Chapter 20: The Grass is Not Greener

The bailiff carefully unlocked and opened the side door leading into the cavernous courtroom. Almost immediately upon the first prisoner being escorted into the building, shackled in chains and with bags over their heads like the war criminals they were, boos and jeers rained down from the viewing boxes. Catcalls and roars of outrage quickly followed as the victorious forces of the magical Light witnessed the defeated insurgents paraded in a kind of macabre conga line into a court of law.

"Traitor!"

"Ribald!"

"BLAGGARD!"

"Villain!"

"Ne'er-do-well!"

"Libertine!"

The cold reception was more biting than the January air gusting just outside and above this labyrinthine inner sanctum of the Wizengamot. Huddled up and around Gawain Robards in the viewing box alongside the likes of Ron, Seamus, Neville, Ernie McMillan, Terry Boot and other Auror trainees, Harry attempted to fight off a more traumatic memory – that of being in this very room less than eighteen months before, in disguise and on a mission to steal a Dark object from the seditious Umbridge – in favor of a more relevant one, anchored in history. He recalled falling for the first time into Dumbledore's Pensieve, bearing witness to Igor Karkaroff's trial in the immediate aftermath of the First Wizarding War and the Dark Lord's fall.

Once the prisoners were lined up before the towering bench, the head-bags were ripped off one by one, revealing faces to match with the notorious names.

"There he be, the heathen!" Seamus pointed to a man with dirty blonde hair, situated near the middle of the line, before hocking back and letting some spittle fly. It would come nowhere near to hitting the Irish lad's intended target, but that didn't seem to matter so much to Seamus as indulging the need to express his disgust. Next to his men-in-training, Robards frowned hard in clear disapproval but offered no reprimand.

"Ron?" a soft voice now piped up from where a small, ethereal otter sat anxiously, following the delivery of an earlier message. "What's happening?"

"Seamus has eyes on Malfoy, love," Ron told his girlfriend's Patronus form. "Can you see him through your Patronus?"

There was a pause as Hermione, through the eyes of her otter, strained to make out the shapes of the prisoners half a country away from where she was currently between classes, back at Hogwarts for her final term. Harry heard the brunette witch suck in a sharp breath. "Yes. I can see him." A beat, and then, she almost whispered: "He looks terrified…." Ron's eyebrows stitched together, but he didn't move to disagree nor concur with his girlfriend.

The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot now called the court to order. "Court is now in session!" he bellowed with the aid of a Sonorous Charm, though it took a moment or two before the last of the jeers petered out. Scanning the faces in their gallery box as well as down below, Harry could see more than a few rebellious expressions in the assemblage, irritated that their ten minutes' hate would be so squashed, even by the highest judiciary body in the land that now, more than ever, clung to law and order, as a sharp contrast to the fascistic and genocidal lawlessness that had defined the Voldemort regime.

Harry peered closer at each of the war criminals in the docket, a mix of Death Eaters and older Slytherins – and this was just the first wave. Trials and sentencing for the surviving and captured enablers of the Voldemort insurgency were already being predicted as having the potential to last years.

Among this first batch, Draco looked particularly disheveled. Although handsome in his own way, an Azkaban cell had not been kind to him. Harry marveled at how someone who was his own peer could have aged so precipitously in just roughly eight months from when he had been last seen, fleeing the field of battle with his parents.

Though Hermione had remained adamant that she wanted no part of the trials, especially not in a participatory capacity, she had nonetheless been helpful in passing along to her boyfriend and best mate historical precedents and blue prints for how other nations had dealt with put-down rebellions, insurrections in their own places and times. The trials of the deposed Nazis of the Third Reich, some fifty years prior, had come to mind, as well as the efforts of Reconstruction under American Presidents Abraham Lincoln and Andrew Johnson following the defeat of the Confederacy. To use these guides, Robards had been all too eager, and he had been most impressed with Hermione's succinct summary of the subjects. "Weasley, you say the word and I can get your missus an interview in DMLE. I know they would be proud to have her!"

This and more seemed to be on Ron's mind as the representative for the people rose to read the charges laid out in the indictments. Nearly all of the defendants, with certain exceptions, would be charged separately, but tried together in groups. The fault lines for which criminals fell into which docket was largely organized around defendants being levied with similar charges and counts.

"Remember, everyone: this is just a preliminary hearing. There will be no jury – yet – and the Wizengamot judges will decide how incarceration will be spent, pending a trial and conviction," Robards told his subordinates.

The proceedings being laid out at this very moment were similar in design to something known as a bench trial – a court proceeding decided by a sole judge, rather than a trial by jury. Often, these resulted from defendants waiving their right to a jury trial. It made Harry wonder…

"Do you think there will be more bench trials than jury trials?" he asked of Ron and Robards.

"Hard to say," Hermione's otter piped up. "A bench trial might serve as more of an indicator that a defendant is going to take a guilty plea. It would be more perfunctory, and save time."

"And act as the coward's way out," Ron snorted. "These scum don't want to be subject to our laws – they're the laws they tried to overthrow! We should impose it on them – like those blokes did at Hindenburg!"

"Nuremberg, Ronald. The Hindenburg was a large blimp that crashed in Manchester Township, New Jersey in 1937. And anyway, just because they tried to overthrow our laws does not necessarily mean the Death Eaters forfeited the rights they have under those laws," Hermione reminded her lover chidingly. Ron folded his arms, grumbling. Robards nodded to Harry.

"Too right she is. She'd be a hell of a public defender!"

"Yes, sir," Harry grinned with pride. He went back to scanning the defendants in the docket box. There were the Carrows, looking sour. Draco near the center. Pansy Parkinson appeared simpering and terrified, and next to her stood a girl whom Harry had never seen before.

Except for a mugshot in those case files…. He strained to put a name to the face.

"Hey," he hissed to Ron. "Who is she?"

Ron leaned over the balustrade to get a better look. "Daphne Greengrass. She was our year in Slytherin House. Has a sister two years behind her – Astoria…. Anastasia…. something like that?..."

The Chief Warlock banged his gavel once more for order. "Given the nature of the offense, I order that the defendants in question be remanded to Azkaban prison for the time being, to await trial for the accused crimes laid out so forth in relation to the illegal occupation of a institution of magical higher learning – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – from approximately September the 1st, in the Year of our Merlin 1997 to approximately May the 2nd, in the Year of our Merlin 1998. Trials by jury or by bench, whichever being so selected by the defendants, shall commence no less than nine and ninety days set from now, in other words for this spring. Court is now adjourned!" The gavel came down hard.

"I have to go!" Hermione's otter squeaked. "Gin and I have Charms next! Ta, love!" Her Patronus vanished as the audience began to rouse themselves and head for the exits to the gallery box.

Outside the courtroom, Robards huddled with his Auror trainees.

"Here are your assignments. You have been placed as advisory counsel for either the defense or the prosecution by my directive. Weasley, Potter: you'll be no doubt pleased to know that neither of you has been assigned in any capacity to bring legal accountability to one Draco Malfoy."

The best mates both deflated with relief. "Thank you, sir….!"

"Finnegan:" Seamus stepped up at the ready. "You will be acting as advisory counsel to the prosecution for young Mr. Malfoy. I trust that assignment shall be to your liking?"

Seamus grinned with wolfish relish. "I should hope it shall, sir!" Ron and Harry exchanged wicked grins. On the face of it, Seamus might not have a conflict of interest with Malfoy the same way they did, but Malfoy had allegedly acted against Neville, Seamus and their DA followers during the Death Eater occupation. Prosecuting Draco might not be personal, but no doubt Seamus could be counted on to make it personal. All the more so once the evidence of Draco's actions during the occupation and then the Battle was amassed.

"Potter: I have you on defense, for one Miss Greengrass…." Robards checked over the file before handing it to Harry.

"Defense?" Ron's jaw dropped in horror on behalf of his friend.

"You'll be acting as advisory counsel to me on that one, so stick close. There is to be an initial meeting with Miss Greengrass and the prosecutors acting on behalf of the state this afternoon; we will be following her by carriage back to Azkaban."

"Lucky!" Ernie whispered to Harry. "Working directly under Robards."

"I don't see how!" Ron bemoaned. At Robards' hard look, the youngest Weasley son quickly backpedaled. "That is to say… I mean, how are any of us going to stand defending the indefensible…. Sir?"

Robards sighed. "Son, I've defended more than a few jackanapes and tossers in my time – people who were as guilty as sin. They knew it, and I knew it. But someone has to represent them in court." He handed Ron his advisory counsel assignment. "To that end, try and let this designation be a lesson to you, Weasley."

Ron opened the case file, and promptly swore. "Bother! I got defense advisory counsel for Amycus Carrow?!"

Harry smirked. "Say, when you meet with the man-cunt, ask him for me how his Crucio scars are holding up!" At Robards' horrified and appalled look, Harry flushed. "Sorry, no one was really… supposed to know about that…."

"Nevertheless, I'd pass that information along, Potter," Robards advised. "It could be material to Carrow's defense. Though I will say that even if you yourself acted illegally, you were justified in doing so in an era of wartime. The rules of engagement, especially as they relate to the law, can be murky in situations like that, particularly in matters that can be ruled as either self-defense or in the direct defense of another."

Harry turned red further still and nodded submissively.

Harry could feel the chill long before he and Robards even disembarked from their threstral carriage to approach and enter the notorious island wizarding prison. Like before with the frosty reception of the prisoners in the Wizengamot courtroom, this chill wasn't due to the January frost nipping the air.

Following the war, the Dementors had been banished back to their original enumerated purpose as jailers for the Azkaban inmates and their powers significantly reined in. Harry wasn't certain if the penitentiary culture would be different after the war as opposed to before, back in his godfather's time here as an inmate, or if anyone would find criminal justice reform as it applied to Azkaban even necessary. Someone who believed in the law as fervently as Hermione did would probably advocate for more humane treatment, so as to avoid sowing resentment that could potentially create an opening similar to the one after World War I and the Treaty of Versailles, or here in the magical realm following the Second World War and the concurrent fall of Grindelwald.

Harry kept his head down as he and Robards approached the Death Eaters on guard. There were also a few Aurors stationed here, mixed in, all of them holding cast Patronuses aloft; all the same, even as he did not cast his Patronus stag himself, Harry nonetheless firmly kept a pleasant memory in his mind's eye: he and Ginny, bathed in golden and amber light, making love on a summer's day, alone in her bedroom….

Harry followed Robards down a maze of corridors until they entered an interrogation room. A prisoner in stripes, her hands shackled to the table, was already positioned in the seat opposite where Robards and the Chosen One now placed themselves.

Harry blinked in surprise as he watched Robards pull out what looked like a Muggle tape recorder. "Pretty handy, these things," the older Auror murmured to his mentee. "You could use a Recording Charm, of course, but the strength fades overtime and can make some of the audio hard to hear. You'd have to constantly recast it." Pressing the button, the Head Auror now spoke into the device. "Testing, testing. This is Gawain Robards, about to interrogate one Miss Daphne Sierra Greengrass, Azkaban inmate #24601, on this, the 6th of January…. 1999." He paused, glancing to his partner. "I have here with me, in his capacity as advisory counsel to the defense, Mr. Harry James Potter."

At the sound of the name of the wizarding world's conquering hero, the bound prisoner now lifted her head so that it was no longer cloaked in shadow, emerging into the light.

Daphne Greengrass had flowing blonde hair, somehow not as matted as Draco's had become over these months. She had a heart-shaped, even ovate, face, with a high forehead and full lips. With smooth, alabaster skin and piercing ice-blue eyes, she somehow appeared older than her seventeen years. Indeed, a woman, rather than a girl in face.

When the prisoner spoke, her tones were rich and alto. Her gaze, when it landed on Harry, beheld a fascinating kind of melancholy, one that seemed…. solemn.

"Potter? Potter is helping with my defense?" Daphne scoffed, leaning back into the chair. "Way to rub it in, old man. This has to be your idea of a sick joke!"

Robards steepled his hands diplomatically. "I assure you, Miss Greengrass, if sick jokes were our aim, I'd have Polyjuiced Harry Potters prosecuting and defending you and your confederates from every side, on every legal team that is being dispatched to defend your rights and the rights of those like you. Mr. Potter is here under my authority and tutelage. Now, if you at any point wish to take your case and our place in it defending you seriously, we may begin."

Harry tried not to flinch, never mind cow, under Daphne's probing stare settling on him. She seemed to be picking him apart with those pools of blue, and he wondered if she was a Leglimens.

"Your girl is the Weaslette, isn't she?" When Harry said nothing, Daphne snorted. "She's a spitfire, that one, I'll give her that. Dropped me with a Bat-Bogey Hex that laid me up in the Hospital Wing for weeks because that Pomfrey cow refused to treat me."

Harry took this in with surprise, not just about the mention of Ginny going on the attack against Daphne, but also the leveled accusation that Madame Pomfrey – a trained Healer – would have willfully betrayed her Hippocratic Oath in refusing to treat the enemy.

Glancing away from Daphne's penetrating stare, Harry cleared his throat. "Miss Greengrass, those are serious charges you are laying against a respected representative of the wizarding medical profession. If there are merits to your claim that the rules of engagement in wartime were in any way violated by a defender of Hogwarts or otherwise, rest assured, my colleague and I shall make every effort to investigate them. For now, let us begin by walking through how to address the first count leveled against you: torture and false imprisonment of a wizarding minor, hereby defined as any magical person of any bloodline under the age of 17…."

"I know what the word minor means," Daphne cut across Harry coolly. She didn't roll her eyes, though she may as well have. "Them Carrows told us to round up ickle firsties to blunt recruitment to that Army business. Longbottom wouldn't shut up, and we thought we could threaten him into line by attacking the kiddies."

Harry stared at her, repulsed and gobsmacked. "So you knowingly committed a war crime simply on the orders of someone else telling you to commit that war crime…."

"Lightly, Potter….. steady there, laddie…." Robards whispered.

"You don't get it, do you?" And Harry was shocked to see Daphne's bright blue eyes suddenly sparkling with tears. Gone was the tough girl, apathetic act from moments before. "Those numpties would have killed us if we refused!"

Harry worried his bottom lip, ducking his face back into the criminal indictment papers as more or less a way to anchor himself to some sort of reality…. even as the lines of those reality were being blurred by the young woman across from him.

"Miss Greengrass…. We will do our best to sort out which of your actions were executed under coercion, and which were acted upon with independent judgment," Robards assured.

"Wouldn't coercion have to involve acting under the influence of the Imperius Curse?" Harry wanted to know.

Robards eyed Harry gravely. "Not necessarily….."

Harry turned back to his papers and notes. "All right, then….. Count Two: aiding or abetting in the unlawful occupation of a federal, government or academic building…."

He tried not to meet those pools of blue watching him from across the interrogation table.