hello! how have all of you been?
i am incredibly surprised at the existence, size, and timing of this chapter lol didnt think i had it in me but turns out i do! this is definitely a plot chapter-no mushy feelings or inner monologuing for once.
parts of this, like the first few lines and some of the descriptions etc are taken directly from ootp. everything else is a twisted version of the og trial but i hope its different enough to make it unique! dont wanna bore anyone now do we haha
i was in a bit of a hurry to post this bc it was my birthday yesterday and i wanted to gift myself with a new chapter (lame? i know i know but i needed to know i could do it lol) but i had a wonderfully hectic day w my friends coming over so this is the first moment i've gotten. im very, very proud of myself for finishing this chapter 3
so, with that said, i hope you guys like it too. i am, as always, so humbled by the love and support i've gotten from everyone on this fic. it never fails to baffle me that people keep coming back. im slowly making my way thru replying to each comment and i *will* do all of them, but in the meantime, please know if you've ever left a comment, ur on a list of my favorite people. ditto if you've left a kudos or subscribed or bookmarked or even read parts of this. i am forever grateful.
Harry's heart was beating a violent tattoo against his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom.
Courtroom Ten was a grand structure, tall and cavernous. It also reminded Harry of something, something niggling at the back of his mind as he looked at the empty benches on either side, the shadowy figures talking in low murmurs in front, the dimly lit stone walls. Harry knew he was late, that he should be apologising or explaining or doing—something but he couldn't stop staring at the room, wracking his brains to figure out where the feeling of familiarity came from. By all rights, he shouldn't even know what the inside of a courtroom looked like, despite his history of…accidental delinquency.
Looking around, Harry gasped as he remembered. It was the place from Dumbeldore's pensieve—where the Lestranges had been sentenced to Azkaban. All of a sudden, the room felt much more sinister, the air much colder. The chains on the chair in the centre became more foreboding than they were before as Harry remembered the way they shook and clung to the arms of whoever sat on it.
It was a meagre comfort that they didn't bind him, only rattled threateningly, when he sat down.
That was when he finally looked up to the high bench above him. Around fifty people, all dressed in the characteristic purple of the Wizengamot with an embossed silver 'W' on the front of the robes. In the middle, Cornelius Fudge with his characteristic bowler hat and a stern expression. Harry had never seen him look at him that way before, more used to a simpering, high strung man than this version of him who was quietly radiating hostility and arrogance. Beside him was a woman with a monocle over the right eye—Madam Amelia Bones, and Harry bowed his head in respect. If Oscar had managed to set it up, they'd be having a meeting to discuss Sirius' case after this. He hadn't told Mr. Weasley, mainly because he didn't want anyone else to get wind of it until the last possible moment, but he knew he would have to once his own trial had concluded.
Harry's eyes roved over the rest of the members, and he was only slightly surprised to see Percy Weasley sitting at the far end, hand poised eagerly over a roll of parchment, quill steadily dripping ink. Fudge asked the scribe—Percy, it seemed— if he was ready and upon receiving an affirmative, turned to Harry. As he started his prepared speech, Percy began scribbling notes at once.
"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August into offences committed under Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Cornelius Fudge, MoM. Amelia Susan Bones, Head of DMLE. Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley—,"
"Witness for the defence—," a voice cut in, and Harry turned his head abruptly to see Dumbledore walking in with his brightly coloured robes and a perfectly calm expression. That—that wasn't part of the plan. Harry hadn't had any contact with the man, not since the summer had begun and especially not after the Dementors had attacked. In fact, the way things had gone, he was half under the impression that the headmaster was deliberately ignoring him. And now for him to basically barge into the courtroom, proclaiming to be Harry' defence when he hadn't even deigned to send a letter to him before? Harry pushed down the trickle of annoyance that rose in him at that. He had a plan here, and he wasn't going to let anyone, not even Headmaster Dumbledore, derail it.
Just as he was thinking of what he could do to deny Dumbledore's gracious services without sabotaging his own case or alienating the man, a delicate cough echoed around the room.
"Oscar Armitage, Shellworth and Armitage, counsel for Mr. Potter." Harry let go of the breath he'd been holding at the familiar voice booming from behind him. He knew Oscar was here—there was a reason he'd negotiated to have the man on retainer instead of anything less. But it was still a relief to know that he wasn't completely alone, and his sidestepping Dumbledore looked much better than anything Harry could've done. He turned to the side, where Oscar was standing behind a long bench that he'd overlooked before. The man sent him a quick wink before turning to face the interrogators again, a look of quiet confidence on his face. Oscar Armitage looked like a man who was used to winning, and this case wouldn't be any different.
Harry could see the look on Fudge's face—as if he'd sucked on a lemon—and quietly rejoiced at having, if indirectly, put it there. The man would not have a good time today, they'd make sure of it. A quick peek at Dumbledore showed a rare look of shock spreading across his aged features, which was a pleasant bonus. Clearly he hadn't expected anyone to be there for Harry.
"Before the actual proceedings begin," Oscar said in a perfectly pleasant voice that didn't mask the bite beneath. "I would like it to be on record that my client only received communication for a 9am disciplinary meeting with Madam Bones."
"It is not the court's fault that your client did not check their correspondence," Fudge replied testily.
"Considering the notification for the changed time came five minutes before it was due to start, I think we can all agree that Mr. Potter is not at fault here. In fact, it speaks to his sense of punctuality and duty that he was here an hour before the original time." Oscar turned to the rest of the Wizengamot members, visibly dismissing Fudge. "As I said, I want it explicitly stated and acknowledged that someone shifted a closed underage trial—something that's supposed to be open-and-shut and well within Madam Bones' jurisdiction—to a full Wizengamot that was last open for Death Eater trials. And that is in addition to the lack of sufficient notice and justification for such a change. Mr. Potter is a fifteen year old boy being treated like the worst of the criminals this society has seen before the trial has even started."
You could hear the pin drop silence left in the wake of his impassioned speech. Before the proceedings could even start, it was turned on its head by a variable no one had anticipated. Harry ruthlessly suppressed the grin that wanted to emerge.
"Er- that- your statement has been noted," Fudge said, trying to regain some control over the courtroom, shooting a look at the tittering that had started up in the farther benches. "Now, the charges against the accused are as follows." And in an unnecessarily complicated manner, basically stated that Harry had 'knowingly' performed the Patronus charm in a muggle area, despite having received a previous warning.
"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive?" he asked briskly.
"Yes," Harry replied. His voice, in contrast, was calm and unhurried, like he had nothing better to do than answer to the Wizengamot.
"You conjured a Patronus, in a muggle area, fully aware that you are violating the Statute of Secrecy, then?"
"Yes."
"There it is, the boy admits he broke the law. That he shows no remorse for exposing our world to a muggle, why, he must be punished immediately and with full effect," Fudge proclaimed triumphantly. Harry barely held in a snort, the trial had barely started and he'd already started celebrating. What a fool.
"Objection," Oscar cut in. "Minister Fudge has abandoned even the most basic pretence of giving a fair trial to Mr. Potter. He hasn't asked why my client felt the need to conjure a Patronus, nor any follow up on who, precisely, the muggle who witnessed the event was."
Fudge's face purpled at the not-so-subtle accusation.
"Mr. Potter," Madam Amelia Bones leaned forward in interest. "You say you conjured a Patronus? A fully fledged Patronus?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And it takes a proper shape, not- not vapor or smoke?"
"A stag, just as it has any other time I've cast the charm."
"Any other—Mr. Potter, how long have you been able to accomplish this feat?" Madam Bones' voice was shocked, and she wasn't alone as there was a rise in the whispers coming from around him.
"Since third year. I found out I had a particularly adverse reaction to Dementors when the Ministry assigned them to Hogwarts during the school year. It was important to learn the spell for self-defence," Harry shrugged before shifting the conversation back to the topic at hand. "It's why I had to do the same in Privet Drive. We were ambushed by two Dementors, and my cousin—who's the muggle I performed magic in front of, by the way. He's known about this world for as long as I have—well, he was about to be Kissed."
He was a little surprised he'd been allowed to speak uninterrupted, especially after throwing shade at the Ministry's actions, but he guessed it had something to do with the way Madam Bones had taken control of the proceedings and the pleasant glare Oscar had aimed at the Minister.
"Mr. Potter, are you saying that you were attacked by Dementors at your muggle residence?" Madam Bones questioned, back suddenly straight.
"Yes, ma'am—,"
"That's preposterous! The boy is clearly lying," Fudge cut in angrily. "The Dementors are under the Ministry's control—what would they be doing in the middle of Surrey?"
"That's the question of the hour, is it not?" Oscar commented.
"Are you trying to imply—,"
"Excuse me, if I may." This time, Professor Dumbledore was the one who interrupted, looking only slightly distressed. Harry guessed it was because things weren't happening the way he'd intended, or even anticipated, but he couldn't find it in him to feel guilty. "There's a witness who can corroborate Mr. Potter's story."
Harry's eyebrows rose at that confident proclamation. A witness? Surely, he didn't mean—
The door opened as Percy returned with the witness and Harry saw that yes, he did mean Mrs. Figg. He shared an incredulous look with Oscar, who had a small frown on his face. Harry knew that he had the power to shut this down, arguing that Dumbledore had no right to call forth a witness when there was a lawyer on record for Harry but that would be a risky gamble. For one, despite the attempted slander against him, he still held quite a bit of sway and influence in the Wizengamot, as proven by the awed eyes that were fixed on him from the moment he walked in. While Oscar should have the power to overrule him, it was equally likely that things would be in Dumbledore's favour. It was for that reason that Harry nodded in resignation at Oscar's raised eyebrow.
Mrs. Figg's testimony was—well, the kindest way to put it was that it didn't do as much as Dumbledore was probably hoping for. She was exceedingly fearful, unable to speak without stuttering and barely confident of her own recounting. Even Harry, who knew she was telling the truth because he'd been there, could poke multiple holes in her story. There was no chance the Wizengamot would take her seriously, and he could see the doubt on many members' faces. Fudge, for his part, just looked smug.
After the poor lady had been ushered out, Oscar stepped up. He'd had enough of this farce of a trial and was going to take matters into his own hands.
"Mr. Potter has consented to the use of Legilimency, Truth Serum, Pensieve viewing and an examination of his wand."
His words immediately triggered another wave of frenzies whispers in the courtroom. It wasn't often that those on trial volunteered to undergo such…humiliatingly invasive measures.
"That- That isn't standard procedure, Mr. Armitage," Fudge said, brows furrowed. "I'm afraid we can't—,"
"What is standard procedure, Minister Fudge, is giving the accused a chance to prove their side of the story. In this case, Mr. Potter is willing to comply with all the laws of this court to do that, and you're saying he's not allowed? On the basis of what?" Oscar questioned.
"Harry Potter is a child," Fudge fired back. "His word cannot be trusted, and the law doesn't allow for such procedures to be carried out on a minor." He sat back, arms crossed in triumph at finding a successful loophole. Even Harry, who knew Oscar would request the serum or the examination of his memories, was a little concerned now. If the excuse really did work—what then?
Turns out Oscar had prepared for that eventuality as well.
"That's not what the Ministry was saying last year."
Fudge scowled. "What are you trying to say, Mr. Armitage?"
"The Triwizard Tournament—restricted to those who are considered adults in our world," Oscar explained, with the air of a predator closing in on its prey. "By letting Mr. Potter compete in it, even after it came out that his name was put in by another, does that not mean the Ministry considered him an adult?"
Silence fell across the courtroom as people processed the audacious claim. Harry lost his battle with the smile, allowing himself a small smirk at the reaction.
Oscar kept going, pushing his advantage. "After all, if participating in deadly events is allowed, then surely the ability to consent to a full testimony is no problem?"
Harry turned to look at Fudge, wondering how he'd respond to this unexpected turn. If he tried to dig his heels in and still refuse Harry, that would mean admitting the Ministry had made a mistake during the Tournament…which would lead to a can of worms he perhaps wouldn't like to open. On the other hand, if he played his previous statement off and allowed the testimony to go through, then his attempts at discrediting Harry would fail—something he seemed to be aware of with how vehemently he was refusing to let the entire truth come out. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place and it was glorious to watch.
Everyone waited in silence as the struggle played out, quite visibly, on Fudge's face. Finally, his scowl deepened and Harry just knew, before he'd even opened his mouth, which option he'd gone with.
"Weasley, go and get the potion master."
Percy immediately got up, knocking the inkpot over in his haste, and with one incredulous look in his boss' direction, went out the side door.
It was then that the third person sitting at the main bench, who'd so far been shadowed, spoke up with a cough. "Cornelius…are you quite sure that's wise?"
Something about her voice—sickly sweet and so obviously fake—made Harry tense up in response, even though she wasn't talking to him. He couldn't say what but there was something about it that triggered all his fight-or-flight instincts and he craned his neck to get a better view of the person beside Fudge—Umbridge something or the other, if he remembered the initial introductions correctly.
It was a short, portly woman, dressed in the most eye-watering pink plaid. Her brown hair was tightly rolled around her face which resembled that of a frog's to an almost alarming degree.
"Yes, Dolores," Fudge snapped at her and though she looked like she wanted to say more, she kept her mouth shut.
They didn't have to wait long before Percy returned, tailed by a short man in black potions master, presumably. He produced a small vial filled with a transparent liquid before the assembled crowd.
"Veritaserum, brewed precisely thirteen days ago. Potency: ninety seven percent. Dosage recommended for the current case is two drops." With a bow, he stepped back into the shadows. Harry distantly wondered if all potions masters were so dramatic-perhaps something about the art lent itself to it?
He didn't get time to dwell on it as someone stepped right in front of him, stopper removed, vial poised over his face. Suddenly, no matter how confident Harry was, that he'd volunteered to go through with this, he felt a wave of terror seize over him at the thought of surrendering to a potion. He threw a desperate look at Oscar, who'd come to stand beside him with an understanding look on his face.
"It's alright, Harry," he murmured, one hand clasped on Harry's shoulder in a grounding touch. "I'm here. I won't let them take advantage."
"Promise?" Despite how childish it sounded, he needed the assurance.
Oscar was only too happy to give it. "Promise." The hand tightened comfortingly.
Steeling himself, Harry opened his mouth, just enough to give access to his tongue. The Veritaserum was tasteless, odorless, but it still sent goosebumps down his back. Or perhaps that had something to do with the way his mind suddenly felt like it was filled with cotton candy-woolly and sticky and hazy. It felt like he was back in the maze of the Third Task, only worse because there was nowhere to go, nothing to see. Harry's thoughts screamed, fighting against the narcosis spreading through him, twined heavily with fear and panic.
He couldn't do this, he wouldn't survive it-he was trapped, back in the Dursley's cupboard, falling into Devils Snare, stuck in the Mirror of Erised. His limbs weren't working and his mind seemed to be controlled by another. Harry raged, pushing against the walls closing in on him, knowing he only had to go at it for a little bit before they came crumbling down around him.
He could get out, he would do-
Harry, a familiar voice snaked into his thoughts, interrupting his battle so abruptly that he would've stumbled into the ground if he was standing. Harry, it's okay, let go.
I can't, he screamed, they'll take me away.
No one will harm you, Harry, the voice reassured him, and there was something about it-perhaps the warmth, the comfort-that made him actually listen. Consider, for a second, where he was.
The panic receded, leaving only the cotton candy heaviness behind. It didn't feel quite so daunting anymore, now that he remembered what was happening. The trial, Veritaserum…the Dementors!
He had to tell the truth; he couldn't back out. Their entire strategy depended on the success of today. Harry forced his brain to cooperate, his lips to move as another voice pierced the barrier in his brain-this one actually real.
"-llo? Mr. Potter?"
"Yes," he responded and was only slightly startled at the flatness of his voice.
"Good, you're with us. For the record, will you tell us your name and Hogwarts house?"
"Harry James Potter. Gryffindor."
"Now, to test the Veritaserum, we'll ask you to give us an incorrect answer to the same question. What is your Hogwarts house?"
Hufflepuff was on the tip of Harry's tongue-Slytherin felt too close to the truth-and it only took him a second to realise how close, how easy it was for the word to roll off. He gulped, letting the potion take hold of his senses again, and gurgled in lieu of an answer. That seemed to satisfy the audience.
(It was a terrifying realisation, that he could've broken the Veritaserum if he'd tried just a little harder. Worse still, that Fudge wasn't entirely wrong about him. Harry locked it up in a little box, threw it into the back of his mind with all the other bits of truth about him he didn't want to face, not now nor ever.)
"The potion is working. You can ask your questions now."
"Only Madam Bones." That was Oscar, interjecting with their agreed-upon stipulation. "No one else asks him anything or I'll Silence my client and sue the living daylights out of whoever dares."
"That is highly irregular-" Umbridge's indignant voice echoed in the chamber but as expected, his lawyer immediately put a stop to it.
"Not according to the bylaws; you can look it up yourself. I'm sure the Ministry Scribe is more than competent enough to find the subsection for Veritaserum questioning. Only a qualified Auror can conduct an investigation involving controlled substances, and who better than the head of DMLE?"
"You can't just-"
"That's enough, Dolores," Madam Bones cut in impatiently. "You know as well as I do that Mr. Armitage is right. I'd just as well not have aspersions cast on the Ministry's functioning, yes?"
She barely waited for the tight nod that followed before turning to Harry.
"Mr. Potter. I will ask you a series of simple questions, you will answer either in the affirmative or negative."
"Yes, Madam Bones."
"Did you cast a Patronus at your residence?"
"Yes."
"A corporeal patronus, you say?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"In the shape of a stag?"
"Yes."
"Were you aware that you were breaking the Statute of Secrecy when you cast the patronus?"
"Yes."
"You chose to do it regardless?"
"Yes."
"Did you believe that you were in life-threatening danger in the moment, Mr. Potter?"
"Yes."
"And this came in the form of two dementors?"
"Yes."
"Could it have been something else resembling a dementor?"
"No."
"Here you can answer in more detail. Why do you say so?"
"Because I have intimate experience with the creatures. I had multiple run-ins with them when the Ministry decided to station them at Hogwarts in my third year. Nothing else has the potential to make me feel so chilled."
Bones nodded. "I believe we've gotten all we need. Richards, please administer the antidote."
Before he could do so, however, a voice shouted from the faceless crowd. "Why do the dementors affect you so much?"
And because no one was expecting it, least of all Harry, it was too late for the words to be stopped. "I hear my mother desperately begging, my father's shouts, Voldemort's high-pitched laughter and-"
"Silencio!" Blessed silence, at last. Harry dug his chin into his chest, refusing to look up. His shoulders were trembling, whether with rage or humiliation or grief he did not know. All he knew was that he needed to contain the magic swirling within his chest before it exploded and took everyone down with it.
"Rita Skeeter." Harry had never heard Oscar sound like that, consonants ground into a fine powder between his gritted teeth, words almost spitting out of his mouth. "I shouldn't be surprised and yet, I find myself giving you too much credit. Rest assured, I will enjoy tearing you apart."
He didn't have to say anything else for the color to drain from Rita's face, who had perhaps realised how foolish her impulsive action was, how her desperation in getting a saucy soundbite might've just cost her something far more than it was worth. A quick look at Oscar, who looked entirely apoplectic, and Harry decided that he never wanted to be on the other side of that rage, no, thank you.
He didn't have to worry, however, as Oscar's tone gentled in his direction. "I apologise, Harry, for breaking my word."
"I don't hold it against you, Oscar. You couldn't have known." He inclined his head in response but Harry could tell they wouldn't agree. The older man would not forgive himself for today for a long time. Instead, he turned towards Harry and pressed a slip of parchment into his hand. He took a quick peek at the neat writing.
I'm looking forward to meeting with you after the trial, Mr. Potter
Bones
Utterly fascinating how he could have been expelled and his wand snapped and he had still been more worried about his appointment with Director Bones. The note didn't help…much. All he knew now was that he had an appointment but there was no guarantee for how it would go.
He didn't get much time to dwell on it, however. Madam Bones called the room's attention back to herself with a quick sound charm.
"It seems to me that this is a pretty open-and-shut case, after that demonstration."
"Hem-hem." Good god, it was Umbridge yet again. Did the woman never give up? "Surely we're not…capitulating to a delusion like this?"
"Delusion?" Oscar thundered-clearly Rita's actions weighed heavy on him still. "Undersecretary Umbridge, is this your way of admitting Ministry incompetence?"
She gasped. "Whatever do you mean-"
Oscar didn't give her the chance to complete. "You must be doing so, otherwise why else would you refuse my client's testimony? Testimony, I might stress, that was taken after administering Veritaserum brewed by your Ministry."
That shut her up real quick. Harry couldn't help but applaud his solicitor's quick thinking-he's come to realise, over the weeks, that what made Oscar so dangerous wasn't some overarching genius or underhanded cunning. Rather, it was his ability to make logical leaps at the speed of light, reaching conclusions and forming rebuttals before others around him had even begun to comprehend the situation. It was a deadly skill, and one you couldn't prepare for because it was impossible to predict.
Looking at Umbridge's embarrassment visible in her stiff countenance and flushed face, Harry was glad he had it on his side.
"Glad that's taken care of," he continued in his pleasant, conversational tone. It's a jarring difference but it works. "Now, since we are here to debate the use of underage magic in relation to my client, there is another matter we would like to bring to your attention. Almost three years ago-"
"A-ha!" A sudden exclamation from the Minister startled through the air; eyes swiveling to the reddening-but-still-triumphant looking man twirling his hat between his fingers. "Yes, yes, of course. We didn't forget about that, no, not at all, young man. You've done this before, haven't you? A habitual delinquent, one might even say-"
"No, actually," Oscar cut in, peeved at both the interruption and the insinuation. "Let's not say that. Not least considering my client's acquittal mere minutes ago."
"I don't know if Potter has told you, Mr. Armitage, but this boy right here blew up his poor aunt-let her loose in Muggle London's skyline, at that-and ran away to avoid the consequences of his actions. It certainly doesn't paint a rosy picture, now, does it?" Fudge asked, though the smirk on his face indicated how rhetorical the question was. Gasps rose in the courtroom, previously sympathetic eyes turning accusing in a second.
Oscar frowned, and perhaps it was only Harry who noticed…the shark-line gleam hidden by the movement because he could see Fudge straightening up in perceived success, believing he'd finally won. His voice, when he spoke, was deceptively soft.
"If that's so, Minister, then why would you tell this same child-the one who ran away and was intercepted by you less than an hour later-that there was, hm what was it again, no harm done?"
Harry would forever remember the speed at which the blood drained out of Fudge's face as he realised Oscar didn't just know; he was damn well prepared.
"You didn't stop there either, did you? No, Minister-I don't know if you recall but you explicitly reassured my client that he wouldn't be sent to Azkaban just for blowing up his aunt."
The accusing eyes turned, like clockwork, to the now-sweating Minister of Magic. His bowler hat was bent beyond recognition in his clammy hands and his eyes were darting around, trying to find a way out of the hole he'd dug himself into.
"Just a Muggle, wasn't she? No big deal to you, not at the time."
Oscar stared at him for another moment, eyes hard and unyielding, before he turned. "Madam Bones, as I was saying, due to the nature of this hearing, we would like to strike the previous incident off my client's record. Not"-he stressed-"the incident with Harry's aunt, since I believe it's relegated to accidental magic, but another one prior to that. It'll be lodged under a hover charm at his home residence; only a warning, but a misguided one."
"Oh?" Madam Bones' eyebrow was raised high in question.
"If the Improper Use of Magic Office had been thorough in its investigation then, it would've been made quite clear that my client hadn't used his wand at all since leaving Hogwarts for the year."
"And I suppose another elusive creature is responsible for triggering the magical trace, then?" Surprisingly, it was Bones who said it, though her voice was more tired than malicious, not as skeptical as the words itself.
"As a matter of fact, yes," Oscar smiled thinly. He was enjoying this, just a little, Harry could tell. "A House-Elf, acting under misguided concern and intent, cast the Hover Charm."
A sudden onslaught of noise-indignation, fury, shock-took the chamber by force. Half the people in the stands were on their feet, fists shaking and faces purpling. It was expected, they knew what the reaction would be but it still took Harry by surprise. Seems like he'd underestimated the Wizengamot. Thankfully, Oscar had not because he went on, undeterred, voice hardening in response.
"Once again, I would remind everyone that my client has consented to all forms of truth seeking instruments, including a public Pensieve viewing. I trust," he stressed, looking straight at the purple robed Wizengamot, "it's understood how committed he is to this occasion and this body. After all, it's not easy to part with one's memories and harder still to showcase them so openly."
The noise slowly died down though the air still vibrated with residual emotion. They weren't convinced yet.
"Mr. Armitage, what you're saying is…most unusual," Madam Bones. "House-Elves don't tend to act like that…unless you're insinuating someone-"
"Not at all," Oscar interjected smoothly, holding his palms up to clarify he wasn't accusing anyone, lest the old tossers get all fired up again. "We are not blaming the Elf in question-my client is good friends with them and learnt the entire story soon enough- but, rather, we would like for the incident to be looked into, as it should've been then, so my client's record could be cleared."
Harry can see the considering look on her face, wondering if this would be worth her time before ultimately nodding. Once again, they do a song and dance with the Veritaserum, Harry fights his instincts into submission so he can get out of this unscathed, and a little under an hour later, the final part of this saga is forced out of his bepotioned mouth as well.
It's a bit of a relief, to tell the truth. Not least the fact that he does not have to go through the disjointing experience of a truth potion again. If he didn't go near the damn thing for another decade, it would be too soon still.
He'd started wondering what was next-from what he'd gathered, he wasn't entirely out of the woods yet. A vote would be held that would declare his innocence. Or guilt, as it were-when an unexpected interjection took place.
"I couldn't help but wonder," an unfamiliar man in the Wizaengamot stand spoke into the quiet of the room, "how, exactly, Mr. Potter has so many priors in his file despite not being responsible for a single one. It's even more unsettling considering the lad's barely fifteen."
"We just went through this, Lord Greengrass," Umbridge simpered. "The boy happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, doesn't he? It's mighty inconvenient for everyone but him."
"No, Dolores, you misunderstand." A hint of steel had entered the man's voice, and Harry could appreciate taking a stand against the toad, even if this line of questioning didn't bode well for him. "I've been sitting here half the morning, watching someone my daughter's age turning over not just his privacy, but also his dignity, to prove himself. I'm not questioning the veracity of his words. What I am thinking about, however, is how such errors can be made in the first place."
She blinked.
"After all, expulsions are no laughing matter, not to even take Mr. Potter's…unique status in mind. I shudder to think of what might have happened today if he hadn't been armed to the teeth with someone like Mr. Armitage." A respectful nod in Oscar's direction who returned it almost immediately. Harry filed that under the list of things that intrigued him about today, including this Lord Greengrass' interjection in the first place. Wonder where that came from?
"What are you trying to say, Lord Greengrass?" Umbridge said, teeth gritted together, severe frown on her face.
"Nothing, nothing," Greengrass inclined his head. "Just…food for thought, wouldn't you say? If it can happen to Mr. Potter…" And he let the rest of his sentence trail off ominously after that. Harry could appreciate the impact of what he did, even if he didn't understand the reason behind it.
Speculative murmurs started amongst the rest of the gathered crowd after Greengrass sat back down. Harry, who hadn't expected anything that had happened so far, was eager to see if there was more-a part of him, the adrenaline junkie that never backed down from terrible decisions like having a sword fight with a Basilisk and shooting hundreds of meters into the ground on a flying piece of wood, was standing to attention after a long time. He was almost disappointed when there wasn't.
Instead, Madam Bones stood. "Lord Greengrass' words have been noted. With all the evidence and the arguments in front of us, please be prepared to cast your votes. Those in favor of clearing the accused of all aforesaid charges?"
Harry could feel his heart in his throat. Oscar and him had prepared well for this-that he had no doubt in. They'd done all they could but he knew, better than anyone else, how fickle public opinion could be. If it was just Madam Bones, he would've been celebrating before the trial had even started but knowing his fate was in the hands of these nameless, faceless strangers who had agendas of their own-he felt vulnerable. Out of control. Helpless.
Slowly, with bated breath, Harry counted the number of lit wands that rose in the air. It soon became evident that it was well over half-only a handful, in fact, were unlit. So much so that even before the second round of voting-'those in favor of conviction'-could begin, Oscar's hand had come down on his shoulder in a triumphant clap.
He exhaled slowly, feeling weeks worth of hidden tension melt out of him, leaving him always stumbling out of his chair. The strong grip helped in more ways than one, in that moment. Harry had kept his anxiety at bay, using his anger as a convenient clutch to avoid thinking about the trial. He didn't want to think about what it meant for the Ministry of Magic, an institution much bigger than any individual or group, to personally single him out. Didn't want to consider the implications of being a pawn on a chessboard larger and more complex than he could comprehend.
Harry had been powerless almost all his life and it never got easier. After entering the Wizarding World, however, where a modicum of choice has been made available to him, it's even harder. This situation was no different.
But he can put it behind him now, at least for the time being. Focus on himself and Sirius, on Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys, on Hogwarts and the coming year. He didn't have to fight a war he was dragged into, not for a little while yet.
He turned to Oscar, placing his own hand on top of the older man's to give it a grateful squeeze. "Thank you, Oscar. You were…unbelievable. Don't know what I'd have done without you."
"And I'm glad we don't have to find out," he replied with an uncharacteristically dark look on his face. "They were gearing up for a bloodbath in here; I can't even think of what would have happened if you had to rely on Dumbledore and fairness." Harry didn't know which of the two options was spat with more venom, but it conveyed Oscar's opinion of both quite well.
Before he can say anything else-and there's quite a bit he wants to talk about, after a trial like that-he spied a familiar figure beelining in his direction. Tall, authoritative, and currently sporting a very vexed look on his face.
Albus Dumbledore was not a happy camper.
And for all the patience and restraint Harry had been trying to exercise, he did not have enough to deal with his Headmaster. He still had the meeting with Madam Bones, not to mention Mr. Weasley on the other side of the courtroom who was bound to ask questions Harry couldn't answer properly. Above all that, Harry didn't feel like he could perform niceties right now-not when it was a man who couldn't be bothered to show basic courtesy towards him. The stunt with Mrs. Figg still smarted and he knew it would take a while for that particular hurt to be soothed.
So he took an executive decision to postpone his chat with Oscar and get the hell out of there.
"I'll see you later?" he murmured with a meaningful look to his side. Oscar followed his gaze and his lip curled, just a little.
"Of course," he said. "And Harry? I'm very proud of you. You did very well today. Congratulations."
A few simple sentences and they almost turned Harry's world on its axis. Those words-Harry couldn't say he'd ever heard anything similar from an adult, not with that level of sincerity and without any pretensions. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Almost as if in a daze, he waved goodbye to the older man and stumbled his way out of the room, clocking Oscar stepping in the way before Dumbledore could reach him.
It was in this state that he found Mr. Weasley sitting on a bench, looking apprehensive and fidgety. Harry's heart warmed at the display of concern and it was with more feeling than usual that he said, "Mr. Weasley!"
"Oh, Harry, you're out-that took a while-how did it-?"
"Cleared! All charges, not just the dementors," he said joyfully. It was finally sinking in, his victory, and he could feel the giddiness climbing up his body.
"What do you mean?" Mr. Weasley asked, confused.
"Even Dobby's Hover Charm-I got a notice for that just before second year-that's been cleared as well. They weren't too happy about that but, oh well," he shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the existence of all the purple robed people.
"They?" Before Harry could try to explain what he meant, the people in question filed out and Mr. Weasley's face paled at an impressive rate. "The Wizengamot? You were tried by a full court?"
"Is anyone surprised at this point?" Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair. He'd heard about the Wizengamot here and there from Oscar but they hadn't dwelled on it, deeming it unimportant. A mistake, in hindsight, but they'd rectify it soon enough. He could always ask Sirius too, he was sure. "But yes, them. Had to vote and everything."
"Merlin's beard," Mr. Weasley breathed out, hands fluttering around Harry in a futile gesture. "I don't know what Fudge was thinking, bringing the whole thing out. Last time they did this was the-"
He broke off abruptly, looking at Harry as if just remembering his presence. Clearly he didn't want to talk about the Death Eater trials nor did Harry volunteer that he knew. There was a moment of awkward silence where Harry tried to figure out how to bring up his upcoming meeting before it was resolved by the woman herself.
"Mr. Potter," Madam Bones walked over to the corner they'd been standing in. "Congratulations on the result of the hearing."
Harry merely inclined his head in agreement, not saying anything. He wanted her to take the lead here, still unsure of how to proceed. Sure enough,
"I trust we can get started on our meeting right away, since you're in the Ministry?"
He ignored the confused sound Mr. Weasley made beside him, and stepped forward. "Of course, Madam Bones. I'm not sure if I can come back any other time before Hogwarts starts."
She nodded, turning to Mr. Weasley as she did. "Arthur Weasley? You'll know where my office is, I trust. Would you bring Mr. Potter up there?" She didn't wait for an answer before walking off.
Harry winced at the confusion he could see building in front of him and tried to get ahead of the suspicion that was sure to follow. "Er-Mr. Weasley, I'm sure I didn't bring it up meeting with Madam Bones but I found out about it during the trial itself." Was that twisting the truth a little bit? Sure, but it was better than the alternative-he didn't have the time to explain right now.
He could see there was more, of course there was, but Mr. Weasley admirably held back the questions Harry was sure he'd have and quietly led him through the corridor into the lift.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Harry," was the only thing he said before depositing him in front of their destination. Harry could feel the curious stares burning into his back, the hushed conversations as they walked past, and he itched to get out of their line of sight.
Bringing his hand to knock on the door, he'd barely gotten past a single rap when a sharp voice came through.
"Come in."
With one last look back at Mr. Weasley, he entered.
"That was quite the trial, Mr. Potter," is the first thing he heard as he entered Madam Bones' office.
He bit his lip, unsure of how to respond. Fortunately for him, it seemed like an answer wasn't expected.
"Before we begin, I would like to address one pertinent issue," she continued, face stern but sincere and Harry's hand tightened on the doorknob in surprise. "Mr. Armitage was correct—your trial should not have taken place the way that it did, especially not in Courtroom Ten. The Minister went over my head in that decision, but as the lead in your case, it still falls on me to take responsibility so I would like to formally apologise for the blatant injustice with which you were treated right off the bat."
"I—er." Harry didn't know what to do with that. An actual, honest-to-god, apology from someone who wasn't just an adult but also in a position of power? Harry had resigned himself to the fact that things just happened to him and no one ever took responsibility for it. Sure, the trial went well but that was because he'd had the foresight to keep Oscar on retainer and the older man had done his work fantastically. If they hadn't done that, the whole day could've gone in a drastically different direction. And yet, here was Madam Bones, taking responsibility, saying sorry. Would wonders never cease. "I appreciate that, ma'am, thank you."
He lets go of the knob and slowly made his way over to the chair in front of Madam Bones' desk, lowering himself into it with a quick glance at her. "I also want to thank you for your help—both with the trial, and in agreeing to meet with me."
"The trial?" Madam Bones repeated. "I don't—I was just doing my job, Mr. Potter."
"Which is more than we can say for some people," he muttered under his breath before saying louder, "Your refusal to brand me a delinquent right from the beginning helped more than you can know." From the way her lips had quirked, she'd clearly heard his little sotto voce addition, though she didn't acknowledge it.
"So if I'd considered you a delinquent, say, midway through the trial…?" she asked curiously.
"Entirely fair, Madam Bones. It's not the delinquency part I have an issue with—that I'm used to—but immediately jumping to the conclusion from the get go? Rookie mistake." He made an exaggerated face to indicate his displeasure and was gratified when the woman finally smiled in response.
"Do you usually react to matters as serious as this with such irreverence, Mr. Potter?" Though the words could be taken as reproving, the look on her face assured Harry it was a joke, if a curious one.
"I have to, otherwise I'd be fixated on what it is about me that inspires this kind of hostility from a bunch of adults in positions of such power and that is a rabbit hole I don't want to go down."
Madam Bones blinked, perhaps not expecting such a serious answer and he shrugged wryly before changing the topic.
"The matter I owled you about—,"
"Yes, the Sirius Black case," she opened a drawer and removed a thick file, filled with loose sheets and newspapers. "I was curious what your interest in it was, to be entirely honest. Considering the events of '93, I wouldn't have thought you'd want to go digging around this particular case."
Harry took a deep breath. This was the most precarious part of their entire plan. They'd banked this on the conviction that the Head of the DMLE was fair and dedicated to ensuring justice. If Amelia Bones didn't believe—or worse, refused to even hear him out—then they would have lost their most valuable trump card along with needing to scramble for another plan.
"Going by the confirmation that I am now considered an adult in the eyes of the law and can provide both Veritaserum and Pensieve testimony," he started, keeping a careful eye on his audience. "What if I told you I have proof that he is innocent?"
Madam Bones dropped the papers in her hand, not even caring that they tumbled all over the place as she looked at Harry in shock.
"Is this—Are you having me on, Potter?"
"I promise you I'm not—,"
"You're here, trying to tell me that our most wanted fugitive, one of the most dangerous people in the country right now, is innocent?" she jabbed a shaking finger into the article in front of her where Sirius' mugshot was spread across the entire page. His face was stuck in a perpetual loop of maniacal grin and snarling in anger. "That this man—convicted of murdering twelve muggles and a fellow wizard, his friend by all accounts, of giving up James Potter's location to You-Know-Who—that this man is innocent?"
Harry immediately saw the wide-open opportunity and grasped with both hands. Tight. "He wasn't convicted."
"What."
"Sirius wasn't convicted of any of the crimes you just mentioned-although I've never understood how giving up a location or betraying someone is a crime-because he never had a trial." It was quite interesting seeing the emotions play out across Madam Bones' face. She went from pure outrage to deadpan to almost deflating like a balloon as she processed what he'd just told her.
"He…Sirius Black didn't get a trial?" she asked, voice faint.
"You can check your records, ma'am. I wouldn't waste your time without being sure of the facts," Harry shrugged, keeping the smugness from leaking into his voice. He knew their gamble had worked; the first barrier had been crossed. The hardest thing was getting someone to hear him out—the refusal to even acknowledge something could have gone wrong. It came from a place of pride, ego, and there was no accounting for that. It either was or it wasn't. Like Snape, or Fudge, so long ago on the night when everything had gone so spectacularly wrong. If only either of them had bothered to stop just one second, listen to what Harry, Hermione and Ron had been trying to tell them—the situation wouldn't be as it was today.
He wouldn't be sitting in the Head of the DMLE's office, ready to beg on his godfather's behalf.
But she'd heard him. Not just that, but she hadn't thrown him out of her office yet and the look on her face? It was that of someone who was mentally reevaluating everything they knew about a situation. Amelia Bones was almost definitely on their side now, even if she didn't know it.
Madam Bones looked at him for a second before turning to the case file in her hands. She waved her wand and all the sheets lying on the floor, across her desk, flew into one neat pile in front of her. Brow furrowed in concentration, she quickly, methodically, thumbed through each paper until there was none left.
The crease deepened and she repeated the entire process again, slower this time, visibly distressed. Harry bit his lip to hide the smile that threatened to erupt. She'd noticed the discrepancy. The matter of appealing to her sense of justice had worked.
After a third time going through all the information she had in front of her, Madam Bones set the file aside. Slowly, she took her monocle off and let it dangle from the chain around her neck. Harry could see she had her eyes closed, and was stretching her neck from side to side, as if trying to get rid of a crick. After a minute of absolute silence, she stopped, took a deep breath, and looked straight at Harry. Her blue eyes were steely, determined. Her voice, when she spoke, contained no traces of the previous weakness, no hesitation or suspicion.
"So, Mr. Potter, what is your plan?"
He let himself smile, then.
tumblr is the same name and u can always find me there! ch11 might take a bit bc im an idiot who's posted the first chapter for two more fics (not as long or ambitious as this but more than a oneshot) as well as keeping multiple semi completed drafts in her notes app so i would like to give those babies some attention too! but yeah, fingers crossed the coming months are good writing days 3
next up: harry goes back to GP where he has to face the music! some truths have to be revealed and sirius finally cashes in on that long-overdue conversation about harry's summer activities