Chapter Three: Legal Advice
The next couple of days seemed to drag by at a snail's pace. As much as Harry hated Privet Drive, at least he could go outside or flip through his schoolbooks. While the Greengrasses' guest cabin was quite comfortable, there really wasn't much to do inside, even if his overall opinion of the place benefitted from his increased feelings of security and the distinct lack of Dursleys.
The only real bright spot for Harry had been Astoria's visits to the cabin. Her genial disposition and confident nature were positively infectious, and whenever she left, Harry soon found himself looking forward to her next visit. He had been bothered by seemingly random flashes of anger or frustration for most of the summer, and yet he hadn't experienced any of that while she was keeping him company.
Beyond that, it was their conversation on the evening of his second full day at the cabin that really convinced him that the girl was wise beyond her years.
"Hi, Harry," Astoria called out as she walked through the door, once again carrying a picnic basket filled with food for him.
"Hey," he responded, emerging from the back hallway.
"I brought you some more food. You said liked treacle tart, so I asked Flopsy to make one for you."
Harry's eyes lit up.
"Now you really are my hero," he told her.
"Really, Harry?" she teased. "Offering you refuge from corrupt governments and Dark Lords gets me nothing, but bring you some tart and all of a sudden I'm a hero?"
"What can I say? I'm a simple man with simple pleasures," he joked, and then immediately brought the basket into the kitchen so he could serve himself a slice.
"Want some?"
"Sure," replied Astoria, taking a seat on one of the sofas.
Harry returned a moment later with two small plates. Taking the larger slice for himself, he handed the other Astoria and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.
"This is great," he said after taking a bite. "You'll have to thank Flopsy for me."
"I'll be sure to do that," she answered after wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
Unsurprisingly, Harry was the first to finish. He set his plate down on the coffee table in front of them and leaned back heavily on the sofa.
"Oh, I have good news!" Astoria suddenly blurted out. "I found a solicitor for you."
"Really?"
"Yes! I found a name in my father's study and wrote to him yesterday. He responded today saying he's willing to meet with you, but the only time he's available this week is tomorrow morning."
"And what exactly did you tell him?"
"Don't worry, I didn't tell him who you are. I just said you were a friend from school who'd run into a spot of trouble with the Ministry."
"Well, you weren't exactly lying," he remarked with a slight grin, before turning serious. "Do you think he's trustworthy?"
"I think so," said Astoria, her brow furrowing slightly. "I don't think Father would work with him if he wasn't."
"Okay, so how am I supposed to meet him?"
"His office is just off of Diagon Alley, but he recommended we floo over a few minutes before your appointment."
"We?" Harry asked in surprise. "Are you planning on coming with me?"
"Of course! I'm the one who wrote to him, so he's expecting me. Plus, I need a few things, so I can do some shopping whilst you're in your meeting."
"Okay...I suppose that's fine," he replied, while rubbing his cheek. "Is this fireplace connected to the floo?"
"Unfortunately not," she informed him. "There are probably a few in town that we could use, but honestly, we're probably better off just using the one in my house. Just hear me out," she added, seeing Harry about to protest. "You're trying to keep a low profile here, and someone's bound to recognise you if we go out into the magical section of Appleby. You could go under your Cloak, but it can get pretty crowded in town and you're liable to bump into somebody, which would just draw more attention to you."
"I don't know about this..."
"Harry, my house is huge, and by the time you're ready for your ten o'clock appointment, Daphne will be the only one there, and she usually sleeps in during the holidays. Nobody will even know you were there."
Harry sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. His instincts were telling him it was a bad idea, but Astoria once again made a convincing argument. The question was whether it was worth the risk. Maybe he should just skip the solicitor altogether and hope that Dumbledore was able to somehow pull him out of it...
His annoyance with the headmaster immediately resurfaced at the thought, which was enough to make up his mind for him.
"Fine," he said after a few moments. "I'll walk up to the house under my Cloak tomorrow morning. Open the door for me at a quarter 'til, and I'll follow you to the floo."
"Perfect. Come to the side door just past the rose garden; it's the one furthest from Daphne's room."
Harry just nodded, then sat back on the sofa and gingerly rubbed his forehead.
"Is something wrong, Harry?"
He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.
"You've done enough for me as it is; you shouldn't have to hear about all my problems too."
"I have a lot of free time on my hands, Harry. You can tell me," she replied, obviously noticing the conflicted look on Harry's face. "I'm a pretty good listener, and I certainly know how to keep a secret."
Harry could tell by her earnest expression that she really did mean it. He wasn't sure how she did it, but in the few days he'd known Astoria Greengrass, she'd somehow managed to bring him around to her way of thinking several times. Harry sighed deeply. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to talk to somebody, and a neutral party at that.
"Well…" he began, "I've been feeling really angry lately. It comes and goes to an extent, but...I don't know, it feels like it's always there, just under the surface."
"Hmm...Is your anger directed towards anyone in particular?"
"Not all the time. Sometimes it's just a general feeling that doesn't seem to be connected to anything I'm doing. Other times though..."
Astoria looked back at him expectantly.
"Yeah, okay. There are a few people in particular, Dumbledore being at the top of the list."
"Oh?"
"Yeah...I really don't want to talk about what happened last June, but it was...horrible. I somehow managed to escape that nightmare, and what did Dumbledore do? He sent me straight back to my muggle relatives like nothing happened. No information, no reassurances, no plans to get me away from that blasted place."
"Is it really that bad with your relatives?"
"Hmph," Harry snorted derisively. "The best I can hope for is that they all just completely ignore me. I hate it there, but whenever I write to my friends or Siri — er — my godfather to ask when I can meet up with them, they tell me that they're not allowed to say anything, and that Dumbledore says I have to stay put because, get this — it's safer."
Harry just shook his head and stared off into the distance for a few moments.
"Fat load of good staying there did; I only got attacked by two bloody dementors. And after I fought them off single-handedly, did anybody come to finally help me? Of course not! Instead, I get the same rubbish — stay put, it's not safe to leave, let Dumbledore sort it out..."
"I can see how that would be frustrating," Astoria said sympathetically. "I take it you're also not too happy with your friends, or — did you say you have a godfather?"
"Yeah, I can't really get into that, but he had to go away shortly after my parents were murdered, so he couldn't take me in. I've only recently met him, but based on the stories I've heard, I expected him to be a lot more willing to stick his neck out."
"And your friends?"
"Ron and Hermione. The three of us have been through a lot together since our first year. We've risked our lives for each other multiple times and broken a thousand rules, but this summer, when I really needed them..."
"They listened to the adults and wouldn't tell you anything," she said knowingly, finishing his sentence for him.
"Exactly!" he said in an exasperated tone. "And the thing is, I know they could've found a way if they'd really tried. Hermione's muggle-born, so she could've worked out how to reach me at my relatives' house. Even Ron managed to call me on the telephone once."
"Tellyfone?"
"Oh, erm — it's how muggles talk to each other over long distances, sort of like a floo call."
"Fascinating," she replied. "I've always wondered how that worked."
"Yes, well anyways...the thing is, as aggravating as their useless letters have been, part of me knows that it's not entirely their fault. That doesn't stop me from being angry with them though, which somehow makes me feel even worse."
"It almost sounds as though you feel guilty for being angry with them."
"Maybe I do," conceded Harry. "It's just that I'm so angry all the time lately, and it's all a bit confusing. Whenever I finally do see my friends, I'm not sure whether I'll hug them or give them both a proper bollocking. At this point, either is likely — maybe even both."
Astoria chuckled softly at Harry's explanation.
"Yes, I could easily picture that," she said with a small smile. "Listen Harry, I'm not one to tell you what to do..."
"Oh? You've been doing a pretty job at it so far."
"I — I'm sorry," she spluttered, her cheeks reddening. "I know sometimes I can be a bit..."
"Astoria, I'm only joking," he laughed. "Honestly, I like hearing your opinion on things. You can be pretty convincing, but trust me, at the end of the day I make my own decisions."
"If you're sure," she replied, a little sheepishly.
"I am," he assured her, then shook his head, seemingly in disbelief. "To be honest, I still don't completely understand why you're so intent on helping me. You wrote to me just so I'd know there was someone out there who supported me. You put yourself at risk to help someone you've only just met, and how do I repay you? By making you listen to me complain about how unfair my life is."
"You're not making me do anything, Harry," corrected Astoria. "Like you said, I make my own decisions, and I'm choosing to help you. As for why...I'm not sure that I can properly explain it," she added, an odd expression appearing on her face.
"Why don't you try?"
"Well, I wrote to you in the first place because all the rubbish being printed in the Prophet made me so mad, and I wanted you to know that not everybody believed their nonsense. As for the rest...it just seemed like you really needed help, and that you had nowhere else to go. Helping you just felt like the right thing to do, and it still does."
"I am grateful, of course," replied Harry, "but lots of people might have felt the same way. Very few of them would've actually done something about it."
"I'd like to believe I'm not the only one, though," contended Astoria. Her eyes took on a faraway look for a few moments, as if she were debating what she was going to say next.
"Listen, Harry, none of us really know how much time we have in this world. I've always believed that we should do as much good as we can with the time we're given. That's why I want to help you. I'm not exactly sure what You-Know-Who being back means for you, but I have a feeling you'll end up being involved somehow, which means you'll need all the help you can get."
"You don't know how right you are," he said jokingly, but she ignored the quip.
"And now that I've properly met you, I'm even more convinced that helping you is the right thing. You've had to deal with a lot, Harry, but I know that you're a good person. That's why I think you should forgive your friends and give them another chance to show you how important you are to them."
Harry just sat on the sofa and stared back at her for a few moments. He had to admire her conviction, even if he didn't think she understood how rare her way of thinking actually was.
"Part of me wants to just forgive them, but at the same time, this isn't the first time they've let me down like this," he explained, thinking back to Ron's abandonment after Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, and to a lesser extent, Hermione going behind his back to tell McGonagall her suspicions about the Firebolt without talking to him first.
"I think I understand," Astoria replied kindly. "I'm not sure whether you've even noticed, but you've hinted at your adventures quite a bit whilst you've been here. Would I be wrong in thinking that whenever your friends have been in difficult situations, you've been right there with them?"
Harry sat back and thought through their various escapades over the years — the troll, helping smuggle a baby dragon, the traps guarding the Philosopher's stone...sneaking into the Slytherin common room under Polyjuice, Aragog, Lockhart and the Chamber...confronting Sirius, then later helping him escape...
She was right. Harry had been forced to deal with a lot on his own — Quirrell, the basilisk, the dementors, not to mention the Triwizard tasks, and even Lord Voldemort himself — yet whenever Ron and Hermione had faced danger, he was usually right there beside them.
He looked back up at Astoria, but apparently, she didn't need him to answer.
"I'm sure your friends mean well, Harry, but maybe they're just not as strong as you. They may not be as capable of taking the more difficult path or standing up to authority without you there to lead them."
Harry was at a loss for words. He never thought of himself as a leader; he'd certainly never asked to be one. All he'd ever done was try to do the right thing. He wanted to contradict Astoria's assessment of him, but try as he might, he couldn't come up with an argument against what she'd said — something that had been occurring with alarming frequency as of late.
"By all means, tell your friends how you feel, Harry. They should know how much their actions, or rather, inaction has affected you. Give them a chance to at least explain themselves, and then take it from there."
Harry just nodded at her dumbly, unable to come up with an intelligent response. She simply gave him a knowing smile and stood up to take her leave.
"I should probably head back," said Astoria. "Remember, side door at nine forty-five tomorrow morning. Do you need anything else?"
"Now that you mention it, I have been getting a little bored," he admitted, having shaken off his stupor. "Is there any chance you could bring me a few books next time you come down?"
"That shouldn't be too difficult. Any requests?"
"Not really; anything that can hold my attention would be good. With Voldemort being back I should probably learn to defend myself better, so if you have any books with useful spells that'd be great. Otherwise, I'll gladly read whatever you can bring me."
"Hmm, I'll see what I can do. Good night, Harry."
With that, she turned and left through the front door, leaving Harry alone to ponder the conversation they'd just had. This had been the second time in just a few days that he'd divulged all of his frustrations to Astoria. He would've felt guilty about it, but she didn't seem bothered in the slightest. In fact, she'd listened attentively and without judgment, and Harry had to admit that talking to her had even helped him understand his feelings a bit better. He was starting to think that reaching out to her was the best decision he'd made in quite a while.
With that in mind, Harry got up to pen a letter to Ron and Hermione. He wasn't sure whether anyone had noticed he'd left Privet Drive yet, but if they had, his friends had at least earned the right to know he was safe.
oOoOoOo
Harry walked slowly down a long corridor, his wand illuminating the way in front of him. The walls were completely bare, with no windows or portraits to speak of. Both the walls themselves and the floor were finished with shiny black tiles arranged in a brick pattern, giving the darkened hallway an ominous feel.
Finally, he came to a nondescript black door and reached for the handle, only to find it was locked. He tried jiggling the handle and pulling with all his might, but the door simply wouldn't budge. Frustrated by the obstacle before him, Harry turned around to find himself staring directly into a pair of burning crimson eyes.
Stumbling backwards, Harry frantically glanced around looking for escape routes, only to find that he had somehow been transported from the mysterious dark corridor into an all-too-familiar graveyard. Encircling both him and the Dark Lord were dozens upon dozens of black-cloaked figures wearing bone white masks with slits for eyes.
Lord Voldemort raised his wand, a triumphant sneer on his skull-like face, and Harry knew he was done for. He readied himself to fight, but before he could even think of a spell, pain coursed through his body as if he was being stabbed by a thousand hot knives.
"You're no match for me, Harry," said Lord Voldemort in a high, cruel voice. "Is this really the best I can expect from the last of the Potters? At least your parents had the good grace to die with dignity."
Harry wanted to retort, but his mouth seemed to be frozen shut.
"Goodbye, Harry Potter...Avada Kedavra!"
There was a flash of green and rushing sound, and Harry Potter woke up screaming in his bed at the Greengrasses' guest cabin.
Both of his hands shot to his scar, which felt like it was about to burn all the way through his skull. He rolled back and forth across the bed, trying to muffle the sound of his screams until the pain finally began to subside. After what felt like an eternity, Harry sat up in bed, his eyes still watering from his ordeal.
"What the hell was that?" Harry asked himself, but he had no answers.
He'd had a few dreams about dark corridors recently, but that had easily been the most vivid one to date. Much to his chagrin, he'd also visited that particular graveyard on more than one occasion, and it never got any better. The only difference this time was that Harry felt even more helpless and pathetic than usual in the face of Lord Voldemort, which he didn't think was even possible.
"Never again," he announced to the empty room, vowing to be better prepared the next time he faced the Dark Lord — and he was almost positive there would be a next time. The few interactions he'd had with Lord Voldemort over the years left Harry with little doubt of that. If nothing else, Voldemort was bound to take Harry's repeated escapes as a personal insult, one which the Dark Lord would not take lightly.
Looking up, Harry could see the first light of dawn approaching through the bedroom window. Realising that attempting more sleep was bound to be a fruitless exercise, Harry decided to get up and get ready for his day.
After a quick shower, Harry threw on an oversized tee-shirt and a pair of Dudley's old jeans, along with his worn-out trainers. He took a look at himself in the mirror, and he had to admit that he didn't like what he saw. Up until a few days ago he hadn't been eating very well, and his skinny appearance combined with Dudley's ratty old clothes had him looking like every bit the ragamuffin the Dursleys always claimed him to be.
Harry knew that his current state of dress was far from the ideal attire for a meeting with what he assumed was an accomplished solicitor, but it wasn't as if he had much choice in the matter. The few wizarding clothes he owned were still locked in his trunk on Privet Drive, and he'd only been able to fit a few things in his rucksack when he fled Little Whinging.
He grabbed a quick bite to eat out of the picnic basket, taking care to finish unloading it while he was at it, so Astoria could restock later. The large grandfather clock in the sitting room told him that it was only just after eight o'clock, which gave him more than an hour before he had to make his way up to the main house.
The rest of the morning was mostly spent stewing over his nightmare and his subsequent feelings of inadequacy. He was hardly an academic, but Harry had always felt like he was a fairly gifted wizard for his age — his mastering of the Patronus Charm at age thirteen and all the spells he had learned for the Triwizard Tournament were both solid examples of that. However, last June had taught him that was hopelessly outmatched against wizards like Voldemort.
But what could he do? Was closing the gap even possible? He somehow doubted it, but he knew he needed to be better than he was, regardless. He'd been lucky in his encounters with the Dark Lord up to that point, but luck tended to run out eventually.
After vowing to improve himself for the second time that day, Harry again checked the time and decided he'd better get moving. Making sure his wand was easily accessible, he draped his Invisibility Cloak over himself and began his trek up to the main house of the Greengrass Estate.
It took Harry several minutes to wind his way up the narrow cobblestone path, but he eventually found his way to the rose garden Astoria had described. Flowers weren't exactly his thing, but even Harry could appreciate the aesthetics of the place. The entire area was surrounded by a low, green hedge, and the garden itself was filled with neatly arranged beds filled with roses of varying colours.
He passed through the first of many floral archways and followed the slate path, until he came to the large circular fountain at the centre of the garden. From there, he could easily see the door Astoria had described, and Harry only had to wait at the door for a few minutes before it quietly opened from the inside.
Astoria stood in the doorway, dressed in lightweight, sky-blue robes with a small leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She beckoned for him to come inside, so he stepped through the door and allowed her to close it behind him.
"This way," she whispered, as she set off down the hallway.
Harry followed closely behind her, taking care to make as little noise as possible. His first impression of the main house was that it had a much more formal feel than the guest cabin. From what he could see, the walls not covered by heavy tapestries were made from dark, ornately carved wood, and most areas were lit by what appeared to be old-fashioned gas lamps.
He didn't have too much time to look around, however, because Astoria soon turned to enter one of the side rooms through a set of double doors. She gave him a moment to enter the room, and then closed the door behind him.
"This is the receiving room," whispered Astoria. "Other than my father's study, it's the only fireplace connected to the floo network."
Harry looked in the direction she was gesturing, and indeed the fireplace was even larger than the one in the cabin. It was wide enough for four people to stand comfortably and was constructed from decorative white marble that extended all the way up to the ceiling.
"Fair warning," Harry whispered back, "I've only used the floo a few times, and one of those ended with me winding up in Knockturn Alley by mistake."
"Really?" she giggled. "We'll go through together then, just to be safe."
"Works for me. I should probably stay under my Cloak at first anyway."
Astoria walked over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder out of the pot hanging from the mantle. She extended her hand towards Harry, then called out, "Holden and Cartwright," and tossed the powder into the fire. As soon as the flames turned emerald-green, Harry grabbed Astoria's hand and the two of them stepped through together.
Fortunately, they arrived at their destination without incident. Even so, Harry was still glad for her assistance, as he was still unused to the dizzying sensation that accompanied floo travel. They stepped out into a small waiting room, which was thankfully empty at the moment, and before they could even sit down, one of the two oaken doors on the far side of the room opened up and a man stepped out.
He appeared to be an older gentleman, as evidenced by the streaks of grey colouring the temples of his otherwise dark brown hair. He was sporting a neatly trimmed moustache that reminded Harry vaguely of Barty Crouch, and he was wearing navy blue pinstriped robes that only added further to his professional appearance.
"Good morning, Miss Greengrass. Are we still waiting for your friend?"
"Good morning, Mr. Cartwright. No, he's here, he's just...well, go ahead, Harry."
Understanding her meaning, Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak. Mr. Cartwright's eyes widened at the sudden appearance of a previously invisible teenager in his waiting room, and even more so when they caught sight of the familiar lightning shaped scar on his forehead.
"I see," he said, quickly composing himself. "Well, Mr. Potter, I'll admit that when young Astoria told me that a friend of hers needed help, I certainly wasn't expecting it to be you. Be that as it may, my name is Reginald Cartwright," he said, extending his hand to Harry. "I'm quite pleased to make your acquaintance."
"It's a pleasure, sir," responded Harry, shaking the man's hand. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."
"Yes, well, why don't we all go into my office, and you can tell me exactly what it is we're dealing with."
"Actually, Mr. Cartwright, I have some things I need from Diagon Alley. Would it be all right if I left the two of you to discuss Harry's case while I do my shopping?"
"That should be fine, Miss Greengrass, feel free to join us when you're done. Right this way, Mr. Potter," he said, guiding him towards his office door.
"'Bye, Harry, I'll be back shortly," she said, and then turned to leave before pausing for a moment to add, "Mr. Cartwright, please help Harry if you can. I know the papers have said some awful things about him, but none of them are true. I promise you can believe him."
Astoria left through the front door without waiting for a response, leaving Harry alone with the solicitor.
"Well, she's certainly becoming quite the young lady," mused Mr. Cartwright, more to himself than to Harry. "Well, Mr. Potter, shall we? Judging by the invisibility cloak I'm assuming you would prefer to keep a low profile whilst you are here, so let us adjourn to my office before my partner decides to make an appearance."
Mr. Cartwright led Harry into his office, taking a seat behind the large wooden desk. Harry sat down in one of the leather chairs designated for clients and took in his surroundings. It was a fairly typical office — carpeted flooring with walls finished with mahogany wainscoting, along with a built-in bookcase that took up the entire back wall, which was filled with what Harry assumed to be law books.
"Now, Mr. Potter, before we begin, you should know that I am bound by the oaths of my profession not to reveal anything you tell me without your permission. You being the client leads me to believe that this case will be significantly more complicated than I had first assumed, and in order for me to help you, I need to know all the facts."
"I understand, sir."
"Good. Now while I admit that I don't personally know the youngest Miss Greengrass, I've known her father for many years. From what he tells me, Astoria is remarkably intelligent for one so young and would not be easily fooled. I don't know how you two became acquainted — and frankly it's none of my business — but if she believes you to be trustworthy, then I'm inclined to take her word for it."
"Thank you, sir. To be honest, we haven't known each other for very long at all. Even so, she's really gone out of her way to help me. She's...really something."
"Indeed," agreed Mr. Cartwright. "Now, with your permission, I'm going to record our conversation," he said, pulling a black quill from his desk and setting it up to hover just above a long roll of parchment. Seeing the wary expression on Harry's face, he added, "This is called a Dicta-quill. It will precisely record every word spoken aloud in this room — no more, no less."
Harry nodded his agreement, relaxing slightly.
"Good. So, tell me exactly what sort of business the Ministry seems to think it has with you."
Harry recounted everything he could recall about the night of the dementor attack. Mr. Cartwright stopped him at regular intervals to ask clarifying questions or request additional details, but otherwise he refrained from offering his opinion on any aspect of the story. After a solid half hour of back and forth, the solicitor leaned back in his high-backed leather chair and looked across the desk at Harry.
"I take it you brought the letters with you?"
"Just the ones from the Ministry," replied Harry, pulling the letters from his pocket and handing them over.
"I see," said Mr. Cartwright, as he read through each one in turn. He then picked up the scroll where their conversation was recorded and skimmed through it for a moment.
"You also mentioned that in between these letters, you received another telling you that Professor Dumbledore had gone to the Ministry on your behalf?"
"Yes, from Mr. Weasley."
"How very interesting. I'm making an assumption here, but I would hazard a guess that Professor Dumbledore pointed out that the Ministry doesn't have the legal authority to expel Hogwarts students, nor are they permitted to destroy wands without an official court order."
"That would explain the second letter," agreed Harry.
"Yes, it seems to me that there is much at stake with your upcoming hearing. On the surface, it seems fairly straightforward. Your use of the Patronus Charm is clearly a permitted exception for the Underage Sorcery decree, and the accusation of breaking the Statute of Secrecy is laughable, considering the only muggle witnesses were the relatives you reside with, who had prior knowledge of the magical world."
"That's good news, I suppose."
Mr. Cartwright hummed in response.
"Normally, I suppose it would be, but the actions they outlined in their first letter were far from normal, and that's what concerns me. No, the Ministry clearly have an agenda with you."
"We have some theories about that too, sir," Harry replied darkly, causing the older man to raise his eyebrows slightly.
Harry told Mr. Cartwright about how he witnessed the return of Lord Voldemort, though he skipped over most of the details. He went on to explain Cornelius Fudge's reaction to the news, Professor Dumbledore's speech at the end of term feast, the defamation campaign the Daily Prophet was waging on both him and the headmaster, and his theories about how and why the Ministry were trying to deny the Dark Lord's return. By the time Harry had finished his explanation, Mr. Cartwright was looking slightly pale.
"That is quite a tale, Mr. Potter," he said, again leaning back in his chair. "If it's true, then there's even more riding on this hearing than I initially thought. I don't suppose you have any evidence that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned from the dead, do you?"
"No sir, just what I can recall from that night. Not that it makes much difference, but he was never actually dead in the first place; he'd just been weakened and without a body up until now. I even encountered his wraith in my first year."
"Is that so?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly as Harry nodded back solemnly.
"I'd heard some rumours flying around, of course, but nothing like what you've shared with me this morning. It seems that the Ministry has mostly succeeded in quashing your story, with an assist from the Prophet, of course."
Mr. Cartwright took another look at the transcript of their conversation and sighed deeply.
"It sounds unbelievable," he said, again more to himself than to Harry, "but if Dumbledore believes it...Albus Dumbledore is a great many things, but a fool is not one of them. He's not likely to go around stirring up trouble for no reason."
He shook his head and turned his attention back to Harry.
"All right, Mr. Potter, here's my take on the situation. As fantastical as your story sounds, you do not strike me as a dishonest person. However, my beliefs in this matter are ultimately irrelevant to your case. You are being accused of a specific violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the Statute of Secrecy. My advice to you is to focus your defence on the facts surrounding your use of said spells and avoid any discussion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which includes taking care to avoid proscribing motivations to the person or persons who sent the dementors to your home."
"I guess that makes sense, but…"
"Considering the Ministry's position on the matter," continued Mr. Cartwright, "it would only hurt your cause to allow the subject of the hearing to turn from a simple case of underage magic to a debate about whether or not the Dark Lord has managed to resurrect himself."
"Okay…" Harry said slowly. "So, what do I do then?"
"You? Hopefully, you will have to do nothing. I will be attending the hearing as your legal representation, and I ask that you leave the finer points to me. That also means you should allow me to answer their questions for you unless I tell you otherwise. Is that agreeable?"
"Yes, sir. Honestly, that sounds…"
Harry didn't get to finish his thought, because right at that moment there was a knock on the office door. Mr. Cartwright nodded to Harry, who quickly donned his Cloak as the solicitor went to see who it was. They needn't have worried, however, as it was only Astoria returning from her errands.
"Ah, Miss Greengrass, do come in," said Mr. Cartwright, opening the door to allow her entry.
"Are you all done?" asked Astoria, looking at Harry as he removed his Cloak.
"Nearly. Please have a seat, and I'll have both of you on your way shortly. Just a few more questions, Mr. Potter. First, can you tell me a bit about the warning the Ministry mentioned in their first letter?"
"Oh, yes — I did receive a warning, but I wasn't the one who used magic. It was actually a house-elf."
Mr. Cartwright frowned slightly at that. "I thought you lived with muggles," he said. "Why would a house-elf perform magic in your house?"
Harry sighed and launched into a brief explanation about Dobby and his attempts to 'protect' Harry, including how he tricked Mr. Malfoy into freeing the overzealous elf, which Astoria found absolutely hilarious.
"Just so we're clear," said the solicitor, "this house-elf...Dobby...floated a pudding in the presence muggles specifically to get you in trouble, thereby protecting you from some sort of perceived danger?"
"That's correct," confirmed Harry, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his arm where the basilisk had bitten him.
"And then, you somehow tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing the elf, who now works at Hogwarts?"
"That's right. He helped me out a bit last year too."
"I see...Do you think he would come if you summoned him here?"
Harry shrugged in response and called out, "Dobby!"
There was a quiet pop and Dobby appeared in the office, wearing, as per usual, an extraordinarily odd assortment of clothes. He was once again wearing Ron's shrunken maroon Weasley sweater, on top of a pair of what appeared to be swim trunks. He had a bright orange sock on one foot, and one of red and green plaid on the other, and his bright green eyes were shining with happiness as he bounced eagerly from foot to foot.
"Mister Harry Potter, sir called for Dobby?" the elf squeaked excitedly.
"Hello, Dobby," Harry greeted him kindly. "I'd like you to meet Astoria and Mr. Cartwright. We were just talking about the time you made that pudding float in my aunt and uncle's house."
A guilty look passed over the house-elf's face, and he pulled on his ears and started wildly looking around the room. "No punishing yourself, Dobby," Harry reminded him in a warning tone. "We've talked about this."
"Listen, elf — er...Dobby," said Mr. Cartwright, correcting himself after seeing Harry's stern look. "Mr. Potter is required to attend a hearing at the Ministry of Magic, and the incident with the pudding may come into play. If needed, would you be able to come to the Ministry and admit that you were the one who made it float?"
"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, sir," he squeaked, again tugging at his ears. "Dobby didn't mean to cause Harry Potter so much trouble! Of course, Dobby will tell Ministry wizards what happened!"
"Thank you, Dobby, and it's okay — you more than made up for it last year when you brought me the gillyweed."
"Harry Potter is too kind to Dobby!" the elf replied, as his eyes started to water. "Dobby promises to always help Harry Potter!"
"That's — er — great, Dobby. Why don't you go back to Hogwarts for now, and I'll be sure to call you if I need you."
"Harry Potter is the bestest wizard ever!" exclaimed Dobby, hugging Harry around his leg before popping away.
"Wow, Harry, you really have a way with people," laughed Astoria, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "I've never heard of a house-elf who acted like that."
"Yeah, well...Dobby is unique," replied Harry, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.
Mr. Cartwright just shook his head before returning to the business at hand. "The elf's testimony could come into play, so it's good that he's so willing to help you if needed," he said. "Just a few more questions, then. Are you familiar with a magical object called a Pensieve?"
"Yes, sir," replied Harry, a bit uncomfortably. "I — er — accidentally found myself inside Professor Dumbledore's last year."
"Would you be willing to provide a memory of the dementor attack?" asked the solicitor, pointedly ignoring the latter part of Harry's response.
"Of course."
"Good. They may or may not allow it, depending on who is overseeing your case, but it's good to be prepared. One final question," he continued, his demeanour growing more serious. "If necessary, would you be willing to provide a memory of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return?"
Harry didn't respond immediately. His eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, as he absentmindedly ran the fingers of both of his hands through his hair. Astoria looked at him concernedly, but she also remained silent while patiently awaiting his reply.
"I...I suppose I could, if necessary," he agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "It's not something I'm keen to revisit, though."
"Understood," Mr. Cartwright replied gravely. "I will not ask you for it unless absolutely necessary, and even then, there's very little chance the Ministry would allow it to be entered into the official record. I simply needed to know if you were willing to provide it. If nothing else, it could be a suitable bluff if we need to steer the conversation away from that matter."
Harry nodded his understanding but was hopeful it wouldn't come to that.
"One final question, have you been in touch with Albus Dumbledore since the events of the second of August?"
"No," replied Harry, sounding a little disgruntled. "He hasn't seen fit to contact me yet."
"Would you be agreeable to me reaching out to him concerning this matter?" asked Mr. Cartwright, somewhat taken aback by Harry's attitude.
"If you must, but honestly, I'd rather he didn't know what I've been up to, and he absolutely cannot know about Astoria's involvement. That last part is non-negotiable."
"Very well, Mr. Potter, have it your way," the older man responded curiously. "Perhaps I could write to him the day before the hearing, just so that he's aware of your plans to defend yourself against the Ministry's accusations?"
Harry thought about it for a moment, and then again nodded his agreement.
"Excellent," declared Mr. Cartwright, rising to his feet. "Well, I believe I have everything I need. I strongly suggest we arrive at the Ministry together, and the earlier the better. Would you be able to return here at seven o'clock, on the morning of the twelfth?"
Harry glanced over at Astoria, who nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. One last thing, I'll ask you to sign this authorisation for me to collect the fees for my services from your vault at Gringotts. I do hate to be abrupt, of course, but I am running a business after all," he added, somewhat cheerfully.
With a slight grin, Harry picked up a quill and signed his name to the slip. A quick handshake later, and Mr. Cartwright was escorting him and Astoria out of his office and back to the floo. They went through together, just as they had done earlier that morning, and before they knew it, they were back in the Greengrasses' receiving room.
Harry started to brush away the soot, but then he froze when a voice called out from just outside the door.
"Astoria, is that you?"
A panicked look crossed the girl in question's face, and Harry scrambled to pull out his Invisibility Cloak, while cursing himself for neglecting to do so before they left the solicitor's office. He wasn't quick enough, however, and before he could properly hide himself, the door opened and a girl entered the room. She was taller than Astoria and her hair was more of a golden blonde, but there was no mistaking the fact that this was Astoria's older sister.
"Astoria, where have you…"
All three of them stood rooted to the spot, Harry holding his Cloak up in front of him at chest height as if he was preparing to perform a muggle magic trick, Astoria standing wide-eyed like a cornered rabbit with her mouth hanging open, and her older sister frozen mid-step with a bewildered expression on her face. The image might have been comical, if not for the immediate tension in the room.
Daphne was the first one to react.
"Potter…" she intoned, her piercing blue eyes narrowing dangerously as she pulled out her wand.
"Stupefy!"
"Daphne, no!" Astoria cried out, leaping in front of Harry and into the path of the spell.
"Protego! Expelliarmus!"
There was a bright flash as her spell connected, and Daphne was confused to find herself almost immediately knocked off her feet. She'd intended to stun the boy first and then start asking questions, but instead, she'd found herself wandless on the floor, while Harry Potter was standing protectively in front of her younger sister.
Not only that, but the Gryffindor menace still had his wand pointed directly at her while holding Daphne's own wand in his other hand. It was a sight she would not soon forget.
"Now," Harry said coolly, "why don't we all calm down and have a chat."