clvi. the magical right
After another week at Grimmauld Place, Harriet sat out on the porch in the morning light, her head leaning against the wall as she soaked in the heat and ignored the tension in her neck.
Today was Sirius' trial.
Though it hadn't been dawn for more than an hour, the day already seemed heinously long. The Aurors and Mr. Piers came to retrieve Sirius in the middle of the night so he could prepare, and Harriet hadn't gotten any sleep, her thoughts apprehensive and her nerves on edge. The ache in her neck settled over her spine and shoulders like an overlarge spiderweb she couldn't shake off.
Today, Sirius would either go free or go back to Azkaban.
Living with her godfather had been…awkward so far. Elara spent almost all of her time shut in her room, avoiding Sirius as he waged a silent war on the house—a war that Grimmauld Place was determined to win. The house hated him as much as Sirius hated it; doors slammed in his face, the risers tripped him, and twice the candles had tried to set his hair on fire. The miserable atmosphere did not lend itself to a restful summer holiday.
Harriet hoped that after the trial—after he was freed—Sirius would be more amenable to conversation. At the moment, he often sequestered himself in his room on the fourth floor—the floor Harriet never went up to, considering Snape slept up there too—or he sat in the back garden, brooding. When they did chat, Sirius started talking about her dad or reminiscing about their days at Hogwarts, and while Harriet liked hearing about James, the bittersweet emotion left a sharp taste in her mouth.
Sirius looked at her and saw her father, and he hadn't expressed much interest in who Harriet and Elara were outside the shadow of old memories. She wanted things to be better when he closed this chapter in his life and had something else to look forward to instead of untold years inside a gray, static prison. She hoped things would change.
Studying her trainers, Harriet almost missed the sound of Apparition echoing from across the road.
She looked up and squinted toward the park, keeping her eyes steady until she spotted the tell-tale warble of a quick, cheap Disillusionment Charm rippling in the air. Since whoever was approaching the house couldn't see it without permission, Harriet waited and watched until the person passed the wards and dismissed their disguise.
"Morning, Mrs. Malfoy."
The blonde witch stood on the bottom step, peering with cool, genteel reproach at the younger woman. She dressed more somber than Harriet was used to seeing her, her robes a dim, charcoal gray, though she wore more diamonds than a Niffler could steal. Her eyes flicked over Harriet's person, scanning her from top to bottom, and she arched one unimpressed brow.
"Miss Potter," she acknowledged. "What are you doing out here?"
"Waiting for you. We're supposed to leave soon, aren't we?" She glanced behind Narcissa, seeing nothing but an empty street, and her shoulders slumped. "Could Hermione not come too?"
"Only family or specific members of the Ministry will be allowed inside." Again, Mrs. Malfoy perused her ensemble, lingering on Harriet's blouse and trousers and scuffed shoes. Then, without a word, she pointed one manicured finger at the door.
"What?"
"You need to change."
"Why?" Harriet complained, though she followed the silent order and opened the front door, stepping inside. "What's wrong with this?"
"You're going to an official Wizengamot trial, Miss Potter. You need to dress appropriately."
She chivvied Harriet upstairs, inspected her closet, then dragged her to Elara's room to find something more suitable. Thirty minutes later, they were in danger of being late, and both Harriet and Elara were tidy and wearing plain, if well-tailored, robes in a dark, jewel-green and midnight navy. Elara had her family's silver crest pinned on her collar, and Harriet had one as well, produced from Mrs. Malfoy's pocket, though she hadn't the faintest idea of where it could have come from.
Finally satisfied with their appearance, Narcissa bundled them through the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and then quickly had both witches follow her into the Wizarding quarter, keeping her pace steady—if a tad rushed. They passed from Diagon to Empiric Alley, and Harriet swallowed down her nerves as she entered the Ministry of Magic for the first time.
The street entrance looked almost Muggle in its simplicity, laid out like a lobby or a waiting room, a bunch of benches before a single desk and a large lift against the far wall. A few people sat on the benches or meandered about, chatting in low, bored tones, and Mrs. Malfoy ignored them all in favor of approaching the wizard behind the desk. The spotty bloke lifted his head and blinked one eyelid at a time, swallowing back a yawn. He recognized Narcissa and stiffened his spine, forcing himself into some semblance of wakefulness.
"Oh, Madam Malfoy! What a pleasure to see you—!"
"Mr. Lloyd, how lovely. We're in a bit of a rush, darling, so I haven't the time to catch up.
"Of course, of course. Let me just—names and purpose for visit?"
"Narcissa Malfoy, Elara Black, and Harriet Potter for court, spectating."
The wizard punched the words into a strange apparatus, and it spat three silver badges into Mrs. Malfoy's waiting hand. She quickly pinned them onto their robes, and Harriet had just enough time to peer down and read 'Harriet Potter - Level 10, Spectator' before Draco's mum rushed them to the waiting lift.
"The Atrium, ma'am?" the uniformed attendant asked, and when Mrs. Malfoy gave a curt nod of her head, the grate clattered shut, and he jerked the lever down to the number eight. Harriet gulped and staggered into Elara when the lift plummeted as if free-falling, her plait floating off her shoulder—and then it stopped, her stomach relocating back to its proper place in her middle instead of in her throat. Elara looked green.
"Level eight: the Atrium. Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," announced an unseen, feminine voice. "Visitors, please present your wand for registration at the security desk, and have a pleasant day."
The grate whisked itself open—and Harriet gawked at the passage beyond.
It must have begun life as a cave of some sort before the wizards came in and made it their own; the floor stretched out in gleaming hardwood, the dark paneling on the walls rising twice the height of a normal man before giving way to refined bricks, marble pillars, and a blue ceiling riveted with golden symbols. The Ministry hummed like an active beehive, people darting about here and there as they rushed toward their destinations, a cloud of purple folded airplanes flocking overhead. Active Floos took up the far wall, and Harriet wondered why they hadn't come that way, thinking it would have been much quicker until she spotted the crowd of waiting reporters and cameramen.
Mrs. Malfoy kept a hand on Elara's shoulder, and the younger witch walked at her side, hidden from their view.
They came to a stop before the Watchwizard, a poorly shaven bloke slumped on a stool by a brass contraption, the tag on his robes bearing the name 'Eric Munch.' "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," he said, uninterested, casting an indolent glance in their direction. "How many visitors?"
"Two," Narcissa replied, pushing Harriet and Elara forward.
"Step over here."
Elara went first, the wizard passing a wire-thin, golden Probity Probe over Elara's front and back in two quick flicks before holding out his hand. "Wand." Reluctant, Elara passed it over, and he dropped it onto the flat, brass plate of the apparatus on his desk. The contraption vibrated, chimed, and a strip of parchment popped into existence. "Eleven and a quarter, Ebony wood, and a Rougarou hair core?"
"Yes."
He kept the parchment and forked the wand over, and then it was Harriet's turn, watching with interest as she got inspected with the Probity Probe, the thin bar glowing brightly over her neck. Mr. Munch glanced at the obvious curse-scar there and waved it off, Harriet then handing him her own wand for inspection. He set it on the balance and yawned, waiting, and the balance started to vibrate as it had before. Then, however, the vibration became more violent, devolving into a hard, jerking shudder, Harriet's wand jittering back and forth until the contraption let out a bang! and began to smoke. The Watchwizard stared with his mouth hanging open.
Mrs. Malfoy looked incredulous, and then her face became perfectly placid and relaxed as she spoke to Mr. Munch. "It seems your equipment is malfunctioning," she said. "And we are in a terrible hurry. It simply wouldn't do to keep the Wizengamot waiting."
Harriet didn't think the Wizengamot gave a single lick whether they arrived or not, but Munch didn't know that. Honestly, he didn't seem to much care either, too stumped over the machine's iffy behavior. He shoved Harriet's wand back into her hands, muttering, and they beat a hasty retreat deeper into the Atrium's depths. A large fountain dominated its center, several golden statues clustered therein: a wizard with his wand upheld, surrounded by a doe-eyed witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf, all staring at the wizard with adoration. Looking at the arrangement, Harriet couldn't help but say, "Well, that's bloody insulting," but neither Elara nor Mrs. Malfoy responded. Above it all, a banner of Marvolo Gaunt sneered down upon them.
Mrs. Malfoy took them to another lift, this one smaller than the first, set in a row of several others. Of course, when you're a pure-blood witch of Narcissa's standing, you did not squeeze into a compartment with others, so the two wizards already inside disembarked and ushered the three witches through. Mrs. Malfoy pressed the number for level nine, and the lift smoothly dropped another level, the bodiless voice announcing their arrival to the "Department of Mysteries."
The grate slid back to reveal a long, barren corridor layered in reflective black tiles, a brazier hanging from a metal chain shedding a murky, teal light in the otherwise confined space. There was a tall, black door at the corridor's end without signs or labels; Harriet thought Mrs. Malfoy would lead them to it, but they took one step off the lift, and she urged them to the left, toward a flight of steps under a plaque reading, "Courtrooms Five - Ten."
The stairs were quite dark and opened onto a bleak passage, one crowded with far too many people for how narrow it was. Harriet hadn't expected to see anyone at all, let alone so suddenly, and she stumbled into Mrs. Malfoy's back, babbling an apology.
"Do watch where you're going, dear."
Elara linked her arm through Harriet's. Her face appeared ghostly pale in the torchlight, and the bare hand that slid against Harriet's wrist left sticky sweat on her skin, Elara's eyes darting from person to person. A motley assortment gathered there, men and women dressed in loose, plum-colored robes with silver 'W's stitched above their breasts, or others in the fitted, maroon attire donned by the Aurory.
They made slow progress to their destination, the hall too cramped for the three witches to pass through. Harriet couldn't hear a word being said, the din of voices merging into a garbled jumble, and their faces looked ghoulish in the half-light, the shadows deep and seeping like water swelling over a bank. Some of the Aurors wore pins—a golden snake circling an eye—and some did not. Harriet's gaze kept coming back to those funny little pins, almost certain she'd seen them somewhere before.
Nearing the door to Courtroom Ten, a wizard dressed in shabby robes rose from the bench and turned toward them, bringing his face into the light.
"Professor Lupin!"
"Hello, you two," their History of Magic instructor greeted, sparing Narcissa a small, close-lipped smile. "Mrs. Malfoy, thank you for escorting them today."
"Of course," she drawled, making a damnably good impression of Snape.
"Are you here for the trial, Professor?" Harriet asked, wincing when she realized how silly the question was. "Why are there so many people here?"
"It's a high-profile case. From what I've gathered while waiting, most anyone with an excuse to sit in on the Wizengamot has come to see the verdict."
"Are you gonna sit with us?"
He rested his hand on Harriet's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. Elara continued to fidget until Professor Lupin moved that hand to touch her arm in a quick show of comfort. "I'm afraid not. Only members of the Wizengamot or the Aurory—and family, of course—are allowed in. I'm here to give what support I can."
Elara said something Harriet didn't catch, the noise in the corridor too loud, joined by the sudden creak of the iron doors barring passage into the courtroom clanking open. A few of the more aware Wizengamot members headed inside, and Mrs. Malfoy was ready to excuse them from Professor Lupin's presence, ushering both witches through the entrance and the thin meniscus of magic covering the passage. The ward passed over them like a light breeze, and Harriet guessed it was what kept people who had no business there out of the courtroom—not that half of those bloody people had any reason to show up, in her opinion. There were so many of them.
An air of solemnity pervaded the chamber beyond, a high-vaulted space of dark bricks and ancient pillars, the floor itself comprised of coruscating stone with significant scorch marks where magic had eaten away at the surface. Three steps led to the main arena, or so Harriet thought of it as, a recessed pit surrounded on all sides by tiers of chairs and a few assorted benches, one single chair set in the pit's middle, hemmed by iron chains. There seemed to be a system of organization to the chairs because Wizengamot members skipped over seats without reason as they filtered inside, and the spectating Aurors relegated themselves to the benches. Mrs. Malfoy had them take a bench in the far back, half-hidden by the sporadic placement of torches.
"Is that Professor Dumbledore?" Elara asked. "Over there, on the second tier."
It was their Headmaster, looking odd dressed in the same plum robes as most everyone else, speaking with a rather severe, black-haired man with long sideburns and a mustache. Harriet didn't wave because that didn't seem like a thing to in court, but she did twist in her seat to peer more intently at people, looking for more familiar faces. She didn't spot any until she made the dreadful revelation that Minister Gaunt had arrived, seated two chairs down from what she guessed would be the main judge's spot, an area at the head of the procession vaguely reminiscent of a pulpit. She stopped looking for others after spotting him.
Harriet leaned back when Gaunt's red eyes swept the room.
The iron doors to the courtroom swung shut on the heels of the last person shuffling their feet inside, and though almost a hundred people gathered in the chairs and on the benches, the room could have accommodated thrice that number. The mumbled conversations came to an end when a stern, gray-haired witch with a monocle took her place at the head of the room. She banged a gavel against the banister separating her from the pit below.
"I think that's Amelia Bones," Elara whispered, wringing her hands together in her lap. "The head of the D.M.L.E. Susan's aunt."
"The courtroom will come to order," Madam Bones boomed, settling in her seat as the last, lingering conversations dwindled. "Bring in the accused!"
The door clanked open once more, and Sirius strode inside, escorted by two Aurors—Tonks and that strange, grisly fellow Harriet had seen at Hogwarts last term—and Mr. Piers. Sirius walked as if utterly unburdened, dropping into the chair in the pit's middle with his legs crossed and a grin on his face. The chains adorning the chair remained inert, but his Auror escorts stayed at his side. Mr. Piers bent down to mutter something unintelligible in his ear.
"Criminal trial of the accused, Sirius Orion Black, resident of the London Borough of Islington, held today, the eleventh of July. The interrogators are myself, Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Minister for Magic, Marvolo Cadmus Gaunt. Court Scribe, Anne Katrina Gambol. Counsel for the accused will state his name for the record."
Mr. Piers cleared his throat. "Johann Kurt Piers."
Madam Bones nodded. "Charges against the accused are listed as sedition, the conscious and malicious impartation of sensitive information to the enemy, twelve counts of Muggle-murder, one count of murder in the first-degree of one Peter Michael Pettigrew, the facilitation to murder, one count of attempted murder upon one Harriet Dorea Potter, trespassing, the endangerment of magical children, unlawful breaking and entering, terrorism, and one count of attempted murder upon one Peter Michael Pettigrew. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty, Madam Bones."
"Very well. Your defense, Mr. Black."
Again, Mr. Piers cleared his throat and was quick to jump in, seeming to address Madam Bones directly instead of the Wizengamot as a whole. "The charges levied against my client are unsubstantiated or, plainly, incorrect. Accordingly, the record should show that Peter Michael Pettigrew is, in fact, alive and has been both charged and found guilty by the Wizengamot on the fifteenth of May of those crimes attributed to Sirius Black."
Many of the Wizengamot members nodded along, having probably been present for the case in question. Harriet hadn't known Pettigrew's trial had already happened, and it irked her that no pressing announcement had been made in the Daily Prophet; she would have liked to have been informed when the man who'd betrayed her family and ruined her life went to prison for it.
"There is still the question of his facilitation to murder," Gaunt said as he leaned forward and leered down at Sirius. "If we are to reference Mr. Pettigrew's trial, then it should be noted that it was Sirius Black's idea to have Pettigrew become the Secret Keeper for the Potter family's location. That is a confirmed fact and, by definition, a facilitation to murder, is it not?"
A muscle flexed in Sirius' jaw, but he showed remarkable restraint by not replying, listening instead to whatever Mr. Piers hissed in his ear. Harriet, for her part, wanted to tell Voldemort's not-clone to fuck off back to whatever rock he'd crawled out from under, but that would be an emphatic bad idea, so she kept still.
"A boyhood association with Mr. Pettigrew does not make my client an accessory of his crimes, Minister," Mr. Piers said. "Ultimately, it was the Potters' choice to use Pettigrew as their Secret Keeper. A choice made of their own free will."
Elara took Harriet's hand in her own, and Harriet squeezed it.
"Fine," the Minister retorted with poor grace, the cold look in his eyes enough to silence the witches and wizards sitting in his general area. "A good point, Mr. Piers. Let us move away from the past, then, and on to the present. Black is accused of using an illegal Animagus transformation—."
"—a separate charge which has been settled outside of this court for a substantial fee."
"—An illegal, at the time, Animagus transformation to escape Ministry-sanctioned incarceration."
"Is it not the duty of an innocent man to seek freedom from misplaced bonds, Minister?"
"All criminals believe themselves innocent, Mr. Piers." Gaunt smiled—a snide, unhurried thing, as if the wizard didn't care what happened to Sirius, only that he did his best to inhibit him from getting the justice he so rightly deserved. Really, Harriet had to wonder why he was here; Gaunt had to know the likelihood of Sirius being acquitted, and he did not seem the kind of wizard who'd make a fool of himself arguing in opposition. "Has your client such little faith in the Ministry?"
At that, Sirius snorted, and Madam Bones shook her head.
"I believe the court can withstand Mr. Black's incredulity for the moment," she said, folding her hands together on the rail. "I move to dismiss the crimes levied against Sirius Black in 1981, so we may move on and concentrate on those added in 1993 and 1994. Votes are in body, not in volume. Those in favor?"
Hands went up—most hands, in fact, though the Aurors didn't contribute.
"Those opposed?"
A few stragglers voted, and Gaunt flicked his hand upward as if in afterthought, obviously recognizing the futility in protesting.
Harriet tugged on Mrs. Malfoy's snug sleeve. "What does that mean?" she asked. "'Votes are in body, not in volume?'"
Mrs. Malfoy tilted her ear closer, and her jeweled earring sparkled in the torchlight. "Criminal trials before the Wizengamot are tried with a single vote attributed to the bodies of present jurors," she whispered with a small sniff. "They vote with singular presence rather than the voting allotment of their House."
Confused, Harriet didn't fully understand what she meant by that but filed her questions away to be asked at a more appropriate time.
"The crimes attributed to 1993 and 1994 are as stated: trespassing, the endangerment of magical children, unlawful breaking and entering, terrorism, and one count of attempted murder upon one Peter Michael Pettigrew."
"I must protest the dismissal of the conscious and malicious impartation of sensitive information to the enemy," Gaunt interjected, turning his haunting eyes to Bones. "After all, Fenrir Greyback got out of his own cell somehow."
Sirius stiffened in the chair, the chains clinking and clanking under his flexing arms. "I didn't tell Greyback a thing," he snarled. "And it's not as if I could explain to him all he needed to do was become an Animagus, could I?"
"This court has already established that Mr. Black is not responsible for the crimes of others," Madam Bones stated, peering at the Minister from the corner of her eye. "The charges will remain as levied."
"Very well."
"Your defense, Mr. Black."
Mr. Piers nodded in acquiescence, and Sirius again fell silent. "I would ask the Wizengamot to take into account Sirius' time served when considering his actions after leaving Azkaban prison. The legality of his behavior must be tempered by the knowledge of his spirit; Mr. Black acted with moral integrity, motivated to protect, not endanger, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Gaunt scoffed, a derisive, short sound of disbelief or disgust. "And the second attempted murder on Mr. Pettigrew? So we are to assume murder and violence are acceptable recourses now? Is that what you're teaching at Hogwarts, Dumbledore?"
The Headmaster kept his reply steady and upbeat. "Oh, I can't vouch for every word delivered by my professors, but violence against my students is not tolerated at Hogwarts. Not while I still live."
"If we could return to the matter at hand, gentlemen." Madam Bones exhaled, clearly growing more agitated by the constant asides interjected by the Minister. "In regards to the attempted murder against Mr. Pettigrew, what is your defense, Black?"
"I didn't try to kill him," Sirius said. "I had no intention of killing Peter. I only meant to apprehend him and hand him over to the proper Ministry authorities."
Well, that's a bloody lie, Harriet thought, and Elara's hand twitched over hers as they shared the same recollection. Sirius had meant to murder Peter in cold blood.
"Care to repeat that assertion with Veritaserum?"
Mr. Piers bowled onwards before Sirius could put his foot in it. "The application of Veritaserum in a criminal trial is prohibited by the Guild of Ethical Potioneering and Standards, under the fifth section of their charter, proclaiming potions created by Guild brewers cannot be applied to those lacking free will. Prisoners, whether they give their assent or not, lack freedom of will, and as the Ministry can only utilize potions made by G.E.P.S approved potioneers—."
"Yes, yes," Gaunt snapped with a wave of his hand, a gold ring gleaming on his finger. "It was merely a suggestion. I am aware of Ministry protocols, Mr. Piers. My skepticism in Black's honesty aside, even if we are to discredit the attempted murder, there is still the matter of breaking and entering a magical institution, trespassing, and terrorizing its residents."
"Again, I must ask the Wizengamot to consider Mr. Black's time already served in Azkaban and to understand his fervent desire to protect the children of Hogwarts. Two of those children included his own daughter and god-daughter. He should not be faulted for acting irrationally, as most panicked fathers would."
"Ah, yes, the daughter." Gaunt's gaze swept the courtroom again, searching like a hungry dog, and both Elara and Harriet edged back into the shadows out of sight.
"Leave my brat out of this," Sirius demanded, the appellation fond rather than rude, though Elara still frowned and huffed. "We were never in contact, and I never approached her. In fact, thanks to the Aurory, I believed she'd died in a fire in 1981!"
Arguments broke out among the jurors, the words again too muddled and confused for Harriet to understand. "Order!" Madam Bones boomed, slamming the gavel upon the rail, and silence rippled out through the room like a spell. "Elara Black is not on trial here and has no bearing upon the proceedings. It has also been brought to my attention that she was improperly questioned on school grounds by members of the Ministry." She slanted a glare at Gaunt that could have curdled steel. "And as such cannot be questioned again with regards to Mr. Black's trespasses. Even if she bore any guilt for his actions, the findings would not be admissible in this court! We are here to ascertain Mr. Black's fate and Mr. Black's fate alone."
Gaunt didn't seem to be listening to her. He still looked about the courtroom, discreetly turning his head, his red eyes flickering as they darted back and forth.
"It could be argued that my client wasn't trespassing, Madam Bones," Mr. Piers said into the quiet.
"How so?"
"As an alumnus of the school, it is a well-known axiom that Hogwarts will always give help to those who ask for it. In this instance, Mr. Black's required aid was access to the school itself."
Madam Bones' mouth twitched in the approximation of a smirk, there and gone, her mind turning the words over as the other jurors tipped their heads together and discussed. Gaunt had stopped searching the room and instead had his hands balanced together, thoroughly bored of the trial and disinclined to interrupt again.
"And the charge of terrorism, Mr. Piers? How does your client contend that?"
"By contending it is unjustly levied, Madam. Terrorism, under the articles of the D.M.L.E, is defined as an unlawful act of intimidation in pursuit of political aims. Though Mr. Black accedes that his actions were terrifying, they were not those of terrorism, as he did not act with the intent of intimidation. As you have already dismissed claims of his allegiance to the known-terrorist He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, it must be further accepted that Mr. Black was not working to extend the wizard's agenda. He acted with reasonable force in defense of others."
Again, the wizards and witches in plum-colored robes put their heads together in discussion, and Harriet noticed many Aurors doing the same, some nodding and some not, speculating over the legality of Sirius' actions. It was much more complicated than Harriet had assumed, though she hadn't much perspective on law or the like. Neither Mr. Piers nor Sirius reacted to the voices, though Harriet herself would have been as nervous as a Hufflepuff in the middle of the Slytherin common room. Sirius just crossed one leg over the other and chatted with his solicitor, ignoring the chains on his chair.
At length, Madam Bones again called for silence, and she proposed bringing this matter to a close. "It is clear the accused acted foolishly but without malice, and though his actions broke the law, his circumstances must be taken into accord. Twelve years in Azkaban have already been served, unjustly. The ramifications of Mr. Black's deeds as they reflect through the actions of others are not ours to judge, not this day, and I move we come to a verdict. Those in favor of conviction?"
A smattering of hands rose, not enough to account for even half of those present, and the Minister didn't bother to raise his hand at all. Harriet didn't believe he'd suddenly come to an epiphany of consciousness, so she decided he simply didn't care.
"Those opposed?"
Most of the court raised their hands now, and Madam Bones banged the gavel.
"Cleared of all charges."
A small applause broke out, and Sirius grinned as he hugged Mr. Piers, who stood there and took it like he was used to overly clingy ex-convicts squeezing him about the middle. A great sigh left Harriet, and the whole chamber seemed brighter, airier, as the Wizengamot departed from their chairs to either leave or congratulate Sirius, most of them witches or wizards Harriet didn't recognize. Next to her, Elara exhaled, and though the summer so far had been nothing but contentious between her and Sirius, she looked relieved.
"C'mon, then," Harriet said, hopping to her feet. "Let's go down."
Elara stood and smoothed out her robes, nodding to Mrs. Malfoy, who shooed them forward on their own. "This is where I leave you," the woman explained, letting her attention cut across the room toward the entrance, where Harriet noticed the long, blond hair of Mr. Malfoy. She hadn't seen him in attendance, but he wore those same plum-colored robes as the others. "Do go and give my cousin my best."
"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy."
They went down the steps, following the rest of the congregation. "Sirius will be unbearable now," Elara complained. "He'll be able to do magic again, and it'll be worse."
Snorting, Harriet said, "But doesn't that mean we'll be able to do magic, too? Something about the wards and them being attached to a wizard who's of age?"
"You have a point."
Harriet stepped off the stairs into the crowd and lost sight of Sirius, craning her neck to no avail, though Elara retook her hand so they wouldn't be separated. Unfortunately, given how the tiers came together, the arrangement dumped everyone into one another on their way out or into the lower pit, creating an ungainly cluster of plum and maroon robes. Harriet pressed forward, trying to creep by—and she almost leaped out of her skin when Professor Dumbledore laid his arm across her shoulders and suddenly turned her in the opposite direction.
"Professor—?!"
"I think it would be best," he said, walking quickly, and Harriet suspected he used a spell to nudge people out of the way. "If you girls went home on ahead of Sirius. Tonks will gladly see you there."
The witch in question waited not far from the crowded door, tossing them a cheeky wink and a smile. "Wotcher, Potter! Elara!"
Puzzled by the change in events, Harriet started to ask, "But why—?" and then happened to glance over her shoulder, upward, her eyes drawn as if by an invisible string to the one wizard who hadn't descended into the teeming mass. Minister Gaunt leaned upon the banister before him, shoulders hunched, searching the faces of those below—until his eyes met Harriet's and something sinister gleamed in their blood-red depths. The scar upon her neck prickled with alarm.
He's not here for the trial, Harriet realized, dread ballooning in her chest. He's not here for that at all.
Quick as she could, Tonks had Harriet and Elara out in the hallway, and she had no compunction against throwing elbows or clumsy knees into people of the Wizengamot or the Aurory to get past. Harriet again noted the curious golden pins worn by some of the Aurors. Their eyes followed her the longest.
Where have I seen it before?
Tonk didn't have one, and when they squished themselves into the overburdened lift heading back to the Atrium, Harriet glanced up at the pink-haired witch. "Tonks?" she inquired. "What're those badges a few of the Aurors wear? The gold ones with the eye and the snake?"
The affable, if tense, expression on Tonks' face dwindled, and she swayed with the motion of the lift, balancing herself with one hand on the grate. "It's for a group of Aurors and Ministry officials who answer to the Minister directly," she explained, distracted by their arrival to the Ministry's main floor. "Bunch of tossers, really, but nothing to worry about. They call themselves the Guardians of the Magical Right."
Harriet contemplated the name and the funny pin as she followed Tonks and Elara, and it wasn't until they'd taken another lift and she was back above ground, sunlight in her eyes, that she remembered where she'd seen the pin before.
It had been on a dead wizard, slumped on the floor of her tent, two years ago.
Harriet couldn't wait to put as much space between herself and the Ministry as possible.
A/N:
Gaunt: "I've come here for one thing and one thing only."
Dumbledore: "Justice?"
Gaunt: "To be petty as fuck. And maybe kidnap a child."
Dumbledore: "Ah, yes. Thought so."