CHAPTER – 26 THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
After exiting the lavatory, Harry discovered his neatly arranged attire awaiting him – an elegant tuxedo in a rich shade of dark silver interwoven with pearly accents. The fabric was silky to the touch, and the exquisite tailoring accentuated his tall, lean frame, enhancing his already striking appearance.
The first of the two petite paper envelopes contained a pair of cuff links adorned with gemstones of such vivid, unnatural blue brilliance that they couldn't possibly be natural sapphires. Each cuff link was a miniature work of art, with intricate designs etched around the edges, adding an air of mystery and allure to his ensemble.
The second envelope unveiled his brand-new Peverell Ring, a masterpiece meticulously fashioned from tanzanite. This gemstone was renowned for its astrological significance, believed to enhance one's consciousness and stimulate intuition and perception. The tanzanite's deep blue hues seemed to swirl with a subtle, magical energy as Harry examined it closely. On the top of the ring, a finely detailed thestral was expertly engraved, its wings outstretched in a graceful pose. The attention to detail was extraordinary, making the thestral appear almost lifelike.
The sides of the ring bore an etching of the Latin phrase, 'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?' which translated to 'Who watches the watchers?' This phrase delved into the philosophical question of holding power accountable, a notion that Harry felt resonated profoundly with the state of Wizarding Britain and his own circumstances. Gringotts had skillfully crafted and enchanted the ring, imbuing it with five rudimentary spells, thus turning it into a minor magical focus for any potential need. The magical properties of the ring added a layer of intrigue and symbolism to his outfit, reinforcing the message that he intended to be a vigilant and responsible guardian of the wizarding world.
Sliding the Peverell ring onto his finger, just above the venerable Potter family ring, Harry experienced an abrupt and profound chill as the Peverell ring absorbed the ancestral Potter ring. This symbolic act signified the merger of the Ancient House into an older and more Noble one, a momentous decision that carried immense weight and responsibility. The tingling sensation that accompanied the absorption of the rings was a reminder of the legacy and destiny that now rested upon his shoulders.
Finally, Harry donned the tuxedo and examined his reflection in a mirror that spanned the size of a pool table. The mirror's surface was so polished that it was almost like liquid glass, reflecting his image with astounding clarity. The tuxedo fit him like a second skin, emphasizing his confidence and charisma. He adjusted his cuff links and admired the way they caught the light, casting dazzling blue sparks throughout the room. Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation and determination as he gazed at his reflection, ready to face the challenges and responsibilities that lay ahead.
The man gazing back at Harry from the mirror appeared rugged and resolute. His sharply defined cheekbones gave his face a distinct and chiseled appearance, highlighting his matured features. The extended period of being in a coma after the doxy attack had caused him to shed a considerable amount of weight, and the rehabilitation efforts led by Andi had further sculpted his body, accentuating lean muscle definition and revealing veins that subtly traced beneath his skin. The transformation in his physique was striking, a testament to his unwavering determination and dedication to regain his strength.
Harry had opted for a shorter haircut, a departure from the longer locks he had experimented with the previous year, and had completely abandoned the thin stubble that once graced his cheeks and chin. Thanks to Sirius's intervention, he had visited a magical ophthalmologist to address his eye condition. As long as he remained consistent with his medications, he could expect perfect vision for the foreseeable future. The clarity of his emerald eyes, once hidden behind glasses, now shone brightly, revealing an intense and perceptive gaze.
No longer did he resemble a striking replica of a young James Potter. The radiant brilliance of Lily's eyes now complemented his fair complexion, and together they exuded a unique charm, a reflection of his mixed heritage and the strength that had carried him through countless trials.
"Lord Black is waiting for you downstairs," Kreacher's voice growled with a touch of respect, a marked change from the contemptuous tone he had once used. The fact that Harry didn't even flinch in response to Kreacher's tone spoke volumes about the transformation his life had undergone. As a Vessel, Harry had managed to strike a chord with Kreacher, who had become somewhat more accommodating in his presence. Whether it was due to Harry's resemblance to the original Sirius Arcturus Black remained uncertain, but there was a newfound understanding between them.
"Is there something you wanted to tell me, Kreacher?" Harry inquired, showing genuine interest in the elf's words.
"The Demon has grown perceptive," Kreacher continued in his gravelly tone, bowing his head slightly. "Kreacher has two letters for the Demon from Demon's friends."
In his own unique way, Kreacher displayed a strange sense of loyalty, in a manner of speaking, a loyalty that had evolved over the years, shaped by the bonds he had formed with those he served.
"From whom?" Harry inquired, a hint of curiosity in his voice, knowing that these letters might hold important information or messages that could affect the path he was about to embark on.
He suspected that the letters weren't from Hermione or the Weasleys. Ever since the fallout, Harry's friends had maintained an uneasy silence. Then again, he hadn't extended the courtesy of a reply either. The breach in their once-unbreakable bond weighed heavily on his mind. His days had largely been spent at Greengrass Manor, engaged in discussions about the trial with Sirius and Joshua, with Daphne contributing valuable insights from time to time. It was remarkable how much she knew about the intricacies of the wizarding world and the inner workings of the Wizengamot.
Kreacher, ever the silent servant, handed over the two letters to Harry. The first came in the standard Gringotts envelope, and the unmistakable cursive handwriting on the front left no room for doubt regarding the sender's identity. He had been anticipating a message from her, especially with his Trial just hours away. The envelope held a certain weight, both metaphorically and physically.
The second letter, well, it barely qualified as one. Embellished with the distinctive Greengrass family insignia, it held only a single sentence, composed in exquisite handwriting:
"Potter, See You at the Wizengamot."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. This succinct message bore the unmistakable mark of Daphne's handiwork. But what on earth was she planning to do at the Wizengamot? Undoubtedly, it was yet another surprise that the enigmatic father-daughter duo intended to spring on him. He neatly folded Daphne's letter and placed it on the dressing table before opening the Gringotts envelope to read its contents.
As he unfolded the letter from Gringotts, the parchment felt crisp and official. The message within was concise and to the point, as was customary for the goblins:
"Mr. Potter,
Your presence is expected at the Wizengamot Trial today at 11:00 AM. We have made the necessary arrangements for your security and transportation. Do not be late.
Gringotts Management"
Harry took a deep breath as he absorbed the gravity of the message. The trial was finally here, and the weight of his actions, his defense, and the uncertain future pressed down on him. With a sense of determination, he refolded the letter and placed it back in its envelope, his mind racing with thoughts about the impending trial and the unexpected appearance of Daphne at the Wizengamot. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place, and Harry knew he was about to step onto a path that would define his future in the wizarding world.
Harry absorbed the contents of Fleur's letter, her words resonating in his mind as he contemplated what 'long-term investments' might mean. Fleur's involvement in their discussions added another layer of intrigue to the situation, and he couldn't help but wonder about her role in this unfolding plan. It was clear that there were many moving pieces, and he had a role to play in a complex game.
Turning his attention back to Kreacher, Harry remarked, "Well, that was rather unexpected." His curiosity about the unfolding events was growing.
"Is there something else on your mind, Kreacher?" Harry inquired, recognizing the elf's inclination to provide insights that often held hidden meanings.
"Kreacher believes the Demon is frittering away precious time," the ancient elf replied, his words tinged with concern and a hint of disapproval.
A faint grin tugged at Harry's lips. "I always knew you had a soft side beneath that gruff exterior."
"Kreacher thinks the Demon may have befuddled his demon-like mind," Kreacher continued, his voice still laced with concern. "Kreacher is left to ponder whether the Demon's madness will prompt the blood-traitor Master to cast the Demon out."
Harry chuckled, appreciating the elf's unique sense of humor. "You do have a sense of humor, Kreacher."
Kreacher growled in response, seemingly unable to resist engaging in this banter with Harry.
Harry sighed, trying to lighten the mood further. "I'm just attempting to inject a bit of humor into our conversation, Kreacher. You ought to lighten up. Perhaps you can spend your time wishing that I end up in Azkaban after we depart."
Kreacher tilted his head, contemplating the idea. "Kreacher finds merit in the Demon's suggestion," he admitted before appearing shocked by his own words. "Kreacher spoke favorably of the Demon. Kreacher will have to iron his ears for this. Oh, what would my Mistress think of poor Kreacher now... Oh, dear Mistress, Kreacher only wished to—"
"Serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Harry interjected, delivering a lifeless, nasal imitation of the elf. "I know, I've heard that refrain a thousand times." He couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation, as Kreacher, who had once despised him, now engaged in peculiar, almost comical conversations with his Master. Harry was learning that the world of the House Elves was far more complex and nuanced than he had initially believed.
"Your attempt at humor will not alter the course of destiny, Demon," Kreacher retorted solemnly. The elf's loyalty to his principles was unwavering, and Harry respected that.
Harry crossed his arms and fixed Kreacher with a serious look. "Kreacher, I have a question."
The elf replied in his typical gruff manner, "Annoying demons mostly do."
Harry brushed off the familiar insult with practiced ease. "You serve the House of Black, and whether you like it or not, I am a Son of House Black. So, in essence, you work for me. Is that correct?"
Kreacher's floppy ears twitched, and Harry pressed for a response. "Answer me."
Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.
"Do you, or do you not, work for me?" Harry demanded.
Kreacher emitted a reluctant growl, his inner turmoil evident. "...Yes."
Ouch, Harry thought. That admission had to sting. He was fairly certain the elf was mentally wishing he could tear him to shreds.
"Indeed, it does," Harry responded, keeping his voice as composed as possible. "I have some instructions for you and a few questions to ask."
"Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black," the elf affirmed, reminding Harry of the intricate web of elfin loyalties and traditions.
Harry couldn't help but groan. "A simple 'yes' would have sufficed, but I suppose you do things your own way. Let me explain. I know of another elf, Dobby. He used to belong to the Malfoys but defied their commands to aid me."
He sensed Kreacher's intense scrutiny, the elf hanging on to every word. Harry questioned, "...is there something you'd like to say?"
Kreacher hesitated for a moment, and then, with a mixture of reluctance and curiosity, he spoke, "Dobby... was a free elf. Dobby was different."
Harry nodded in understanding. "I see. Dobby was a free elf, and I appreciate what he did for me. But that brings me to my next question. Are you aware of any elfin customs or rituals that might grant a House Elf freedom?"
Kreacher's eyes flickered with a trace of sadness. "Kreacher knows of a few ways, but Kreacher would never consider them for himself. It is against the will of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
Harry noted the elf's loyalty to the Black family and the deeply ingrained sense of servitude. "I understand your position, Kreacher, but this is important. If I ever wished to grant you your freedom, would you accept it?"
Kreacher's eyes widened in a mix of astonishment and disbelief, as if he had never even considered such a possibility. He didn't answer immediately, leaving Harry in suspense as he weighed the question and its implications.
Kreacher's ears twitched once more, and he cautiously inquired, "Kreacher wonders, did this elf choose to aid Harry Potter while betraying his Master?"
Harry winced, well aware of the significance of loyalty among House Elves. Lucius Malfoy might have been a despicable character, but, putting aside his personal bias, Kreacher's question was not entirely unwarranted. The bond between a House Elf and their Master was deep and magical, a connection rooted in tradition and servitude.
The question gnawed at Harry. Had Dobby, a House Elf bound by magical devotion to his Masters, consciously made the choice to defy his Masters' orders in favor of helping Harry Potter? What was it about assisting Harry that had driven Dobby to betray his Master's trust and disrupt their plans? It was a matter of great curiosity and complexity.
As he was about to respond to Kreacher's query, the room suddenly darkened, and the ancient elf spoke, interrupting him.
"Why what?" Kreacher asked, his attention shifted to the sudden change in the room's atmosphere. The room had grown noticeably colder, and an eerie hush descended upon them. Harry's thoughts about Dobby and his own question were momentarily pushed aside as he sensed an unusual presence in the room.
Harry swallowed, realizing that Kreacher was delving into the matter further. "I freed Dobby from Lucius Malfoy back in my second year. He's been working in the Hogwarts kitchens ever since. I was pondering... this 'Demon' aspect that you despise in me. Does it extend to other elves as well, or is it unique to me?"
Kreacher fixed his gaze on Harry but remained silent.
"Speak!" Harry demanded, surprising himself with the sharpness in his voice. "Would Dobby react similarly to me?"
"Kreacher... cannot be sure," Kreacher replied evasively, his response leaving much to ponder.
To Harry, that response was as good as confirmation. "Very well... that will be all. Now leave."
Kreacher continued to gaze at him for a moment before vanishing, leaving Harry deep in thought about the complexities of House Elf loyalty and what it meant for those who had chosen to aid him.
Just like that, the room's darkness slowly dissipated, and Harry let out a sigh. "Well," he mused aloud, "That was quite something, wasn't it?"
The room was once again bathed in light, but the weight of the conversation lingered in the air. Harry was left with a multitude of questions about the nature of House Elf loyalty and the uncharted territories of his own destiny, which was now intricately tied to the ancient and mystical House of Black.
A tandem Apparition later, Harry Potter and Sirius Black found themselves standing in the ostentatious Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Perhaps "ostentatiatory" wasn't a real word, but having recently visited several remarkable buildings, including Hogwarts, Gringotts, and the Greengrass Mansion, it was fair to say that the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic radiated an ostentatious aura from the very first glance, which spoke volumes about the grandeur of its architecture.
They stood at one end of an exceptionally long and splendid hall, its dark wood floor gleaming and polished to perfection. The peacock blue ceiling featured inlaid golden symbols that shifted and changed like a colossal heavenly noticeboard. Shiny dark wood paneling adorned the walls on each side, each with 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 formed before each fireplace as individuals waited for their turn to depart.
Midway down the hall, a magnificent fountain stole the attention. A group of larger-than-life golden statues occupied the center of a circular pool. The tallest figure was a dignified wizard, his wand pointed skyward. Clustered around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The last three gazed adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Sparkling jets of water streamed from the tips of their wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the peak of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, creating a soothing hiss that blended with the pops and cracks of people Apparating in and the echoing footsteps of countless witches and wizards. Most of them bore somber, early-morning expressions as they made their way toward a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall.
"This way," Sirius gestured in the direction most people were heading, "We need to get our wands registered at the Security Desk."
Harry couldn't help but express his surprise, "And people willingly do that?" He had a feeling that, given the choice, he might have attempted to slip through unnoticed and join the crowd on the other side.
Sirius chuckled, "Why did I have a hunch you'd ask that?"
"Because you're a bad influence on me?" Harry retorted cheekily, appreciating the humor in the situation as they made their way through the grandeur of the Ministry of Magic.
Both of them joined the bustling stream of Ministry workers, teasing one another all the while, knowing that this was their way of coping with the nervous anticipation that loomed over them. In truth, they were both apprehensive about what lay ahead, and their playful banter provided a distraction from their growing anxiety.
As they passed by the fountain, Harry couldn't help but notice the silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at him from the bottom of the pool. A small silver plaque beside it displayed an inscription that read—
"All proceeds from the Fountain of Magical Brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," the silver plaque declared.
Sirius couldn't help but add a cynical remark, muttering, "After the Ministry has deducted Cess Tax from it."
Harry, intrigued, inquired, "How much is that?"
"It depends on the esteemed Minister's need," Sirius replied, his tone reflecting the bureaucracy and red tape that often accompanied magical institutions.
Harry had been about to offer his opinion but thought better of it when he remembered their surroundings. He wisely kept his thoughts to himself, to which Sirius playfully quipped, "Good boy."
They continued down the hall and soon encountered a group of ten Aurors. From the badges adorning their uniforms, it was evident that most of them were trainees, with only two of them holding official ranks. Several of the Aurors recognized both Harry and Sirius and began offering quiet greetings as they approached.
"Savage, is that you?" Sirius inquired, addressing one of the ranked Aurors, a man who appeared closer to Sirius's age, with jet-black hair and brown eyes.
"Black," the man nodded curtly. "How's tricks?"
Their exchange conveyed a sense of camaraderie amidst the nervous energy that permeated the Ministry. Harry couldn't help but feel a touch of nostalgia as he watched his godfather interact with the Aurors, a stark contrast to the dark days when Sirius had been wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban. It was a testament to the changes and progress they had all experienced since then.
Sirius responded with a noncommittal half-shrug and continued forward. They proceeded through the wand inspection process, followed by a quick wand-summoning charm and a scan that felt similar to Scourgify but served as a check for anti-summoning enchantments. Harry was even asked to reveal the contents of his moleskin bottomless pouch, after which another diagnostic spell scanned through its contents. Once they were satisfied with the checks, Harry and Sirius were given permission to proceed toward the elevators.
As they neared the oval arch above the elevator section, many of the surrounding witches and wizards began to move away from Harry, casting nervous glances in his direction, and quickly looking away if their eyes met his. It was a far cry from the days when people would openly gawk at his scar, and while the change was a welcome respite, Harry couldn't help but wonder what kind of misinformation or propaganda the Ministry had fed these individuals to provoke such an extreme reaction. A few, however, offered him slight nods in acknowledgment.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Harry finally asked, "Where are we going?"
Sirius's expression darkened into a scowl. "Normally, this would have taken place in Courtroom One under the jurisdiction of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But the Minister decided that Courtroom One wasn't grand enough to satisfy his ego, so he shifted it to Courtroom Ten. It's the largest of all the courtrooms and was used during the Fast Track Death Eater Trials held after... after the war."
Harry pressed his lips together, absorbing the information.
"Yes," Sirius continued, bitterness lacing his voice. "I was supposed to be put on trial here. But I wasn't. When I woke up in Azkaban, they told me I had been tried in Courtroom Five, a private trial, because of my status as a Pureblood from a Noble family." He sneered, "Hypocrites, all of them!"
The lift door opened, and several people carrying broomsticks exited, making space for Harry, Sirius, and a handful of others to board. The grilles slid shut with a loud clang, and the lift began its ascent or descent, Harry wasn't entirely sure which. Chains rattled, and a voice began announcing the floors and their respective departments. The air inside the lift was filled with a palpable tension as the reality of the situation settled in, and Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of the impending trial pressing down on him.
"Level Nine," a cool, female voice intoned, "Department of Mysteries."
Harry felt a sense of curiosity tinged with unease upon hearing the name. He had heard the name during his interrogation by Bones. Sirius had mentioned that the Department of Mysteries conducted research into magic, and that was all he could say about it. The department's name was intriguing, but his curiosity was likely in vain. The walls, floors, and ceiling of the lift were made of sleek black tiles, and the only door in sight was a rather plain one, painted black, situated at the far end of the corridor.
Approaching the mysterious door, Harry noticed the absence of a handle or any apparent means of entry, which struck him as odd. Sirius led him down a set of steps to an alcove on the left side of the door, and they descended into a cold, stone corridor. They came to a stop in front of a door with a dull and stained brass plaque, bearing the number ten. The door itself was crafted from dark wood and adorned with rusted metal fixtures.
Sirius murmured, "Well… this is it. I'll be taking my place in the Wizengamot and setting things up in your favor. Let Greengrass handle the rest. And when it's your turn, forget everything else. Just remember, it's your word against Fudge's. The Boy-Who-Lived versus the Minister of Magic. Everything else will fall into place."
Harry couldn't help but express his concern, "But what if... what if I'm not good at this? I've never—"
Sirius placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I've observed you over the past week, Harry. You've taken to this like a grindylow takes to water."
"But Sirius, all of this, it wasn't my idea."
"And that's precisely what politicians do," Sirius explained. "Don't forget, you're a Lord now, and if everything goes according to plan, you'll be counted among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Greengrass will pave the way, no doubt, but you need to project strength. Remember, appearances matter."
As Sirius's words sank in, Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of the responsibilities and expectations that came with his new status. He knew that he had to step into this role, not just for himself but for the greater good. With a determined nod, he readied himself for the trial that lay ahead.
"I hate it," Harry grumbled, his distaste for the political games apparent in his tone.
"No whinging," Sirius admonished. "Everything will be fine. You'll do great. Trust me."
Harry took comfort in his godfather's words and nodded, telling himself, "Yes. Everything will be fine. It has to be."
As the door opened, an Auror stepped out. Harry recognized him immediately. It was Dawlish, who had been present with Auror Shacklebolt during his interrogation and had been stationed outside Dumbledore's office, likely with the intention of apprehending him and sending him to Azkaban. Back then, Harry had thought of Dawlish as a rather unpleasant individual.
"Finally," Dawlish grumbled upon seeing him. "I've been waiting for this, Potter. Finally, you're going to face justice."
Harry responded with a straight face, "Wow, that'd be nice. I was expecting to face Lucius Malfoy. Unless... he's busy with Fudge in his office?"
Dawlish's already sour expression contorted further. "This is the Wizengamot, not Hogwarts. Be cautious of your words. Dumbledore won't be here to save you."
Sirius interjected, his tone icy, "I concur, which is why I must question why an Auror is intimidating a member of a Noble House in public. I may not have attended Wizengamot sessions recently, but is this some new rule? Perhaps I should inquire with Amelia if that's the case."
Dawlish's response was an emphatic, "No! There's no need for that. I'm here to take Potter with me."
He reached out to grab Harry's hand, but Sirius halted him with a flick of his wand. "Uh, I'll have to say no to that."
"Excuse me?" Dawlish demanded, his eyes narrowing. "You are obstructing Ministry protocol!"
Sirius responded firmly, "My ward has been called for a trial. That is true. However, this is also a Wizengamot session, and both I and my ward have several submissions to make in front of the Wizengamot. Harry will appear before the Wizengamot for his hearing, but only when the Chief Warlock announces it to the Wizengamot. Until then, he is a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, against whom the Ministry lacks any evidence."
The tension in the corridor thickened as Dawlish realized that his attempt to rush Harry into the trial was being challenged by Sirius, and he was left with no choice but to comply with the law. Harry and Sirius stood their ground, resolute in their stance, as they prepared to face the Wizengamot.
Dawlish retorted, "We have evidence—"
Sirius's eyes gleamed with sudden interest. "Oh," he said, his tone brightening, "my apologies. Show me the warrant."
"Excuse me?" Dawlish seemed taken aback.
"The warrant from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head's office," Sirius clarified. "Surely you're aware of the protocol, being an Auror and all."
Dawlish stumbled, appearing like a fish out of water, struggling to formulate a response. Eventually, he turned and walked into the courtroom, with Harry and Sirius following closely behind.
The moment Harry set eyes on the courtroom, he gasped. This was the same place he had seen Karkaroff being put on trial in Dumbledore's memories. It was here that Karkaroff had identified several individuals, including Snape and the Lestranges, as Death Eaters. It was also the place where he had exposed Barty Crouch Jr.'s true identity as a Death Eater in front of the entire assembly.
The chamber's walls were constructed from dark stone, adorned with metal sconces that provided some illumination but did little to dispel the pervasive chill in the air. The room was a vast circular space that oddly reminded Harry of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with tiered seats on all sides except for two openings at either end. The entirety of the Wizengamot was seated along the longer walls, with the Ancient Houses occupying the top row, although Harry could barely discern their features in the dim lighting. The inquisitors were situated at the front, including Fudge himself, Amelia Bones, and a witch clad in pink whose countenance bore a striking resemblance to a toad.
Seated just next to the Minister, on a chair slightly below him, was Percy Weasley, appearing every bit as officious as his superior officer.
The sight of Percy Weasley, once a member of the Weasley family and now a staunch supporter of Fudge's regime, was a stark reminder of the divisions and turmoil within the wizarding world. It was clear that this trial would not only be about Harry's innocence but also about the political battles and power plays that were unfolding within the Ministry of Magic.
Harry and Sirius made their way to a section of the courtroom that had been reserved for the members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It was here that they would await the commencement of the trial, where Harry would have the opportunity to defend his name and challenge the accusations against him. The tension in the courtroom was palpable, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how the events of the day would unfold.
As they settled into their seats, Harry couldn't escape the feeling that he was stepping into a different kind of battle, one that would require not just courage, but also a deep understanding of the political intricacies of the wizarding world.
The heavy door, adorned with rusted iron studs, closed with a resounding thud, and an eerie silence descended upon the room.
A cold, male voice cut through the courtroom. "Harry Potter. How considerate of you to join us," Minister Fudge remarked. "This emergency session has been convened in honor of your trial."
Harry couldn't help but think, "Jerk."
Despite the challenging circumstances, he had been given a few lessons in courtroom diplomacy by Sirius to ensure he wouldn't be caught unprepared. However, before he could respond, Sirius interjected.
"Thank you," his godfather said, donning a plastic smile, "My godson is eager to become a part of the Wizengamot. I presume the roll call hasn't commenced yet?"
Fudge squinted at him, his sneer vanishing. "No, it hasn't."
"Good," Sirius replied. "My godson is excited to be a part of the Wizengamot, you see. He takes after his grandfather. You are aware of Fleamont Potter, I trust?"
In an instant, the wind was taken out of Fudge's sails. According to what Sirius had informed him, Fleamont Potter had been a true leader. He had single-handedly prevented the Pureblood Movement from gaining undue influence during his entire tenure in office. It was only after Fleamont fell ill with Dragon Pox and was forced to retire that Voldemort's minions managed to infiltrate the Ministry. Bartemius Crouch's fixation on legal minutiae had also made it more challenging for Aurors to combat Death Eater activities during that period.
"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," Fudge declared.
Sirius raised an eyebrow and retorted, "You won't allow him? Last I checked, that responsibility falls upon the Wizengamot and not you, Minister Fudge."
Fudge appeared on the verge of a conniption.
The exchange between Sirius and Fudge highlighted the complex power dynamics and political maneuvering at play in the courtroom. It was clear that Fudge was determined to prevent Harry from becoming a member of the Wizengamot, and Sirius was equally determined to ensure that Harry's rights and opportunities were protected.
As the proceedings continued, Harry couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. He was about to face a trial that would determine his future and could have far-reaching consequences for the wizarding world. The courtroom was a battlefield in its own right, and Harry was prepared to fight for his innocence and justice.
"He's on trial," he hissed.
Sirius responded confidently, "That is absolutely correct, and he will be tried when the trial commences." He even included a slight, mocking bow. "Until then?"
Harry could feel his face flush with a mix of emotions. Fudge was attempting to thwart him from all angles, but this time, he had Sirius on his side. The sour expression on Fudge's face indicated that Harry had won this initial skirmish. He glanced up at Albus Dumbledore, who was clad in plum robes like the rest of the assembly. The Headmaster sat on the highest bench, looming above the well in the center of the chamber, overseeing the vast gallery of Wizengamot members. Directly beneath the Chief Warlock's dais, but at the same level, there were seats for a court reporter (who also acted as a sort of bailiff) and a records keeper. In front of them, on a lower tier, was a row of desks allocated to around half a dozen Ministry officials who held Wizengamot votes based on their positions.
However, the most significant aspect was the serene expression on Dumbledore's face. Harry knew he couldn't expect any assistance from the Headmaster, though whether or not he would actively oppose him remained a different matter.
"Ah, Harry," Joshua Greengrass's familiar voice reached Harry from behind. Harry turned to find Joshua dressed in Wizengamot robes, wearing a smile as he approached. "I believe you are supposed to accompany me, while Lord Black takes his seat."
Harry met Sirius's eyes and received a nod of approval.
Harry followed Joshua, and together, they walked toward the center of the chamber where the Wizengamot well stood. The well was a sunken pit encircled by a circular railing and was the focal point of the courtroom. It was here that those accused would stand to face the members of the Wizengamot and answer their charges.
As they reached the well, Harry couldn't help but notice the numerous eyes fixed on him from the assembled witches and wizards in the chamber. The members of the Wizengamot, many of whom were obscured by dark hoods and robes, sat in tiered seats all around him. The atmosphere was tense, and the air seemed heavy with anticipation.
Joshua stepped closer to Harry and whispered, "Stay calm and composed, Harry. Remember, you are here to present your case and prove your innocence. We have a plan, and we'll navigate this together."
Harry nodded, doing his best to keep his emotions in check. He was about to embark on a journey that would test his mettle, his ability to navigate the intricate web of wizarding politics, and his resilience in the face of adversity.
"Sure," Harry replied, and he followed Joshua to the other end of the chamber's well in the center. There, a single desk and bench were provided for the Defense Attorney and his assistant. Harry recognized the assistant as Penelope Clearwater, who had been Percy's girlfriend back at Hogwarts.
"Hello," Penelope said demurely.
Harry nodded at her slowly, a bit uncertain.
Joshua chimed in, "Ah, I didn't know you two were acquainted. But enough dillydallying. The roll call is about to begin any moment now, and we can't afford to be caught off guard."
Harry blinked and admitted, "I don't understand."
Joshua explained, "The roll call will inform us which Houses are present at today's session and, more importantly, how many of them belong to the Nobility."
Harry questioned further, "And why does that matter?"
Joshua smiled, "You see, Harry, law is about control. You can only control so much with the jury, the judge, the witnesses, and another lawyer with an ego complex. The trick is to gain as much breathing room as you can and understand how the jury perceives the case and the accused. Once you've figured that out, the rest becomes easy."
Harry shifted his gaze back to Fudge and pondered, "What if the other lawyer doesn't have an ego complex?"
Joshua replied, "Every lawyer has an ego complex. You see, every case is an exercise where there's potential for failure on both sides. The trick is to understand what works in your favor and what doesn't, and try to create a situation where failure isn't even a possibility."
"Winning an unwinnable situation by changing the rules," Harry deduced. "Is that why you advised me to dress up like Malfoy?"
Joshua rolled his eyes. "I didn't tell you to dress up like Malfoy. I suggested you dress like a traditional Pureblood."
"And how is that relevant to the trial?"
Joshua explained, "The way you present yourself is crucial. It's about creating the right impression, making the jury and the Wizengamot members more receptive to your case. Your attire, your demeanor, it all contributes to their perception of you. And in this case, it's important that they see you as a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It will influence their expectations and open up avenues for us to navigate the legal proceedings effectively."
Harry nodded, beginning to see the importance of every detail in the courtroom. He realized that even the subtlest nuances could impact the outcome of the trial.
Harry nodded, absorbing the wisdom that Joshua was imparting. The intricacies of courtroom politics and strategy were becoming increasingly clear to him. He couldn't help but feel the weight of the impending trial and the complex web of influence and power that surrounded it. He knew he had to tread carefully and make every decision count.
As the roll call began, Harry watched as the representatives of various Noble Houses announced their presence. Many familiar names echoed through the chamber, including Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, and Parkinson. These were the very individuals who had once seen him as an enemy or a tool, and now they were here, as part of the Wizengamot, to pass judgment on him.
The roll call continued, and Harry couldn't help but notice that several prominent houses were absent. The absence of the Weasleys, the Longbottoms, and the Potters did not go unnoticed. These were the families who had stood by him during the turbulent times, and their absence in the chamber left a void that was hard to ignore.
Finally, the roll call concluded, and the Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, addressed the assembly. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, we have convened this emergency session to consider the charges brought against Harry James Potter, a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. As the accused is also the primary witness in this case, I shall be presiding over the trial as the acting Chief Warlock. The charges against Mr. Potter are of a serious nature, and the truth must be revealed through a fair and impartial trial."
Harry's heart raced as he realized that the trial was about to begin, and he would soon have to face his accusers. He exchanged a quick glance with Joshua and Penelope, who both looked determined and ready to defend him to the best of their abilities. Harry took a deep breath, knowing that he needed to stay focused and composed throughout the trial, just as Sirius had advised him.
The Chief Warlock continued, "The first order of business is to hear the charges against Mr. Potter and to allow the prosecution to present their case. We will then proceed with the defense's response. Minister Fudge, you may begin."
Fudge rose from his seat, his smug expression revealing his eagerness to prosecute Harry. "Thank you, Chief Warlock. The charges against Mr. Harry Potter are as follows..."
The trial had officially begun, and Harry could feel the weight of the courtroom's attention on him. It was time to face the accusations and defend his name.
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