rest of the day. Not that I would wish to spend most of it with the likes of you, of course!"
"If you say so," Harry said with amusement.
Before she could retort, however, the female voice coming from the telephone box cheerfully announced their destination and the doors of the lift promptly opened in front of them.
They wasted no time rushing through the corridors of Level Ten, which gradually opened up to a wide-open area interspersed with lush greenery and small trickling fountains. He knew it as the Presiding Hall. It served as the nexus for several offices, courtrooms, function halls and the highly vaunted Wizengamot chamber located on this floor.
Harry was silently thankful at not having to walk past the Department of Mysteries on his way down to the courtrooms anymore. After the battle that transpired there back in Sixth Year, it seemed the Ministry had finally realized their folly. Gaining access to the most highly classified division of the magical government was no longer easy after the Ministry had hastily taken steps to rectify that. Thus, the lifts were now modified to directly reach Level Ten instead, bypassing the need to go down the flight of stairs right next to the doors of the Department of Mysteries. Exclusive permission was given only to the Unspeakables and a select few people to enter Level Nine properly through the lift.
With just under two minutes to spare, they were barely able to slip into the courtroom right as the large double doors were closing. They hastily climbed their way up the steps leading to their usual seats by the balcony, passing the murmuring conversations of the crowd. The excitement was so palpable in the air, it appeared impossible for anyone to notice their last-minute entry.
"See? What did I tell you, Greengrass?" Harry said with a grin, slightly panting and feeling the blood pumping through his veins from all the running they did. Panting just a bit and with a slightly elevated heartbeat, he leaned back against the comfortable chair. "Plenty of time to spare."
In contrast, Daphne looked ready to collapse in her seat, slumped against the backrest and breathing heavily with one hand held up to her face while the other gripped the armrest tightly as if to anchor herself from falling off. She appeared to be completely out of breath.
"Daphne?"
At his prompting, she peeked at him with one eye through the fingers covering her face, glaring balefully at his more relaxed state. Too tired to vocally respond, she instead released her grip around the armrest and flipped two fingers at him with the back of her hand.
Harry couldn't help but snort loudly at that, garnering a few reproachful looks from the wizards sitting beside them.
He ignored them and raised a brow at Daphne instead. "Classy."
Right as he was about to apologize, a loud blast from the court overseer echoed across the room, signalling that the hearing was about to begin.
"Dear wizards, witches," Kingsley began, dressed in rich blue and green robes lined with golden threads, "and esteemed members of the Wizengamot." He nodded towards the jury present to the side. "Good morning and welcome to the twenty-third day of the ongoing court hearings for the detainees of the Second Wizarding War. I shall endeavour not to waste any more of your precious time with a long speech or needless platitudes. Instead, we shall let the trials speak for themselves. However, before we commence, I would like to state that this day marks the beginning of the trials intended for the Ministry officials and workers sharing involvement in this…farce of a puppet government that Tom Riddle had established as the face of his short-lived regime," Kingsley finished scornfully.
A growing murmur of interest spread through the assembled crowd of journalists, witnesses, spectators, reporters, scribes and jurors. Harry was staring intently at a familiar-looking chair now placed directly in the centre of the courtroom.
"Without further ado, I, Kingsley Shacklebolt, as Minister of Magic, do declare this court to be now in session." With a loud blast from his wand, he nodded towards Robards who in turn gestured for the Aurors to bring forth their first defendant for the day.
The arrival of a short, squat woman with a broad and flabby face immediately generated a wave of mutterings from the crowd. Harry couldn't help but curl his lips in disgust at the mere sight of her. A faint painful sensation made him clench his scarred hand into a fist.
He noted with petty satisfaction how the fluffy pink cardigan she liked to wear was now dirtied and stained from her time spent in the Ministry cells. And how she now sat in the same position as Harry did back when she and Fudge had tried to have him expelled with a scam trial.
"Dolores Umbridge," Robards recited, "thirty-seven years old, half-blood, born in Falmouth and living in–"
"Hem hem."
Several gasps escaped from the watching onlookers, scandalized that a defendant would actually have the gall to interrupt the Head of the DMLE in the middle of their own trial.
"Now that is just plain rude," Daphne murmured from beside him, momentarily forgetting her ire with Harry.
"Oh, this is just the beginning," he promised. "You're in for a show."
"Is something the matter, Miss Umbridge?" Robards asked coolly.
"Why yes, Chief Auror," Umbridge said sweetly. "I believe your facts are incorrect. My father, Orford Umbridge, married a wonderful pureblood lady from the Selwyn family and I would prefer to not have her name besmirched by implying that my blood status is nothing but pure."
"Is that so?" Robards drawled. "Because according to these," he tapped the piece of parchment in front of him, "files drawn straight from the archives of Hogwarts and written succinctly by Professor Minerva McGonagall at the time of your acceptance into the school, your father had been married to a muggle by the name of Ellen Cracknell and had two children by her, one of which just so happens to bear your name."
"Ah yes, Minerva." Umbridge spoke the name in such a sugary sweet voice. "She and I have a…shall we say, certain history together, you understand? Our time as colleagues in Hogwarts –" She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Such a missed opportunity. I did my very best to be accommodating to her and she just wouldn't accept me with open arms as I would have accepted her. I believe that she still holds a grudge towards me to this day and would do anything to drag my name through the dirt."
Harry wanted to hex her right then and there. How dare she try and place the blame on the professor!
"Are you claiming that the Headmistress of Hogwarts tampered with your personal records, Miss Umbridge?" Robards asked seriously. Indignant mutterings from the assembly met his words until the court overseer threatened to raise his wand and they were silenced once more. "That is quite a serious accusation."
"Why, nothing of the sort!" Umbridge simpered. "I am merely implying that it would be so very easy for the Deputy Headmistress to do so, considering the position gave her access to all manners of records of her students at any given point in time. And I would recommend the Investigation Department to enact a thorough search of her office of evidence for such an appalling action! To clear her name, of course," she added as an afterthought.
"Right." Robards glanced down at her unimpressively before rubbing his temples. "I will be forthright with you, Miss Umbridge. Your attempts at deflecting the attention of this trial are not appreciated in the slightest and you would do well for yourself to let me finish without any more interruptions. It will reflect poorly upon you once your sentence is being deliberated."
"Now that is quite the serious accusation, Chief Auror Robards. Do you even have the authority to make such a decision?" Umbridge chided. "Perhaps I should speak to your superior and maybe we can come to an agreement on how a proper trial should be conducted. I should know; I oversaw many during my time as Senior Undersecretary," she professed proudly and stood from her seat.
Rather than deign her with a verbal response, Robards merely snapped his fingers. Instantly, magical chains leapt up and curled themselves around Umbridge's arms and legs. With a high-pitched screech, she was forcefully yanked back into the chair and secured tightly, her head slamming hard against the backrest and leaving her dazed.
"I don't believe you'll be leaving anytime soon," Robards resumed in a friendly voice, though his steely grey eyes spoke volumes. "And that's Director Robards and Headmistress McGonagall to you, Dolores. You would do well to remember that. Now, may I repeat myself?"
For once, Umbridge wisely kept her mouth shut.
Well done, Robards.
"Was she always this…aggravating?" Daphne wondered.
Harry scoffed. "This is nothing. It was complete bollocks that the Ministry allowed her to form those ridiculous Educational Decrees back in fifth year," he continued. "She managed to turn Hogwarts into her own prison rather than a school for learning magic."
"I certainly recall her being such an abysmal instructor in Defense but she had always been so nice to us," Daphne paused, before continuing reluctantly. "Though looking back at it now…I can see that the sentiment was extended only to Slytherin House."
"Yeah, funny that," Harry said sarcastically. "Can't imagine why." Her bias towards the Slytherins had been much worse than Snape's.
"…you are being charged with over a thousand counts of discrimination and severe mistreatment against muggle-borns, in addition to the unlawful abuse of one's authority exercised in the conducting of trials which resulted in the mass persecution and sentencing of hundreds of said muggle-borns to Azkaban. With hundreds more allegedly subjected to the Dementor's Kiss." Robards fixed Umbridge with a hard stare. "How do you plead to these charges?"
"Not guilty, of course!" Umbridge exclaimed, sounding aghast.
Harry couldn't believe how oblivious this insufferable woman was to the growing outrage all around her and each of her crimes added fuel to the heated atmosphere in the courtroom. Some of those present even stood up from their seats and demanded the Dementor's Kiss, while others were causing so much of a ruckus that the Aurors were forced to escort them out of the courtroom for disrupting the session.
"We have here documents, handwritten by Mafalda Hopkirk, amounting to evidence verifying that these so-called 'trials' actually took place," Robards pointed out, gesturing to the mountain of folders right next to him. "One thousand three hundred and fifty-eight cases to be exact. How would you explain this, Miss Umbridge?"
"Why I certainly don't deny officiating these trials, Director. It falls under my legal jurisdiction as Head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission," she said pompously. "I simply fulfilled the responsibility I was given after being handpicked for such a prestigious position.."
"Then why is it that the written transcripts for these court hearings have been reported as missing?" Robards asked with a deep frown.
Umbridge shrugged, or as much as she could with her arms tied against the armrests. "Miss Hopkirk hasn't been quite herself since she fell under the weather. Poor dear. I believe her duties as court scribe and keeper of the records have suffered terribly for it."
A crease formed in between Harry's forehead. Something wasn't quite right here.
"And your defence for why you've charged and convicted numerous muggle-borns to be detained in Azkaban?"
"The new anti-muggle-born laws introduced by Pius Thicknesse himself as acting Minister legally obligated me to arrest these poor muggle-borns, lest I be charged myself for insubordination."
Laws that you helped craft yourself, I reckon. Harry was seething.
Umbridge shook her head sadly and sniffled. "Regretful. Truly regretful am I to admit that I was forced to uphold these…horrid and barbaric laws passed with a voted majority from the Wizengamot. All because of some findings that the Department of Mysteries revealed were too ridiculous to even ponder about!"
There were uneasy mutterings brewing among the assembly at the mention of the Wizengamot appearing to have a hand in allowing these laws to pass. Amid the high seats of the jury, a few elders and madams shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the attention now focusing on them.
"Traitors!" someone shouted.
"No better than Death Eater scum!"
"They ought to be tried like the rest of 'em!"
"Order! I repeat, order in this court!" The court overseer tried to regain control, but the voices only continued to grow louder.
"Did your dad have any hand in this?" Harry harshly asked Daphne.
She shook her head with a frown. "No…no, I don't think so. Despite his beliefs, my father employed a lot of muggle-borns so I can't see him agreeing to vote for something like this, especially if it meant the family business suffering for it." Her frown deepened. "In fact, according to our balance sheets, business has steadily declined since You-Know-Who took over the Ministry last year."
"Wait, really?" Harry asked, surprised. "What exactly does your family do? I sorta figured you were just rich like the Malfoys."
"Oh, we are rich, just not obscenely so, unlike the Malfoys," Daphne clarified. "The Greengrasses have engaged in the food trade among the magical community for centuries. We own several grocery stores and marketplaces across the villages and alleys. As you know, most wizarding settlements are intermixed with muggles so we hire a lot of muggle-borns that know how to deal with them whenever they enter the shops. Along with that, we also barter and import magical plants from outside the country. Neither did fare well during the war with many of our muggle-born employees forced into hiding or arrested and Britain pretty much isolated from the rest of the magical communities. My father was more than a little disgruntled by these results."
"Huh." Harry furrowed his brows at that. He really didn't know what to make of Daphne's father. Symeon Greengrass had apparently been a blood supremacist himself and had happily supported Riddle's ideals, but he also hadn't shied away from paying muggle-borns to work for him despite knowing the ire he would garner from his fellow purebloods. Making sense of the contradictions surrounding the man was a challenge in itself. Something didn't quite add up.
Several loud blasts from below were finally enough to quiet down the cacophony of voices speaking against the Wizengamot. It didn't take much longer for Robards to speak again.
"Rest assured that the members of the Wizengamot who have suspected ties to Death Eaters have all been promptly suspended from their positions and are currently under investigation. Those who will be found guilty will not be absolved from their crimes and will receive their due justice soon enough," Robards said smoothly, which seemed enough to assuage most of the assembly. "Now, let us continue, Miss Umbridge."
"Oh yes, of course, please don't pause on my account," she said innocently.
Harry scoffed. He knew that Umbridge was well aware of what she was doing.
"Upon further investigation, we have come across damning evidence that the Muggle-born Registration Commission generally employed the use of Snatchers in conducting these arrests of muggle-borns rather than the DMLE. We have questioned several high-ranking members of these bounty hunters and most have admitted, under the use of Veritaserum, that they had been approached by members of your administration with Ministry contracts to act as their extension and carry out the orders of arrest, with authorization to the use of deadly force upon resistance." Robards glanced down at her with a raised brow. "Does this not fall under your jurisdiction as Head? Why did you not let the matters of arrest and capture be performed by proper law enforcement as mandated by Magical Law? That is a severe violation. Many of these Snatchers employed by the Ministry have been put to trial and proven guilty of their crimes. This does not bode well for you and your administration. After all, you have enabled them to freely commit their atrocities in the first place.."
"I freely admit that my hold around the Muggle-born Registration Commission was not as…secure as I thought it was. I have failed my fellow wizards and witches by allowing corrupt members of my committee to hire these unsavoury people and be inducted into our honoured Ministry." Umbridge bowed her head, acting as if she was ashamed of her crimes. Harry wouldn't believe her even if she paid him a trillion galleons for it. "With my duties split between Senior Undersecretary and Head, Albert Runcorn and John Dawlish presumed most of the matters within the Commission as Chief Investigators. They handled the affairs regarding the investigation of muggle-borns and employed the Snatchers themselves without my permission."
"What a load of bollocks!" Harry hissed, his grip around the armrests tightening. "She and Runcorn happily made use of Dementors within the Ministry. Those trials were nothing but shams she handled for her own amusement and she disposed of the records Hopkirk transcribed to get rid of evidence. She's the one to blame here!"
"Really?" Daphne asked skeptically. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Because Ron, Hermione and I infiltrated the Atrium polyjuiced as them and saw it with our own eyes," Harry said, not caring about what he had just admitted.
"Wait, you did what now?!"
He ignored her. "She's clearly trying to shift the blame onto others so she can get away scot-free."
"Once I had discovered their treachery, I had little choice but to go through with it. That Death Eater, Yaxley, was assigned to the Commission and followed my every move. Doing anything else would only bring the Dark Lord's attention upon me. There was little I could have done, believe me! I could hardly floo into my home without eyes following me everywhere!" She now had crocodile tears flowing down her wide and ugly toad face.
There were now murmurs of sympathy among the crowd of onlookers. Harry couldn't believe it, Umbridge was going to get away with this!
Robards was whispering with an assistant he had called forth earlier. A moment later, the man swiftly exited the room with two Aurors following him. Robards then cleared his throat. "According to our reports, John Dawlish is currently in admittance to St. Mungo's after suffering injuries inflicted by Augusta Longbottom during his attempts to capture her. We shall be assigning Aurors to his room to guard him while he is being treated for his wounds. As for Albert Runcorn, he is still on the run and evading capture, but the DMLE is working overtime to ensure he and other people of interest will soon be brought to justice for their crimes, one way or another. Corban Yaxley, however, has been imprisoned and will be tried in full detail for his involvement in this in addition to his other crimes committed as a member of Tom Riddle's inner circle. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter, Dolores."
"The pleasure is all mine, Director," Umbridge replied in a sweet, high-pitched and girly voice that made Harry's skin crawl. "Does this mean I am free to go?"
"I must admit, most of the charges against you have been largely circumstantial at this point and you have been able to explain yourself rather thoroughly," Robards mused aloud. "I cannot make any promises, but a second trial is not out of the question. After all, we still need to further clarify your claims with our own sources. You would have to be transferred to more suitable quarters befitting of your station until then, though still under guard, of course."
Even from this distance, Harry could make out the victorious glint in Umbridge's eyes. If she was able to prepare this much with such little time to spare before being detained and still manage to weasel herself out of the trial, he dreaded to think just how easily she would be able to fully exonerate herself in a retrial.
"However, before that, I would just like your clarification on one more thing," Robards said, rummaging at something behind his podium and pulling out a bright pink book with a rose and weeds displayed on its cover. Harry couldn't quite make out the title from this distance but it seemed familiar to him, somehow. "This right here is a pamphlet titled Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pureblood Society, published and distributed en masse by a group of Ministry scribes some time after Riddle's takeover of the Ministry. Do you, perchance, know who the author of this piece of literature might be, Miss Umbridge?"
"I… I haven't the faintest idea!" she squeaked out. All the colour seemed to drain out of her face.
"No? Now that is most curious. Because the chief scribe has admitted that it was you yourself who approached him with a freshly written sample of this pamphlet along with a personal request to, and I quote, 'spread the truth about these mudbloods throughout the wizarding world and have them know their place in the order of our world'," Robards finished, met with shocked silence from the rest of the onlookers. "How curious," he continued lightly, "that during your earlier confession of being coerced and forced into complying with your many duties as Senior Undersecretary and Commission Head, you had not once mentioned this particular detail of writing down this pamphlet. Which means you wrote the script of this propaganda booklet out of your own free will."
"They-they could be lying!" Umbridge cried out. "All to slander my good name!"
"Perhaps," Robards acquiesced, which made Umbridge look hopeful. "Which is why I had the Investigation Department perform further analysis upon the handwriting of this pamphlet. Based on their findings here, they were able to conclude, after a prolonged inspection of twenty-thousand four hundred and sixty-two Ministry documents written and signed under your name, that it is very much indeed your handwriting. The self-writing quill found in your office was brought to the lab for further study. Head Analyst Odessa Cygnet has been able to identify that the quill is bonded to your own wand: Birch, eight inches. Dragon heartstring core. In addition to this, the handwriting it produced matches exactly with what was written in this booklet. Have you anything to say in your defence, Miss Umbridge?"
Umbridge opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. All she could manage were a few strangled sounds as her mouth opened and closed wordlessly like a trout.
Harry could have cackled out loud right then and there.
"Very well. I shall now read out a few excerpts from this booklet to highlight the main topics expounded by this propaganda piece." Robards cleared his throat. "Mudbloods & The Dangers They Post to the Wizarding World, How to Recognise a Mudblood, What to Do When Faced with Mudbloods and The Importance of a Pureblood Society." Robards's face turned into a scowl of disgust as he continued reading. "Magic could only be inherited, and thus any 'so-called muggle-born' must have obtained magic by force. Failing to report a mudblood will lead to immediate imprisonment. It is your duty to report any suspected mudblood to the Muggle-Born Commission."
"They're just words!" Umbridge blurted out, finally finding her voice. A little too late, as the anger from the crowd began to simmer once more. Her words were just barely audible across the growing chatter. "It's not a crime to publish your opinion on something! I was merely exercising my right!"
"It is a crime to spread lies, misinformation and propaganda that promotes violence and murder from within our magical community!" Robards snapped with a slam of his fist against the desk. "Many times in this pamphlet you have instigated for and supported radical ideals popularized by Tom Riddle and his followers. You are directly responsible for the wave of bloodshed that washed over muggle-borns and those with common decency not to believe in the lies! Just words, you say," he scoffed derisively. "How do you explain this then?"
Robards flipped through the pages of the pamphlet before pausing with narrowed eyes and then saying out loud, "The Mudblood Relocation Program. A plan of action established by the Ministry of Magic and spearheaded by the Muggle-born Registration Commission to relocate confirmed muggle-borns to specialized ghettos across the country to separate them from more pureblooded wizardkind, whether they be child, adult or elderly. Upon entering, they are to be stripped naked and their heads shaved before being forced to work in gruelling labour all hours of the day to make up for the sins of their kind. Any wands found in their possession were to be seized or snapped as a means of punishment for stealing magic from true-blooded wizards." Robards glared heavily at Umbridge. "Just how many innocent wizards and witches died in these relocation camps, Dolores? Just how many children did you send starving to their deaths when they should have been enjoying their first year at Hogwarts or meeting with friends after a long summer? Just how many more had to suffer… to fulfil your sick and perverse pleasures?"
Whereas before righteous indignation and outrage had filled the halls of the courtroom, now there was an eerie and horror-struck silence instead.
"That's… that's…" Daphne stuttered in a horrified voice.
Harry was sickened to the stomach. It was so much worse than he had thought when he infiltrated the Ministry a year ago and bore witness to Umbridge's sadistic policies. Just imagining Hermione being forced to live through this hell that many muggle-borns were subjected to just because of their non-magical heritage filled him with so much hate that he was tempted to go down there and cast the Cruciatus on that evil woman himself, consequences be damned.
"It's ironic, really," Robards said quietly. "All this," he gestured towards the pamphlet and the mountain of documents detailing the trials she presided over, "you committed in the name of blood supremacy and a misguided sense of support for your Dark Lord, yet he had been nothing more than a megalomaniac half-blood himself."
"What?" Umbridge screeched, her shrill voice high and grating in the ensuing silence. "Lies!"
"Believe whatever you wish, I care not for your accusations," Robards said stiffly.
"Before I continue, I should mention that I have a rather deep interest in muggle history. In my spare time, I do enjoy reading literature about the wars they have waged, ranging from the ancient to the medieval and to the most recent of world wars." Robards paused, leaned forward, rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "Upon going through this pamphlet of yours, I found myself doubting my own sanity. I told myself that these actions taken by the supposed elite of our community could not be what I immediately believed them to be.
"Have you ever heard of the Second Muggle World War, Dolores? Of these muggle fascists in Germany and the actions they took against the Jews of Europe? What you have done – collecting muggle-borns from the streets, their homes, their families, forcing them to live in makeshift ghettos, shaving their heads, forcing them into labour until they die or murdering them outright – bears an eerie similarity to the actions of muggle dictator Adolf Hitler and his so-called 'Nazis'." He let out a humourless chuckle. "I find it rather curious how inspired you apparently became by the actions of the worst muggles have to offer – muggles, whom you deem your lessers."
"How dare you?!" Umbridge yelled out indignantly, losing all sense of decorum now. "My program was more refined than anything those witless muggles could come up with! We would have finally been rid of this mudblood disease that's been plaguing our community and growing in number with each passing generation – poisoning our children's minds and lineages!"
Robards shook his head at her and sighed aggravatingly before turning to Kingsley, who had remained silent this entire time and merely watched the proceedings with a critical eye. "My questioning has reached its conclusion, Minister. The floor is yours."
Kingsley nodded gravely and stood up to address the jury. "Esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I believe we have heard sufficiently enough of the allegations attributed to Miss Umbridge here. Please prepare your wands for your votes." He paused for a moment, before asking, "Should Dolores Umbridge be judged guilty for the charges of discrimination and severe mistreatment against muggle-borns? Those who vote yea, do so now."
Harry watched with grim satisfaction at the unanimous shower of green sparks that filled the air of the courtroom.
"Should Dolores Umbridge be judged guilty for the charges of unlawful abuse of one's power and authority in the conducting of unfair trials and mass sentencing of innocents to Azkaban?"
Another burst of green sparks shot through the air.
"Should Dolores Umbridge be judged guilty for crimes of conspiracy, specifically the spreading of hateful misinformation to promote radical propaganda and violence against a select group of wizards and witches within our community?"
The large number of sparks in the air looked more like a fireworks show rather than the delivery of a verdict.
"And lastly, should Dolores Umbridge be judged guilty of crimes against wizardkind, specifically the extermination and deportation of muggle-borns and as the mastermind behind these deplorable relocation camps?"
The final round of sparks was a resounding green.
Kingsley nodded in satisfaction. "I believe the Wizengamot and I share a unanimous decision regarding this matter." He glanced down at Umbridge with a look of utter seriousness. "Dolores Umbridge, you have been found guilty on all four charges against you. I hereby sentence you to the Dementor's Kiss."
There was a moment of stunned silence before the courtroom exploded with commotion. Journalists and reporters immediately asked questions and demanded answers from Robards, with many requesting elaborations on the muggle comparison with the Nazis. Discussions and arguments arose from all corners of the room.
"Good riddance," Daphne spat.
As he quietly watched Dolores Umbridge be dragged kicking and screaming away from a jeering courtroom, Harry decided that he would be cherishing this particular memory in the Pensieve for a long long time.
Exchange rate:
1 galleon = £25.00
1 sickle = £1.50
1 knut = £0.50
Note: For those confused at what Daphne meant by her two-fingered gesture, flipping the bird in the UK uses two fingers instead of just one.