𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖊

Act I - The Trials of Summer

Chapter 25 - The Ministry of Magic

Harry stepped out of the bathroom and found his clothes waiting for him: a tux in dark silver and pearl. The first of two small paper envelopes proved to contain a pair of jewelled cuff links, the stones too blue and too brilliant to be natural sapphires.

The other held his brand-new Peverell Ring.

It was crafted out of tanzanite. An astrologically powerful stone that facilitated a higher consciousness and stimulated intuition and perception. A thestral was engraved on the top, while a phrase was etched on the sides— 'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?', a latin phrase that translated to 'Who watches the watchers?'. The phrase was used to consider the embodiment of the philosophical questions to how power should always be held to account. Considering his situation and the state of Wizarding Britain, Harry felt the meaning was suitably apt for a House under his command. Gringotts had it fashioned and enchanted with five rudimentary spells inserted into it, serving its function as a minor foci should he ever be in need of it.

Harry slipped the ring over his finger, right above the Potter family ring. The moment the two rings came into contact, he felt a sudden and profound sense of coldness as the Peverell ring absorbed the old Potter ring, signifying the subsuming of the Ancient House into an older, and Noble one.

Then he got dressed in the tux and examined himself in the mirror the size of a pool table.

The guy looking back at him out of the mirror looked raw and hard. His cheekbones stood out starkly. He had lost a lot of weight while being stuck in a coma after the doxy attack, and Andi's rehabilitation had only added lean muscle to him. One could see veins tight against his skin. He had cut his hair short, unlike the long hair he had tried during the previous year, and completely ditched the thin stubble that had been forming on his cheek and chin. Sirius had gotten him to a magical ophthalmologist and gotten his eyes treated. So long as he continued to take his medicines, he was assured of a perfect vision for the considerable future.

No longer did he look like a striking copy of a young James Potter. Lily's eyes shone magnificently, and contrasted well with his pale skin.

"Lord Black is waiting for you downstairs," growled Kreacher's voice.

It probably spoke volumes about the way his life had become that Harry didn't even react to the sound. Harry's status as a Vessel had hit a nerve in Kreacher, and the elf had become a bit… accepting of his presence. Whether it was because Harry reminded him of the original Sirius Arcturus Black, he didn't know.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me, Kreacher?" Harry asked.

"The Demon has grown perceptive," Kreacher continued in his gravelly tone, bowing his head, "Kreacher has two letters for the Demon from Demon's friends."

For some definitions of 'accepting' anyway.

"From whom?"

He'd be surprised if it was from Hermione or the Weasleys. Ever since the debacle, his friends had been silent. Then again, it wasn't like he had written back. He had practically spent half the week lounging around Greengrass Manor, discussing the trial with Sirius and Joshua, with Daphne throwing in substantial input from time to time. Merlin, the girl knew a lot.

Kreacher did not reply, and instead, forwarded the two letters to him.

The first was a standard Gringotts envelope, though the familiar cursive handwriting atop left no doubt about the identity of the sender. He had been expecting a shout-out from her, given how his Trial was practically hours away.

The other letter… Well, he didn't know if he could even call it one. Engraved with the insignia of House Greengrass, there was only a single sentence written on the parchment in beautiful handwriting.

Potter, See You at the Wizengamot.

Harry snorted. This had Daphne written all over it. But what was she going to do at the Wizengamot? No doubt another surprise that the father-daughter pair would throw his way. He folded Daphne's letter and put it on the dressing table, and opened the other letter.

Dear Harry,

Everything is in order, as discussed. Overseer Griphook would like a meeting as soon as possible. The Overseer made it a point to mention 'long-term investments'. Any clue what's he talking about?

See you at the Ministry.

Fleur.

"Well, that was surprising," He slowly spun around to meet the twisted elf. "Is there anything else you wanted to tell me, Kreacher."

"Kreacher thinks the Demon is wasting time," said the ancient elf.

Harry grinned. "Knew you cared beneath that tough exterior!"

"Kreacher thinks the Demon has addled his demon mind. Kreacher wonders if this Demon's insanity will make blood-traitor Master throw the Demon out."

"Heh! You're funny."

Kreacher growled.

Harry sighed. "Just trying to brighten the conversation with humour, Kreacher. You need to cheer up. Maybe you can spend your time wishing that I get sentenced to Azkaban after we leave."

Kreacher tilted his head, considering his words. "Kreacher likes Demon's suggestion." Then as if in shock of his own words. "Kreacher spoke well of the Demon. Kreacher has to iron his ears for this. Oh what would my Mistress think of poor Kreacher now… Oh dear Mistress, Kreacher only wanted to—"

"Serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Harry repeated in a dull, nasal imitation of the elf. "I know. I've heard it a thousand times."

"Your attempt at levity will not change the course of Time, Demon."

Harry folded his arms.

"Kreacher, I have a question."

"Annoying demons mostly do."

Harry ignored the casual insult with practised ease. "You serve the House of Black. And like it or not, I am a Son of House Black. So, you also work for me. Correct?"

Kreacher's floppy ears twitched.

"Answer me."

Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.

"Do you, or do you not, work for me?"

Kreacher let out a growl. "...Yes."

Ouch. Harry thought. That had to hurt. He was sure that the elf was mentally wishing he could rip him to shreds.

"Yes. It does," He replied, keeping his voice as composed as he could. "I have orders for you, and a few questions."

"Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black."

Harry groaned. "A yes would have sufficed, but you do you, I guess. See, I know of an elf. Dobby. He used to belong to the Malfoys, but then he disobeyed their commands and tried to help me."

He felt Kreacher's eyes drill into him, hanging on to his every word.

"...you have something to say?"

Kreacher's ears twitched again. "Kreacher wonders, did this elf choose to aid Harry Potter while betraying his Master?"

Harry winced. Loyalty was a serious thing among House Elves. He knew that Lucius Malfoy was a sonofabitch, but taking out the bias from the context, Kreacher's question was not completely off the point.

Had Dobby, a House Elf, one that was magically devoted to his Masters, made the conscious choice to defy said Masters just so that he could stand a chance to help Harry Potter?

Just what was it about aiding Harry Potter that had made Dobby choose to betray his Master's Secrets and go against his planning?

It was the second growl that reminded him that Kreacher was awaiting his response.

"...Yes, he did, which is why—"

The rest of his words died as the room darkened.

And then Kreacher spoke.

"Why what?"

Harry swallowed. "I freed Dobby from Lucius Malfoy back in my second year. He has been working at the Hogwarts kitchens ever since. I was wondering… this Demon thing that you hate about me. Does it apply to other elves or are you giving me special treatment?"

Kreacher stared at him but said nothing.

"Speak!" Harry demanded, surprising himself by the vitriol in his voice. "Will Dobby also have a similar reaction to me?"

"Kreacher… cannot be sure," said Kreacher evasively.

That, Harry decided, was as good as to consent. "Fine… that will be all. Now leave."

Kreacher stared at him. Then vanished.

Just like that.

Harry watched the darkness in the room slowly empty itself and sighed. "Well," he replied, "That was something, wasn't it?"

One tandem apparition later, Harry Potter and Sirius Black were standing in the Ministry of Magic's ostentatiatory.

Okay, maybe that wasn't a real word, but for someone that had been to some very fantastic buildings as of late, including Hogwarts, Gringotts, and the Greengrass Mansion, saying that the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic screamed ostentatious right from the very first glance said something about the edifice's architecture.

They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh. On the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. The tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of people apparating in, and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.

"This way," Sirius pointed towards the way most people were flocking, "We need to get our wands registered at the Security Desk."

"And people do that voluntarily?" Harry asked. He was pretty sure that given the option, he'd have likely escaped notice and joined the groups of people on the other side.

"Why did I know you were going to ask me that?" Sirius asked, amused.

"Because you're a bad influence on me?" Harry replied cheekily.

The two of them joined the throng winding their way between the Ministry workers, giving each other a hard time. And they both knew it. The truth was that they were both afraid of what was to come, and this seemed like a good way to keep it from getting on their nerves. As they passed the fountain, Harry saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small silver plaque beside it read—

ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES.

"After the Ministry has deducted Cess Tax from it," Sirius muttered.

"And how much is that?"

"Depends on the esteemed Minister's need."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then realised where he was, and shut his mouth.

"Good boy."

They strode down the hall and found themselves facing a group of ten Aurors. From the badges hanging on their uniforms, he could see the majority of them were trainees, with two of them holding a proper rank. As it was, several of them recognized both him and Sirius and began murmuring quiet greetings as they approached.

"Savage, is that you?" Sirius asked one of the ranked Aurors, a man that looked closer to Sirius's age, with jet black hair and brown eyes.

"Black," The man nodded curtly. "How's tricks?"

Sirius returned a half-shrug and moved ahead. They passed through the Wand inspection, followed by a quick Wand-summoning charm and something that felt loosely like a Scourgify but was a scan for anti-summoning trinkets. Harry was asked to reveal his moleskin bottomless pouch before another quick diagnostic spell scanned through the contents. Finally satisfied with the proceedings, he and Sirius were allowed to move towards the elevator section.

As they approached the oval arch above the elevator section, many of the surrounding witches and wizards moved away from him, shooting nervous glances at him and quickly looking away if they met his eyes. It was a far cry from gazing at his scar and while it was a welcome respite, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of drivel had the Ministry fed these people to have such an extreme reaction. Some gave him slight nods in acknowledgment.

"Where are we going?" He couldn't help but ask.

Sirius's face twisted into a scowl. "Normally this would have happened in Courtroom One, under the jurisdiction of the DMLE. But the Minister decided it wasn't big enough to fit his ego, so he shifted it to Courtroom Ten. That one is the largest of all courtrooms, and was in use during the Fast Track Death Eater Trials held after… after the war ended."

Harry pursed his lips.

"Yes," Sirius went on, "I was supposed to be put on trial here. But I wasn't. When I woke up in Azkaban, they told me I had had a trial in Courtroom Five, a private one, because of my status as a Pureblood of a Noble family." He sneered. "Hypocrites all of them!"

Harry saw the lift door open, and several people, carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated themselves out of the lift and walked out. He, Sirius, and a bare few pushed in. The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended or descended slowly, he wasn't entirely sure. Chains rattling, a voice began to call out the floors and what was on them.

"Level Nine," said a cool, female voice. "Department of Mysteries."

Harry felt a little weird inside upon hearing the name. He had heard the name when Bones had interrogated him. Sirius had mentioned that the DOM researched magic, and that was all he could tell. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about the department at all. It was an intriguing name, but his curiosity was all for naught. The walls, floors, and ceiling were made of black polished tiles and the only door was a rather plain, average door, painted black, at the far end of the corridor.

As they approached the door, Harry saw that there was no handle and no obvious means of entry, which he found strange. Sirius led him down a set of steps to an alcove to the left of the door and they began to descend into a cold, stone corridor. They stopped at a door with a dull and stained brass plaque, a number ten nailed on it. The door itself was dark wood, studded with rusted metal pieces.

"Well…." Sirius murmured, "this is it. I will be taking my place in the Wizengamot, and making things set up in your favour. Let Greengrass deal with the rest. And when it is your chance, forget everything else. Just remember, it's your word versus Fudge. The Boy-who-Lived versus the Minister of Magic. Everything else will fall in place."

"But what if… what if I'm bad at this? I've never—"

Sirius clasped his shoulder. "I've seen you over the past week, Harry. You took to it like grindylow to water."

"But Sirius, all of this. This wasn't my idea."

"And that's what politicians do. Don't forget, you're a Lord now, and if everything works as planned, you'll be part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Greengrass will pave the way, sure, but you have to appear strong. Remember, appearances are everything."

"I hate it," Harry grumbled.

"No whinging," Sirius admonished. "Everything will be fine. You'll do great. Trust. Me."

It made him feel slightly better.

Yes. He told himself. Everything will be fine. It has to be.

The door opened, and an Auror stepped out. Unlike the others, Harry remembered this man. Dawlish. He had been there with Auror Shacklebolt during his interrogation, standing outside Dumbledore's office, probably to grab him and send him packing to Azkaban. Even back then, he had thought the man to be a dick.

"Finally," Dawlish muttered upon seeing him. "I've been waiting for this, Potter. Finally, you're going to face justice."

"Wow, that'd be nice," Harry said with a straight face. "I was expecting to face Lucius Malfoy. Unless… he's busy with Fudge in his office?"

His sour face screwed up even more. "This is the Wizengamot, not Hogwarts. Take care of what you speak. Dumbledore wouldn't be around to save you here."

"I agree," Sirius replied coolly, "which is why I must question what an Auror is doing intimidating a son of a Noble House in public. I know I haven't been to Wizengamot sessions lately, but is this some new rule? Perhaps I should go confirm with Amelia in that case."

"No," Dawlish spat the word like a curse, "there is no need for that. I am here to take Potter with me."

He raised his hand to grab Harry's hand but Sirius stopped him with a flick of his wand. "Uh, I'll have to go with no."

"Excuse me?" Dawlish demanded, narrowing his eyes. "You are obstructing the Ministry Protocol!"

"My ward has been called for a Trial. That much is true. But this is also a Wizengamot session, and both I and my ward have several notices to deliver in front of the Wizengamot. Harry will appear before the Wizengamot for his Hearing, but only when Chief Warlock announces it before the Wizengamot. Until then, he is a Son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, against whom the Ministry has zero evidence."

"We have evidence—"

"Oh," Sirius's eyes brightened. "My apologies. Show me the warrant."

"Excuse me?"

"The warrant from the DMLE Head's office. Surely you know the protocol, what with being an Auror and everything?'

Dawlish faltered, doing an uncanny impression of a fish out of water as struggled to find something to say.. Finally, he turned around and left into the courtroom, with Harry and Sirius quickly following suit.

The moment he saw the courtroom, Harry gasped. This was the same place he had seen Karkaroff being held on trial from Dumbledore's memories. It was here where Karkaroff had named several people, namely Snape, and the Lestranges— as Death Eaters. It was where he had unmasked Barty Crouch Junior's identity as a Death Eater in front of everyone.

The walls of the chamber were dark stone interspersed with metal sconces that lit the room but did little to remove the chill from the air. The room was a vast circle and oddly reminded him of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, with tiered seats on all sides except two openings on either end. The entirety of the Wizengamot was seated on the two longer walls, with the Ancient Houses on the top row, but he couldn't see them well in the dim light. The interrogators sat right at the front— Fudge himself, Amelia Bones, and a pink-clad witch whose face very much resembled a toad.

Just next to the Minister, on a seat slightly below him, sat Percy Weasley, looking every bit as obnoxious as his commanding officer.

The heavy door, with its rusted iron studs, closed loudly behind him and an ominous silence fell.

A cold, male voice rang across the courtroom.

"Harry Potter. How thoughtful of you to join us. " said Minister Fudge. "This Emergency session is being held in honour of your Trial."

Jerk. Harry thought.

Still, it was his Trial, and Sirius had given him a few lessons at courtroom diplomacy just so that he wasn't caught unprepared. But before he could, Sirius intervened.

"Thank you," said his godfather, a plastic smile on his face, "My godson is looking forward to joining the ranks of the Wizengamot. I don't suppose the Roll-Calling has started yet?"

Fudge squinted at him, the sneer falling off his face. "No. It hasn't."

"Good," Sirius replied, "My godson is very exhilarated to be a part of the Wizengamot, you see. Taking after his grandfather, you know who Fleamont Potter was, right?"

And just like that, the wind was snatched from Fudge's sails. From what Sirius had told Harry, Fleamont Potter had been the real deal. That man had single-handedly kept the Pureblood Movement from taking a bad shape during the entire time he had been in office. It was only after the man had contracted Dragon Pox and had to retire that Voldemort's minions managed to infiltrate the Ministry. The fact that Bartemious Crouch's obsession with legal minutiae made things harder for the Aurors to suppress Death Eater activity didn't help matters either.

"Harry Potter stands accused of heinous crimes. I won't allow him to become a part of the Wizengamot and hide behind its conventions to escape justice."

Sirius arched his eyebrow. "You won't allow him? Last I checked, that job falls on the Wizengamot, and not on you, Minister Fudge."

Fudge looked like he'd have a conniption any moment.

"He's on trial." He hissed.

"Absolutely correct," Sirius threw back. "And he will be tried, when the trial begins." He did a funny little bow. "Until then?"

Harry felt his face heat up. Fudge was trying to block him from all fronts. But this time, he had Sirius on his side. From the sour look on Fudge's face, Harry knew that he had won this opening round. He glanced up at Albus Dumbledore, wearing plum robes like everyone else— sitting on the highest bench that loomed above the well in the middle, overlooking the giant gallery of Wizengamot members. Directly beneath the Chief Warlock's desk but on the same general level were seats for a court reporter (who also acted as a sort of bailiff) and a records keeper. In front of them but on a lower level was a row of desks allocated to half-dozen or so Ministry officials who held Wizengamot votes by the office.

But most important of all was the calmness on Dumbledore's face. He'd not get any help from the Headmaster, though whether the man would speak against him was an entirely different matter.

"Ah, Harry," came the familiar voice of Joshua Greengrass from behind him. Harry turned around and found the man, dressed in Wizengamot robes, and smiling at him. "I believe you are supposed to accompany me, while Lord Black leaves for his Seat?"

Harry met Sirius's eyes and received a nod from the other man.

"...Sure." He replied, and walked towards the other end of the Well in the centre, where a single desk and bench were provided for the Defence Attorney and his assistant, whom Harry recognized as Penelope Clearwater, Percy's girlfriend back at Hogwarts.

"Hi," Penelope replied demurely.

Harry gave her a slow, uncertain nod.

"Ah," Joshua replied, "I didn't know you knew each other. But enough dillydallying. The roll calling is about to begin at any moment, and we can't be caught unaware."

Harry blinked. "...I don't understand."

"The roll-call will tell us which Houses have attended today's session, and more importantly, how many of those are Nobility."

"...And why does that matter?"

Joshua smiled. "You see, Harry, Law is about control. You can only control so much with the Jury, Judge, witnesses, and another lawyer with an ego complex. The trick is to gain as much breathing room as you can but to understand how the Jury perceives the case and the Accused. Once you've figured that out, the rest becomes easy."

Harry cast a glance at Fudge. "What if the other lawyer doesn't have an Ego complex?"

"Every lawyer has an ego complex. See every case is an exercise where there is potential for failure on both sides. The trick is to understand what favours you and what doesn't, and try to create a situation where that's not even a possibility."

"Winning an unwinnable situation by changing the rules," Harry concluded, "Is that why you told me to dress up like Malfoy?"

Joshua rolled his eyes. "I did not tell you to dress up like Malfoy. I told you to dress up like a traditional pureblood. "

"And how's that relevant to the trial?"

Joshua exhaled. "Albus Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock. However, he's also the prime defence witness. That means either he'll remove himself from his position for the trial, or I'll have him removed. The next member in place for Chief Warlock is Lady Griselda Marchbanks, who is a staunch traditionalist. Makes sense to present yourself to her liking, doesn't it?"

Harry gawked at the man.

Joshua laughed. "You'll soon learn this, Harry. A good lawyer knows the law. A great lawyer knows the judge."