Never Silence A Lion's Roar

by Aeyliana

Summary:

Professor McGonagall wore then a look of fierce pride and she moved back around her desk. She nodded up at Hermione, her smile warm and genuine.

“You both do your House proud. Before this is over, both Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge will learn that you never silence a lion’s roar.”

Hermione smiled back. Her words ignited her courage once again. Whatever she faced, she would face it with her back straight and her determination unshaken. Harry never backed down and neither would she.

When Dolores Umbridge exposes the existence of Dumbledore's Army, she and Fudge don't settle with letting Harry go unpunished. Dumbledore evades arrest but Harry isn't as lucky. Charged with sedition, Harry works with allies old and new to clear his name before Voldemort can use his situation to his advantage. His enemies learn the hard way that Harry Potter and his friends don't back down from a fight.

Chapter 1: The Night of Umbridge's Victory

Summary:

Umbridge gets the upper hand when she catches Harry red-handed, breaking Ministry Decree Number Twenty Four. Dumbledore takes the fall, but his plan backfires, underestimating just how far Cornelius Fudge and his toadie are willing to go.

---

Dobby gave them the head's up. Bravely he told the DA about Umbridge's plans for an ambush. This follows from their flight.

---

 

Red-faced and gasping for air, Ron, Neville and Ginny skidded around the corner, rushing down one of the shortcuts that led to the Gryffindor Common Room. 

“D’you… think we can stop… running now?” Ron huffed as they burst off at another sprint. Neither Ginny nor Neville answered so he grunted and continued after them. Soon enough, they reached the Fat Lady and clattered into the Common Room. 

Many other breathless Gryffindors greeted them. Dean Thomas was doubled over one of the chairs, holding a stitch. Colin Creevey looked on the verge of passing out. 

Ron searched for Harry and Hermione, not seeing them among the crowd. They had been behind him and Neville when they left. Harry had been talking to Dobby the last Ron saw of his raven-haired friend. As for Hermione, she had hung back for Harry, shouting at him to get a move on. 

Thinking of Hermione, the Portrait Hole opened up, expelling a very exhausted Hermione Granger, her hair more wild than usual, windswept and static. She made a beeline for Ron at once.

“I split from Harry,” she gasped out, “I lost sight of him when he dragged Dobby out with him.”

Neville overheard and shared worried looks with Ginny. 

“Harry knows all the shortcuts and all the hiding spots,” Ron assured Hermione, “he’s likely giving them the slip.”

Little did he know, Harry did give them the slip in a literal sense. While fleeing the Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy’s tripping hex had him sliding down the corridor on his stomach before being seized by Umbridge.

“Do… do you think that’s it for the DA?” Ginny asked Hermione, her face pink from exertion. Hermione caught Ron’s eye.

“The room’s a bust,” Ron said, “but we could find somewhere else?”

“Like where? It was the perfect location,” Hermione scowled, her face colouring with frustration. “Someone must have told Umbridge. No one else could have possibly known that we were there.”

“Do you think someone would really do that?” Neville asked her, his eyes wide. 

A hard look entered Hermione’s eyes. “If someone has, we’ll know who soon enough.” 

Minutes passed and Harry still didn’t show. Ron was pacing back and forth. Neville watched with wide eyes. Hermione was wringing her hands.

“I should have waited for him.” She said quietly. “Ron, if he was caught…”

Ron stopped pacing and then turned to head up the boy’s staircase. He gave Hermione a pointed look and she went to follow him up. As she reached him, he turned.

“Harry might have left his map and cloak in his trunk. We can try to find him if he’s pinned down.”

Hermione’s face lit up and she nodded, following him up to the dormitory. Entering first, Ron headed straight for Harry’s bed. He grimaced as he opened his trunk, clearly not thrilled at invading his friend’s privacy. Thankfully, Harry had the sense to keep his cloak and map on the top so he could reach it easily. Hermione was chewing her lip, looking nervously at the parchment in Ron’s hands. He sat down on Harry’s bed, taking out his wand.

“ I solemnly swear I’m up to no good. ”

Hermione joined him as the lines of ink appeared, forming the map of Hogwarts. The pair of them scanned the fifth floor in silence, not seeing Harry’s name. Both looked more and more nervous as they tried to find him. He wasn’t in Umbridge’s office, at least.

“Oh no…” Hermione gasped out, horrified. “He’s… he’s in the Headmaster’s office and… the Minister is there.”

Both of them stared, horrified. Sure enough, the names ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘Cornelius Fudge’ were in the large office. They weren’t alone. 

“If Kingsley’s there with Dawlish, then…” Ron was pale. 

“He’s there to make an arrest.”

“Harry…” Ron then swore loudly. “Percy’s there! That slimy git!”

“Ron… Ron, we have to do something. They’re going to arrest him and it’s our fault!” Hermione grabbed at his robe, pulling him around. “The DA… we forced him into it. And now he… he’s going to get expelled!”

Ron’s face was stormy as he stared down at the map. “At least we know who sold us out. Look, ‘Mariette Edgecombe’.” He pointed the name out. 

“Cho’s friend,” Hermione said quietly, “that little Sneak. ”

They watched as the names moved around. Fudge was pacing. McGonagall was also there, standing close to Harry. Hermione tried to visualise the scene. She pictured their Head of House hovering protectively near their friend. Percy then left the office. Ron glared at his older brother’s name. Dumbledore had then moved towards Fudge. Hermione’s eyes were fixed on Harry’s name.

“What do we do?” Ron asked after a moment. 

“What can we do?” Hermione looked up at him. “We don’t know the password to the office and even if we did… Harry’s in a lot of trouble.” She bit her lip. “Dumbledore is there… he’ll have something…” Her eyes went wide as the names all moved rather erratically. Dumbledore then moved to Harry. Hermione then shrieked as suddenly Dumbledore vanished from the map all together. 

They stared at each other. “What…?” Ron just said.

“He’s gone…” Hermione stared at the map. “He just… left. Why? Why would he leave?”

Meanwhile, Kingsley and Dawlish left the office, clearly in pursuit. A few minutes passed and McGonagall then left with Marietta, leaving Harry alone with Fudge and Umbridge. 

“Harry, I hope you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing…” Hermione said, then she looked up at the office, “don’t give them a reason to arrest you.”

“He wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack the Minister for Magic,” Ron told her but he didn’t look too certain. 

“He might have to. It’s far too dangerous for Harry to be in Ministry custody. Voldemort managed to have your dad attacked there, Ron. Imagine what he could do to Harry!”

Ron looked ill at that, but then he looked at where the office was. “Hermione, we could listen in! We have extendable ears. We could levitate one to the office window!”

Hermione bit her lip, looking at the rooms closest to the office. There was a disused classroom nearby. “I suppose we can try.” She then took the cloak. “Let’s get under this now so the others don’t follow us.” 

Ron nodded, joining Hermione at her side. They descended the staircase, taking care to avoid Ginny and Neville, who were anxiously chatting and stealing glances up to the dormitory staircases. Both Ron and Hermione felt back for not involving them, but the less people involved now, the better. Harry would be furious with them if they involved more people in their mess. 

Once out of the Common Room, they used the map to spy certain slytherins who were roaming the corridors. They shared looks when they saw them patrolling. It was clear now how Harry managed to get caught. Likely, he was ambushed. 

They cautiously entered the classroom, taking care to not disturb anything. Reaching the window, Hermione carefully prised it open, wincing at the sound it made. Ron eyed the map, he handed Hermione the ear. She levitated the end out the window, squinting out into the dark as she manoeuvred it. Ron listened into the other end. 

“You do not have to make this so hard, Mr Potter,” Umbridge’s saccharinely sweet, girlish voice rolled out of the ear, causing Hermione and Ron to tense. “Just testify against Dumbledore and you can go back to the Common Room.”

“I thought I must not tell lies, Professor.”

“You don’t fully grasp your situation, Potter. We have proof that you actively were working against the Ministry, plotting against me. But if you were coerced into following Dumbledore’s orders, the Wizengamot will be a lot more lenient. You may not even be expelled.” Ron checked the map. Harry was alone with Umbridge and Fudge. 

“You have proof that I broke an educational decree… that’s it. The worst you can do to me is expel me.”

“We have proof that you are not only part of, but also lead a student militia formed under Dumbledore’s order. We also have proof that you formed this group in direct opposition of the Ministry’s mandate to teach students spells that are not Ministry-approved. Not only that, but we also have proof of your libellous attempt to discredit the Ministry with your interview that was printed in the publication, the Quibbler. ” Umbridge’s voice was nasty now. 

Harry laughed. “You want to sue me? Are you kidding me?”

“Oh no, Mr Potter, we want to arrest you for conspiracy as Albus Dumbledore’s accomplice.” 

There was silence following that. Hermione and Ron shared a look. 

“Dumbledore confessed to conspiracy before evading arrest, Potter, ” Fudge broke the silence.“ The witness accounts from Willy Widdershins and Marietta Edgecombe place you as his accomplice, whether willing or not, you are a suspect by association.”

“I admit I ran the DA, and yes, I… I broke that bloody Educational Decree, but that’s not a crime.” Hermione hated hearing the fear in Harry’s voice. He knew that he was outplayed and without allies. 

“Conspiring by organising a coup on the Ministry is,” Fudge snapped back. 

“A coup?” Harry repeated. 

“Do you deny that you named your group ‘Dumbledore’s Army? ”

“It was a joke!” Harry burst out. “Obviously it’s not very funny now because you actually believe that Dumbledore wants to march children soldiers into the Ministry and overthrow you. How could you possibly believe that?”

“Not only were you training these recruits, but you manipulated them with the fake threat of you-know-who’s return so they would fall in line-."

“Wh-what?” Harry was incredulous. “It is not an army. It was a nickname! It was the Defence Association first, but then we-."

“Silencio!” 

Hermione hissed through her teeth as Umbridge silenced Harry’s protests. 

“Thank you, Dolores. You can save your lies for the interrogation room, Potter.”

Ron then saw the name plaques of Kingsley and Dawlish returning in their direction. He met Hermione’s look. Harry didn’t have much time left. The aurors made their way into the office. Through the ear, they heard the sound of the door opening. 

“Minister, the school is locked down, but there is no sign of Dumbledore. I believe he is long gone,” Kingsley said, his deep voice instantly recognisable. 

“Yes, yes, very regrettable."  Fudge said distractedly. “But we won’t be going away empty handed. Place Potter under arrest.”

There was a stilted silence. 

“Sir, with respect, Potter is a minor and cannot be taken off the school grounds without an arrest warrant.” Kingsley said. Hermione and Ron shared a hopeful look. 

“Ah… ah of course. No matter, I’ll write one now.” Hermione’s face fell. 

“They can’t arrest him,” Ron said huskily, “they can’t. It’s Harry… Fudge is going to cause a public outcry.”

“I don’t think he cares, Ron,” Hermione said squeakily, “he’s determined to completely destroy Harry’s reputation and prop up his own in the process.”

“But… but it’s wrong!” He said angrily, causing Hermione to hush him. 

“I know… let’s hear what they say when they arrest him. From what I read up for Harry’s Hearing in the summer, Aurors have to, by Law, make sure whoever they are arresting is aware of their rights.”

“Then… where will they take him?” Ron looked ill. “Azkaban?”

Hermione shook her head. “Harry’s too young to be sent to Azkaban without sentencing.”

Ron sighed in relief. “So they’ll take him to the Ministry. That’s not so bad.”

“It’s… still pretty bad.” Hermione admitted. “We don’t know how long he’ll be in custody and he’ll likely have to stay there until his trial. I… don’t know when we’ll see him…” Her eyes started to tear up. “Oh Harry… what have we done?”

“Shacklebolt… here. You may do the honours,”  Fudge’s voice broke the silence. “Oh how I have waited for this… ”

“Bastard…”

“Finite.” 

“You… can’t…”  Harry was speechless when the silencing charm came off. The sound of his disbelief caused Hermione’s tears to fall loose. 

“Harry Potter, you are under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy against the Ministry.” Kingsley’s voice was deep and low. Ron and Hermione were silent.

“You are now in the custody of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement where you will be formally processed, detained and questioned. While in our custody, you have the right to legal counsel and representation. Anything you say or do will be used as evidence, either in support or against you. You must now surrender your wand and magic.”

There was a low voice, inaudible, which sounded like Kingsley. 

“I have his wand here,” Umbridge said. 

“Hand it over to me,” Dawlish told her, “We have to log it with all of Potter’s effects.”

Hermione expected Umbridge to be reluctant to give his wand over. She then heard a distinct click of metal. She gave a gasp, realising that the sound was Harry being handcuffed. 

There was a rushing sound as the floo activated. Ron gave Hermione a terrified look. They were about to lose their best friend and there was nothing they could do. 

“The Ministry of Magic,” Dawlish called out. “We’ll take him straight up to the holding cells. High-profile arrests cause a lot of disruption and Potter’s a high-risk target.”

Umbridge gave a tittering laugh. “Who in the Ministry will want to target Potter?”

“We currently have ten escaped convicts at large, Madame Umbridge, each of which have a vendetta against Potter. Do you not think it might reflect badly on you if he is harmed while in our custody?” Kingsley said in a firm, hard voice. 

“Take him. I must stay to handle affairs and sort out the now vacant position of Headmaster. But don’t worry, Potter, we shall be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks.”

“You’re making a… terrible mistake," Harry said haltingly. 

Hermione could see Harry’s name between Dawlish and Kingsley. They were likely holding him. She watched as they took him towards the fireplace. 

Both of them held their breath as they watched the name of their best friend vanish from the map. Harry was gone. 

 

---

 

Harry hated Floo travel, but he hadn’t realised that there was actually a way for it to be a lot worse. Now he knew, as he stumbled and fell on his knees in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He coughed up a lungful of hot air and magical embers, all the while trying to orient himself. His body felt stiff, every muscle deadened as if numbed. The cause were the bands of cold metal trapping his wrists behind his back, not only binding his hands but also binding his magic. It was incredibly uncomfortable, disorientating and terrifying. He felt utterly helpless. 

Two men flanked him, picking him up from where he fell. He raised his head, blinking slowly, clearing his vision to see the large atrium. It was quieter than when he had been there last in the summer. Only a few Ministry workers moved about. The Daily Prophet stalll had packed up for the evening and the security desks were empty bar one. 

“John, lead the way. I have Harry.” If Dawlish found it odd that Kingsley was on first name basis with Harry, he didn’t show it. The Auror gave a curt nod, his expression grim, as he set off ahead of them. 

“We were introduced when you came here in the summer for your hearing,” Kingsley said under his breath as he pulled Harry into step with him. “We haven’t met any other time.”

Harry looked up at the Auror, seeing that the man wasn’t looking at him and was instead looking dead ahead, talking out the corner of his mouth. 

“Okay,” Harry said, not sure what else to say. 

“So as we are familiar in some sense, I can get away with talking to you, but… not too much,” Kingsley glanced at him. Harry caught his eye, understanding. He was there as an Auror, not as his ally, but he was still willing to help him. 

“I’m not going to lie to you, Harry. You’ve got yourself in a lot of trouble, but the good news is that Fudge has no jurisdiction over you while in our custody. He may be the Minister, but he has to abide by the law.” 

Kingsley was very good at talking without moving his mouth too much. Harry had to really listen in to hear what he was saying. It didn’t help when they passed two women who did a double take when they saw Harry, their mouths dropping open in shock. 

“Am… am I going to Azkaban?” Harry asked quietly, his voice shaking a little as the reality of his situation started to hit him properly. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“We don’t send minors to Azkaban without a prison sentence, Harry,” Kingsley assured him, “and you haven’t been charged with anything. You’re under arrest, but on suspicion. It’s down to my Department to charge you, not the Minister. He can authorise arrests, but that’s it.”

“I… I don’t understand…”

“Merlin’s Beard, they’ve arrested a child!” A group of Ministry workers in front of them had frozen when they saw who Kingsley was pulling along with him.

“Move along,” Dawlish told them. 

“That’s Harry Potter?”

“Um, we might have a problem,” Harry said to Kingsley as he heard his name repeated a few more times. Dawlish ushered them back threateningly, making sure they kept their distance. 

“This is just the start,” Kingsley said grimly, “Fudge is so determined to save his reputation by using you and Dumbledore as scapegoats, he’s forgotten why you are publicly recognised in the first place. There is going to be a public outcry when your arrest hits print and it will.”

“The papers belong to Fudge. They’ll just say that I’m getting what I deserve,” Harry said bitterly. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. While they have been less than supportive of you, even The Daily Prophet won’t publicly advocate arresting you. Too many people still view you as the one who ended a war that cost many lives.”

They were coming up to the lifts. Harry’s heart was thundering in his chest. Kingsley must have noticed how ill with nerves he was as he gave a soft sigh. 

“When we get to the Department, you’ll be processed and put into lock up where you can get changed and have a rest. You’ll get something to eat and drink too.” Kingsley purposefully slowed down so they would have longer to talk. “It will take some time for us to review all the evidence and process your paperwork. Then when we’re ready for you, we’ll question you as a suspect. Know this, Harry, you are a suspect . Deny the accusations made against you and provide as much proof as you can. If you weaken the case against you, it will make it harder for Fudge to present a solid case as your prosecution in front of the Wizengamot.”

Harry listened, panicking. He wished he had even half of Hermione’s smarts. This all sounded impossible. 

“One last thing. Trust Amelia Bones. If I know her as well as I do, she will be on a rampage when she finds out that Fudge has had you arrested.”

“Why?”

“Because she believes that Voldemort has returned.”

Harry looked up at him in surprise. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement believed him?

“So… she’ll hear me out?” Harry asked Kingsley, stunned. His situation was so dire, he didn’t want to dare believe that he had any hope. 

They were getting close to the lifts. Harry was running out of time with Kingsley. 

“She will, though you must realise that there is every chance that you will be expelled from Hogwarts. There’s no denying that you broke the law.”

It was a bitter truth but one that Harry had already confronted and accepted. 

“I know,” he said, “but I had every reason to do it.”

“Then let her know that. Convince her that you did… and maybe…” Kingsley slowed his pace. Harry noticed that they were drawing closer to Dawlish. “I admit, a lot of what happened in the office earlier is going to be hard to dispute. Albus’s confession has done more harm to you than good. I don’t believe he expected Fudge to make do on his threat to arrest you.”

Harry was surprised to hear Kingsley admit that Dumbledore had made a mistake. 

“Why did he do it? Why did he leave?” He asked, hating how small and hurt his voice sounded. 

“Because while you are innocent of conspiring against Fudge, Dumbledore is not as clean.”

“I see,” he said bleakly. 

“I’m not going to be able to help outside of my job without being suspicious. I’m sorry… you do have supporters in the Department, but there are some who believe that you are Dumbledore’s puppet.” They were close to Dawlish. “Never drop your guard, Harry. This will be a fight, but it’s one you can win.”

When they rejoined with Dawlish, the older man took Harry's other arm. Harry looked across at the man. He hadn’t studied the other Auror before. Up close, he could see that the man was very stressed. His jaw was clenched tightly and his brow was heavily furrowed. His hold on Harry’s arm was tighter than Kingsley’s. 

The two Aurors between them walked him into one of the open lifts. Harry was very aware of the audience at his back, feeling thoroughly humiliated by the experience as a whole. His face was flushing as he twisted his hands at his back. His shoulders were already aching from where he was restrained, his skin rubbing at where the metal cuffs were tightly bound around his wrists. Kingsley certainly hadn’t given him any special treatment when he cuffed him. 

The lift was empty, which was a relief. Harry walked in with his escort, his heart racing as he was taken into the unknown. His imagination was running wild. 

What did Kingsley say? I’m going to be processed and put in ‘lock up’. Is that a prison? 

He pictured bars and a dingy cell. The thought horrified him. It struck him only then, when the golden doors clattered shut, how little he actually knew about Magical Law Enforcement. It felt like a massive oversight when he had thoughts of joining the Department himself when he graduated. Though now, those thoughts were dreams. He was likely never going back to Hogwarts and doubted he’d get a job as an Auror now with a criminal record. 

“While you’re in our custody, Potter, you do as we say when we say it,” Dawlish told him as he leaned over to press the button for Level two. The Lift dropped, making Harry’s stomach lurch. “No questions asked, got it?” 

Harry bit on his tongue, his anger flaring at the man’s tone. He just gave him a stiff nod in response. He was going to have to cooperate. Being obstinate would only harm his case. 

“Good. Now, I expect there is going to be a lot of fuss when we take you through to processing, so keep your head down and keep moving. Don’t stop. Shacklebolt and I are here to protect you as much as guard you.”

The lift suddenly clattered to a halt and the doors rattled open. 

“Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.”

Both Dawlish and Kingsley moved him forwards and he complied. They emerged in a hallway that Harry recognised from his brief foray into the Department in the summer. His Hearing had first been scheduled to take place in Amelia Bones’s office, but Fudge changed it to the Courtrooms. Rather than head straight down the corridor like last time, Harry was turned sharply to the right and caught sight of doors that he hadn’t spotted the last time. 

There were two wizards in red robes who had been idly standing guard. Upon seeing Dawlish and Kingsley, they immediately straightened and stood to attention. Harry spotted that they both wore belts with a holster for their wands and sported handcuffs. They appeared to be Ministry security. 

“Evening Shacklebolt, Dawlish,” one of them snapped out at once. 

“Evening Foyle.”

“What are you doing with a school kid?” The other croaked out incredulously. 

“He’s under arrest,” was all Kingsley said to them. “We have a warrant… I take it we have a holding cell free.”

“Believe so.”

The security guards opened the doors for them as Harry was brought over. He caught sight of a large room beyond before noticing that one of the guards was peering at his face curiously. Harry met his stare and the guard’s eyes widened, gaze moving immediately to his forehead. Unable to flatten his fringe against his scar, it was fully exposed for them to see. 

“Bloody hell…” Harry immediately dropped his head as he was yanked through the doorway. “That… that’s Harry Potter.”

Harry was tugged into what looked a lot like a reception area. A large desk dominated the room, adorned with a plaque that bore the Ministry crest. Three witches sat behind it, lilac memos zipping around their heads. Against the opposite wall, a bench ran the length of the room. His heart dropped when he saw that there were people waiting. It didn’t help that they heard the guard say his name and they looked over curiously. 

“Straight to the desk. We should get you cleared to go through to processing without a problem.” Harry was grateful to hear that, especially when he heard the rough whispers behind him and caught the open shock on the visitors waiting. More witnesses to his public humiliation. Thankfully there wasn’t a queue. While the thought of being locked up in a cell was mortifying, having people stare at him while in handcuffs seemed a lot worse. 

Kingsley released Harry and went to the first witch on the left. He rang the bell on the desk and she looked up, smiling pleasantly at him. 

“Evening Kingsley, you aren’t usually here at this hour.”

“I was called to attend the Minister on a… rather important case, Amanda.” He turned and Dawlish brought Harry up to the desk. “I need to process this suspect and place him in protective custody.”

The receptionist looked up, her tired eyes widening the moment she saw Harry, no doubt startled by his youth. But then she recognised him and her mouth dropped open. Harry looked away as her eyes performed the usual flick up to his scar. 

“I… I see. You have a warrant.”

“Here.” Kingsley took the hastily written arrest warrant from his robes and passed it through a slot in the glass screen that shielded the receptionist. She took it, taking her glasses from where she had them hanging around her neck. She read it quickly, blood draining from her face. She then turned to her colleagues.

“Patricia, can you take this to the Head’s office?” She handed the warrant to the woman at her side. She took it nonchalantly, nodding, not thinking it anything too important, until she read the contents and she gasped loudly, her head snapping up to look at Harry. 

“Sweet Merlin…” Her voice was thin with shock. She pushed herself out of her seat and immediately dashed for a door on the left. Above it read ‘Authorised Personnel Only’. 

The witch on the far side of the desk was staring at Harry with open horror. Her quill froze in mid air. 

“Are you the arresting officer, Kingsley?” The first witch asked him.

“I am.”

“Good… well… if you can please then follow me with Mr Potter and we will process him… before this gains attention.” She shakily stood, looking over to her colleague. 

Dawlish let go of Harry, giving him a nod, which surprised him a little as he had the impression that the auror didn’t like him. Kingsley turned him around, pulling him in step with him. The woman had taken some documents from her desk and was heading to a door at the end of the room. She pushed it open and held it for them to enter. Kingsley said his thanks and took Harry in. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked Kingsley quietly.

“Just do as you’re instructed and there will be nothing to worry about,” Kingsley replied, a little sternly. Harry eyed the woman and then ducked his head. He was brought over to a table. The woman moved behind it, putting down the documents that she carried with her. There was a quill and ink waiting. The moment she put down the parchment, the quill lifted up and took it’s position on the top form. 

“Full name?” 

Harry just stared, his fear and anxiety blanking his mind. It took him a moment that she was asking him his name. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked his name. He cleared his throat and answered

“Harry James Potter.”

The quill began to scratch. He glanced over, seeing then that the form was for his personal details. 

“Date of birth?”

It took him a moment to remember it. 

“31st July 1980.”

“Blood status?” 

Harry started at the question. He glanced at the form, then back up to her again. When he didn’t answer, Kingsley cleared his throat. 

“Is that really necessary, Amanda?” He asked. She wore a slightly sheepish look. 

“It’s the procedure…”

“Harry Potter is half-blood. His father was pureblood and his mother muggleborn.” He said quickly. Harry gave him a grateful look. He’d never heard himself refered to as a ‘half-blood’ before. 

“Thank you, Kingsley,” the woman said softly, looking rather embarrassed. She then met Harry’s gaze again. 

“Next of kin?”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it. She looked up and then her eyes widened as she realised what she had just asked him. 

“Your… guardian’s name?” She corrected. He cringed and let a breath out of his nose. His guardian was technically Sirius, but as he was a wanted man, he couldn’t exactly be responsible for him. Legally, his guardians were still the Dursleys. 

“Petunia Dursley,” he said bitterly.

“Relation to you?”

“Aunt…” he said through gritted teeth. He saw the quill scratching. He hoped that this didn’t mean that a letter would be sent to the Dursleys about his arrest. “But… she’s a muggle.” She frowned and then looked over to the document. 

“Do you have any magical guardians?”

“Amanda… there may be something you should know,” Kingsley said before Harry could answer. “Ordinarily, Harry’s magical guardian and legal representative would be Albus Dumbledore, but as of tonight, he is currently wanted for conspiracy and so his status is currently revoked.”

Amanda gaped at him. “Dumbledore is wanted…?”

“For conspiracy, yes. Same crime as Mr Potter, only unlike him, he is not in our custody. He… evaded arrest.”

She absorbed this information silently. Harry shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders now very sore. 

“Are you saying that Harry Potter has no magical guardianship?” She finally asked. “None whatsoever.”

“That would be correct, Amanda.”

She then looked at Harry. 

“I can’t believe that there is no one…” She sighed. “Mr Potter, if anything were to happen to you, who would you wish for us to contact?” 

Alarm shot through him. If anything were to happen to him? He realised then what she was asking. He blanched and rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the pain. 

“I… I suppose Remus Lupin?” He said. “He… was a friend of my dad’s.”

He caught sight of a flash of sympathy in her eyes. The quill scratched away. Kingsley gave him a nod. He let out a breath of relief. It had been the right name to give, then. 

“Relationship status?”

Harry nearly laughed. 

“Um… I’m fifteen?” He saw Kingsley smile. “Single…”

He noticed a hint of humour light up on her face at his answer. 

“Do you have any previous convictions?” She asked. 

“Um… misuse of underage magic, but I was cleared. Other than that, no,” he said nervously, as the quill scratched. 

“Do you have any health conditions?”

“No?” He wasn’t really sure if he did or not. Was being scared out of his mind a health condition? 

“Any allergies?” 

“No.”

“Very good… now I need your hands so I can take your fingerprints. Turn around for me and rest your hands on the table. I’ll take it from there.” 

Kingsley let go of his arm so he could do as he was told. Thoroughly humiliated, Harry turned his back and shuffled backwards so he could put his hands on the table. He had to lean forwards to do it. He bit at his lip as she grabbed at his hands and moved them about. She wasn’t rough at least. She cast some spell on his fingertips that made them tingle and she pushed each finger tip down on the table. 

“You can turn back around now, Mr Potter,” she told him. He did so, his face on fire. As he did, he saw that there was now a wooden box on the table. At the front, he saw a label stuck on, letters spelled on.

Harry Potter

“We are going to have to confiscate all your belongings, Mr Potter. When you get to your cell, you will have to undress and hand in your clothes. We’ll provide you with something to wear, of course…”

Harry swayed. Was this really happening? He could picture the prison robes that Sirius had been wearing on the night they first met. Would they put him in a set of grey-striped robes too? 

He registered Kingsley patting him down. He could do nothing as the auror fished through his pockets. He didn’t have much on him. A spare quill, a chocolate frog wrapper, a crumpled piece of parchment that might have been some revision notes that he forgot about. He was distantly relieved that he didn’t have the Marauders’ Map or his Invisibility Cloak on him. Kingsley then reached up and took his glasses.

“W…wait… I need those.” He said hoarsely as Kingsley carefully folded the arms back and put them in the wooden box along with the rest of the junk. 

“I’m sorry, Harry, but as they’re glass, they could be used as a weapon.”

“A weapon?” Harry gaped, blinking as he was stuck with his terrible eyesight. “But I’m half blind without them.” He hung his head, utterly miserable. Being robbed of his sight was a further humiliation. He heard something jangling. Keys. Raising his head, he saw the woman fiddling with something behind him. 

“You have his wand?”

“Right here,” Kingsley reached into his robes, taking out Harry’s beloved wand. He watched wretchedly as it was handed over and put in with his glasses. 

The woman then picked up the documents and placed them in with his belongings. She then picked up the box and carried it away, moving out of sight behind some sort of partition. Harry couldn’t see her anyway without his glasses. 

“I’ll try to get your glasses returned to you…” Kingsley said quietly, “have them charmed so they can’t be smashed.”

Harry just nodded in response. 

“Everything will be returned to you when you’re released.”

“If… I’m released.”

Kingsley sighed. “I know it feels desolate right now, but you’ll get through this,” he said in his calm, deep voice. Harry didn’t respond. 

The woman returned with another box, only this one was set with a label that read ‘inmate 5’. Well, at least he knew what he was classified as now. Inmate. A prisoner. He spied dark cloth and felt a bit of relief. No grey-stripes. 

“Let’s get you settled in then, Mr Potter,” she said, giving him a direct look. Kingsley set him off to follow the woman who was heading towards a corridor that lurked outside of Harry’s visual range. It was horribly disorientating to walk without his full faculties. He squinted around, but gave up and looked down at his feet instead, walking in step with Kingsley. 

When he heard the distinctive sound of a key scraping into a lock, Harry looked up and saw that they were in a narrow corridor. The walls were a miserable shade of grey and there were no windows. Five doors ran down the wall on the right. He studied the one closest. It was solid metal with a number 3 painted on in black. Cells. 

A door creaked open at the far end. Harry knew where he was going. Kingsley took him through, guiding him into his new room. 

To Harry’s astonishment, it wasn’t that bad. It was around the same size as his bedroom at Privet Drive only there was a small wash area partitioned off in the furthest corner. There was even a shower. Kingsley took him over to the bed and the woman followed them in. She put the box down on the bed and then gave Kingsley a pointed look. 

“There will be a guard stationed outside at all times for your protection. No one without authorisation will be allowed near your cell while you are here. When they are ready to interview you, a guard will collect you, but I suspect it will not be until tomorrow morning,” she looked across to Kingsley, “I expect it is going to be a long night for some.”

Kingsley gave a short laugh. “Indeed it will. Thanks Amanda. I will take it from here.” She gave him a nod. She hovered for a moment, then handed Kingsley the keys. Harry watched the exchange, the pit in his stomach widening. 

“Try to get some rest,” she said softly to Harry, “someone will be by soon with something to eat and drink.” 

He looked up at her. “Okay. Thank you.”

She recoiled a little, her expression falling, then she turned away, leaving the room. 

“Turn around Harry so I can take the inhibitors off,” Kingsley said to him the moment the woman was gone. Harry closed his eyes and turned, facing the wall. He felt Kingsley’s fingers on his wrists, then felt him tap the cuffs with his wand. He breathed out a sigh of relief as the metal loosened. When they were removed, he immediately brought his arms around to his front, his shoulders popping as he did. He rubbed at his sore wrists, looking down to see the red marks. 

“Right, you’re going to have to take everything off. You can’t have anything that you brought with you while in our custody. I know it’s hard to believe, but we have had inmates manage to bring cursed items in their undergarments.”

“I… see,” Harry mumbled.

“I’ll leave you to get undressed. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll collect everything and take it with me.” 

Harry nodded, grateful that Kingsley was giving him privacy. The Auror stepped out into the corridor, shutting the door. He didn’t lock it. 

Alone, Harry let out a shaky breath. He brought his hands to his face. His whole body was shaking from adrenaline. He didn’t want to face his cell yet, not wanting to confirm that he was, in fact, in a prison. He moved over to the box on the bed, upturning it to spill all the contents onto the sheet. There was a toothbrush, some toothpaste, what looked like some soap, a towel, a cup, and then the clothes. He picked them up. They weren’t too bad. A black vest, black trousers and then black robes. He cringed at the pair of briefs. He hadn’t worn briefs since he was a little boy. 

Do wizards normally wear briefs, not boxers? He found himself wondering, then gave a soft laugh. He was a prisoner in the Ministry and he was thinking about pants. 

He didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave Kingsley waiting, not if he didn’t want anyone to be suspicious. He removed his school robe, folding it carefully. A lump rose in his throat as he tugged off his tie. Would he ever wear this uniform again? Tears started to smart in his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself. It was too much for him to handle. 

Sniffing, he undressed, stripping completely down until he was naked. He brought his arms around himself, shivering, a gesture that he hadn’t done in many years as he comforted himself. He gave a soft sob, looking down at the box, seeing the red and gold tie. Before he could lose his control, he pulled on the Ministry inmate uniform. It didn’t fit too badly. The vest was strange, but it was hidden when he pulled the robe on and fastened it in the middle. It was completely plain and nondescript. No prisoner number or anything. 

They hadn’t given him any shoes or socks, so he let Kingsley know he was done. The auror entered and checked over his clothes, making sure that he wasn’t wearing anything he wasn’t supposed to. He then surprised Harry by gripping his arm, making him look up at him. 

“Wh… what happens now?” Harry asked shakily. The claustrophobia of being in a cell was taking its toll already.

“For you or for me?” Kingsley asked him with a wry glint in his eye. 

“For me, I guess. I take it I… I’m not allowed to contact anyone or see anyone.”

“Hmm… I don’t see why you won’t be able to write, but you’ll be supervised.”

“What about… visits?”

“Legal representatives only, I’m afraid.”

“And I don’t have any,” Harry glumly said, “so I don’t… I can’t see Ron or Hermione.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Harry. I will look into letting you correspond with your friends.” Harry could feel the walls closing down on him. 

“Right…” He nodded, more to himself than to what Kingsley had said. “Shit… shit…” He was starting to panic. He could feel it coming on him in waves. He hadn’t felt like this since the Triwizard Tournament when he had been waiting to face a dragon. Kingsley sighed softly.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he said gently, “you don’t deserve this… any of it. It’s… horrendous that Fudge would go this far.”

He let go of Harry’s arm. “He’s banking on you caving to the pressure and expects you to drop your story. Show him what you’re made of, Harry. Show him that you’re a Potter through and through and will fight back with everything you have.” 

Harry looked up at Kingsley at that, then distinctly remembered that when they first met, the Auror had remarked on how much he looked like his father.

“You knew my dad?”

“I did. He had a seat on the Wizengamot.”

“Really?” Harry was astonished.

“Oh yes. And he never backed down from a fight,” he let go of Harry’s arm, “I think you have that in common.” 

Harry held his gaze and then he nodded. 

“I’m not going down without a fight.”

“Good lad!” Kingsley nodded at him. “Now, rest up, and…” He glanced over his shoulder, debating something for a moment, before looking back at him. “Have a good think about your defence. Think about how to prove that Fudge is blatantly ignoring Voldemort’s return. Any proof you have of him directly interfering and covering up your story will work in your favour. Him and Umbridge. Don’t worry about defending Dumbledore’s actions as well. Worry only about yourself, understand?”

Harry gave a slow nod despite being confused. Why would Kingsley tell him that when he was in the Order?

“Stick to the truth. The Auror Office handles questioning so it’ll be someone from my office. Likely, it’ll be Scrimgeour himself. Whoever it is, they will be an expert at trying to catch you out. Don’t give them the chance.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.” He patted Harry on the arm and turned, carrying the box with Harry’s school uniform. “Good luck, Harry.”

Seeing the door shut behind Kingsley was among one of the most horrible things Harry witnessed. The scrape of the key in the lock added to the image, making him want to sink to his knees and break down. He didn’t. He stood, alone, in his prison cell. He couldn’t even hear Kingsley’s footsteps as he left. The silence was hideously thick. He could hear the thundering of his heart, his rapid breathing. 

His shell-shocked mind flashed through the events of the day. The morning felt like months ago. Like it belonged to someone else’s life. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, frozen, trapped in his panicked thoughts. The clatter at his door snapped him back to his body as the hatch at the bottom opened. Someone pushed a tray through the now opened slot. He hadn’t noticed the hatch before. It was horribly similar to the cat flap set in his bedroom door at Privet Drive. 

“Some supper, Potter.” A gruff voice told him on the other side of the door. He didn’t recognise the voice and imagined that it was one of the security guards that he had seen around. “Leave the tray at the door when you’re finished and it’ll be picked up when you get your breakfast.”

He didn’t get the chance to respond before the hatch slammed shut. He swayed, his legs aching. He had been standing for hours and felt very exhausted. 

Action felt like a good choice. Doing something would stop him from thinking so much. He gathered his meagre belongings from the bed and searched for somewhere to put them. He explored his cell as he did. The cupboard was empty, as were the drawers under the desk. There was a single roll of toilet paper in the bathroom. He had only been given a single towel so he hung it off the rail provided. The toiletries went on a shelf above the sink. 

He busied himself with the toilet, then washed his hands and face. He froze when he raised his head and found himself staring at his reflection. He suspected the mirror was unbreakable, considering that he wasn’t even allowed his glasses. He wore his glasses so much, he nearly didn’t recognise himself without them. 

He looked as tired as he felt. His eyes were a little red-rimmed. He sighed, reaching for the towel and dried his face. 

Supper was a surprise. He half-expected prison slop. Instead he had two slices of toast with some marmalade. He filled his cup with water at the sink and settled at his desk, eating his humble fare quickly. He had been famished. 

Without anything else to do once he put the tray down at the door as told, he considered the bed. They hadn’t provided him with sleepwear and he didn’t really want to strip down to his pants in case he had a visitor in the night. He removed the robe, hanging it on the back of his chair. 

The bed, as it turned out, was vastly more comfortable than the ancient mattress he had at Privet Drive. He pulled back the sheets and settled down, surprised at the level of comfort. The moment he lay back, he felt a wave of tiredness. 

He stared up at the charmed light in the ceiling. He frowned. How was he supposed to turn off the light?

“Nox?” He said, hopefully. Immediately, he was plunged in darkness. 

“Lumos…” he tested and the light came back on. He gave a sigh of relief and turned the light off again. He had some control of his surroundings at least. 

He rolled over to his side, closing his eyes, and willed himself to imagine that he was anywhere else. It was a good thing he was so tired as soon enough, he drifted off to sleep. 

 

---

Amelia Bones detested interruptions, but unfortunately, as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, they were unavoidable. She was in the middle of reading a report on the most recent inspection of Azkaban’s security when there was a timid knock at her office door. She angrily sighed, putting down the report and returned her monocle to her face. 

“Yes, yes, who is it?” She impatiently snapped. The door inched open. Amelia recognised the receptionist from the night shift. It was unusual for them to come directly to her. Civilian issues were normally always passed straight to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, then if serious enough, they were to the Auror Office. Only very, very important cases made their way to her office. Apprehensive stirred in her gut at once. With Death Eaters on the loose and rumours of a risen Dark Lord afoot, any case serious enough to disturb her had to be bad news indeed. 

“Madame Bones, I apologise for the intrusion, but a high-profile suspect has been brought into custody and… you should see the warrant.”

“High-profile?” She snapped.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, who is it?” She wasn’t a harsh woman, but she was stern. The receptionist nervously entered her office. She didn’t answer, choosing instead to approach her desk. Amelia narrowed her eyes, but figured that reading the warrant for herself would answer any questions. The receptionist was shaking, intensely unnerved. That didn’t bode well either. Employees of Magical Law Enforcement, even their admin staff, had to have some level of grit about them. 

She handed over the arrest warrant. Amelia leaned forward, taking the scrap of parchment. Peering down, she felt a stab of alarm as she recognised Cornelius Fudge’s neat handwriting. 

Her monocle dropped out from her eye when she read it. 

She read it over twice, making sure she wasn’t mistaken. Then she sat back. Her first thought was that Fudge must have finally lost his mind, but then she looked up at the receptionist.

“When did you receive this warrant?”

“Just now, ma’am?”

“Just now?” She stared hard at the woman. “Are you telling me that Harry Potter is in the building, right now, in Ministry custody?”

“Y-yes ma’am. Aurors Dawlish and Shacklebolt brought him in.”

There was another knock at the door. Amelia put her monocle back in place. She rose from her seat at the sight of the Auror, snatching the warrant from the desk. 

“John, I hope you are here to debrief and tell me exactly why Cornelius Fudge has decided that Harry Potter is guilty of conspiracy.”

“Do you still have that bottle of Firewhiskey?” Dawlish asked her instead, wearily entering her office.

“I do.”

“You’re going to need it.”

As it turned out, he was right. After fully debriefing with his superior, she sat in stony silence, staring at him. She still held the warrant in her hand as wave upon wave of outrage surged through her. 

She then pulled a memo sheet to her and summoned a quill to her hand with a bit of wandless magic. 

“We are going to need all the evidence that Dolores Umbridge has accumulated on Potter and Dumbledore’s plot against the Ministry. I want that member list in front of me. I want the transcript that they sent to the Prophet. See if you can get ahead of them printing it, but I suspect it’s already gone.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“This Miss Edgecombe… you say that she had been hexed and made incapable of testifying?”

“Yes ma’am. I believe that they had counter measures to protect their secret organisation from being exposed.”

“Hmm… I will file a request to have the girl sent to St Mungo’s and we can then question her properly then. This is a criminal investigation now and we will follow everything to the letter. I take it Shacklebolt is the arresting officer?”

“Yes ma’am. He has taken the suspect to lock up.”

“Excellent. Now you say that Cornelius is still at the school?”

“Yes ma’am. With Dumbledore’s flight, the school is without a headmaster. He is… remedying the situation.”

“Let me guess, by placing Dolores Umbridge as Headmistress?”

Dawlish nodded.

“That will not go down well at all…” she shook her head, sighing, “but it is the least of his worries. Hmm… if Cornelius is occupied at the school, then he cannot get in my way. See to everything, John, and when you see Shacklebolt, send him my way.”

“Yes ma’am, I will do.” He departed at once, leaving Amelia with her large measure of firewhiskey. 

She wrote several memos, charming them into flight. Most were going to offices within the Department, some to different floors. She then stood up, pacing in her office with her glass, her mind hard at work. Her fingers tapped the glass. 

Ever since Harry Potter’s Hearing, she had felt ill at ease with Fudge’s denouncement of Dumbledore and his claims that Voldemort was back. While she did not have the best opinion of Dumbledore, as some part of her still blamed him for getting her brother killed in the last war, she did respect that he was very unlikely to lie about Voldemort’s return. And after how Potter presented himself during the Hearing, she didn’t believe that the boy himself was a liar either. Hot-headed and impetuous, certainly, but could she blame him? 

Cornelius’s obsession with Dumbledore trying to out-manoeuvre him was bordering on paranoia. He had stepped on a lot of toes in getting Dolores the professor position, even more when he gave her more influence and authority as High Inquisitor. 

And then there was what her niece told her during the Christmas break about how Dolores wasn’t allowing them to use magic in the classroom. Fudge’s interference in the school was now bordering on sabotaging the children’s education, something that would very much lower his reputation when so many within the Ministry had children and relations at the school. 

If the children were being neglected by their educators, causing someone to take matters into their own hands, whose fault was that? Surely the blame lay in the educators for failing in their duty? 

But that was if the organisation had been set up purely to learn defensive magic. While it went against the Ministerial Decree, it wasn’t exactly a crime. It wasn’t worth the Wizengamot’s time. But if the organisation was a militia, if their motives were political, dangerous…

No, Amelia knew that Dumbledore would never use school children in his objectives. He had his own private organisation, one she was all too aware of as her late brother had been a member. A fact that had gotten him murdered and, in turn, their parents as they had been at his house at the time. Dumbledore would certainly stoop to vigilantism and take the law into his own hands, but he would never endanger children. 

She knew that she couldn’t trust this case with anyone else. Harry Potter was far too high-profile for her to trust to anyone else. 

There was yet again another knock at her door. She sighed.

“Come in,” she said.

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode into the office.

“Amelia… I take it you have heard by now?”

“The news did not come to me in a manner I appreciate, but yes, I have,” she said sharply, then she smiled at her old friend, “firewhiskey?”

A very smug Cornelius Fudge finally turned up to her office at two in the morning. He delivered his ‘evidence’ which turned out to be a sheet of parchment with a list of signatures. Amelia curtly gave her thanks. Before he left, she eyed him, irritated that he had withheld evidence for as long as he did and all he had were witness accounts, not recorded, and a single sheet of parchment. 

“I am not Barty Crouch, Cornelius,” she told him, “I believe in innocent until proven otherwise. Until I see undeniable proof that Potter and Dumbledore are conspiring against the Ministry and plotting a coup, then I will act accordingly. However, if we discover that there is no conspiracy, that you have accused a young man of a crime on baseless evidence, then I will act in his defence if you choose to press charges.”

He spun his bowler hat in his hands, studying the corner of her desk for a while, then gave her a painful smile. 

“I trust that justice will be served, Amelia,” he said, then gave her a small bow, “I expect to be informed when you begin questioning.”

“You will be limited to observation only, Minister,” she reminded him, “as will I. The Auror Office handles questioning suspects as you well know.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said impatiently in the way that she hated. “Tomorrow then.”

“Today, actually, it’s the early morning,” she said, “and it will be a long day. For all of us.”

When he left, Amelia snipped at her second glass of firewhiskey and picked up the precious evidence that the Minister gave her. She read the name that the club had called themselves. 

“Well, it’s certainly brazen, I’ll give them that,” she said. She noted that Potter’s name was at the top. Her keen eye spotted that the handwriting that had penned the club name was the same hand that had signed as ‘Hermione Granger’. Her eye went down the list.

She choked on her firewhiskey as her gaze latched on a very familiar name indeed. 

Susan Bones. 

She sat back in her chair. Her niece was in the group. Without hesitation, she grabbed a sheet of parchment, took up her quill, and immediately wrote her niece a letter. 

Notes:

I've been sitting on this for a while and thought I might as well publish this chapter. Updates will be really slow. Sorry!

Chapter 2: The Boy Behind Bars

Summary:

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement start to do their jobs.

Harry didn’t know what time it was when the tray of his breakfast was pushed roughly through the door. He snorted awake, incredibly confused when he was staring at a blank concrete wall and not the hangings of his four poster bed. Like plunging into a cold bath, the horror of his situation returned in full force. He rubbed at his face, trying to scrub the hallucination from his eyes but the wall remained. All four walls remained. 

He felt stiff and ill as he drew himself to sit up. He grimly went to see what fare his jailors had prepared for him. He saw a bowl of porridge, uninspiring, yet next to it was a sheath of parchment and a stick of what looked oddly like charcoal. He pushed himself up, groaning at his stiff body, and crossed the very short distance. A small lilac memo sat still folded as a small aeroplane. He picked it up, unfolding it. 

We have reviewed the evidence that has been brought against you and will start the interview process today at 10am.  

Writing utensils have been provided. Please note that any correspondence you wish to make must be with your legal representative only. 

There was no signature, no sign of who had given him the parchment. He didn’t recognise the hand and he was fairly certain it hadn’t come from Kingsley. It didn’t sound like him. Harry placed it back on the tray and then carried everything over to his desk. He scowled at the charcoal stick. Of course, if they were too paranoid about him having glasses, they wouldn’t let him have a sharp quill. 

His insides were squirming at the thought of being ‘interviewed’. He didn’t need a vivid imagination to work out that it would be incredibly invasive and difficult. He ignored the porridge, feeling too sick to contemplate eating. Why had the memo bothered to give him a time when he had no idea what the time even was? For all he knew, he had minutes before they came to take him for his interrogation. 

He walked back to the door, frustrated at the lack of consideration for the simplest things. Sure, he was essentially a prisoner in their custody, but just leaving him locked up without a clue seemed like they wanted him disorientated and on the back foot. The woman who processed him hadn’t appeared cruel in any way. In fact, she seemed sympathetic. 

Steeling himself, Harry knocked on the metal door. 

“Hello?”

He jumped a little at how loud his voice sounded in the stuffy silence of his cell. He then grimaced at how stupid he felt, calling out to his jailors. 

The hatch at the bottom of his door suddenly slammed open. Harry yelped in shock, staggering back. 

“What is it, Potter?” A gruff voice asked from the other side. Harry gaped at the open hatch in alarm. Had someone been outside his room the whole time ? He then remembered what Kingsley had said. They were taking his security very seriously. A guard outside at all times. Not to stop him from escaping, of course. He was useless without his wand. They were there to protect him. 

“Er… any chance you can tell me the time?” Harry asked, his voice horribly meek. Being locked in a cell had humbled him considerably. 

“Just past half eight.”

He let out a breath of relief. He had some time to prepare himself for the ordeals ahead. He looked down at the ground, his heart starting to race again. It was only then that he noticed that he hadn’t been given any shoes or socks. His feet were bare. 

“Could… could I have something to wear on my feet?”

The question was met with silence for a moment, then the guard spoke, sounding surprised.

“You don’t have any shoes?” 

“Um, no.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” The guard was baffled. Harry stared at the open hatch. 

“Er… because I’m under arrest?” Harry said, inwardly wincing at saying it out loud. He then heard a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t think I could ask for anything.” He added, trying to explain himself. 

“We’ll get you some shoes.” The guard grumbled. “Anything else, Potter?”

A lawyer would be nice. Harry thought grimly. 

“No… thank you,” he said instead. The guard grunted in response and slammed the hatch shut, cutting Harry off from the world once again. He pressed his hands against his eyes. The lack of his glasses was already giving him a headache. 

He chose to have a shower to give him something to do. The warm water helped clear his mind a little, giving him time to refocus and push aside the mind-numbing fear that was muddling his thoughts. His fear was making him stupid. If he didn’t pull himself together, his enemies would have him exactly where they wanted him - out of the way and vulnerable. 

At the thought of his enemies, Harry cautiously traced a finger over his scar as the water streamed down his face. It hadn’t bothered him while in the Ministry cell. He would have thought by now Voldemort had learned of his predicament. He had his spies in the Ministry, after all. Harry half-expected his scar to erupt with glee and triumph. 

A horrible thought sprung to mind then. What if he had an episode during the interview? How could he explain that away without proving the rumours that his scar made him unhinged? 

“Shit…” he murmured, turning off the water. He remembered the news article about him last year, how it sparked everything off about the doubts around his sanity. If he wasn’t careful, Fudge could easily manipulate the case against him and have him set into a secure wing in St Mungo’s instead of Azkaban. Whatever he said in defence for himself, it could be dismissed as the ramblings of a mad man. 

Stepping out the shower, Harry looked out to the desk where he left the parchment and the charcoal stick. 

“If I can’t speak for my own defence, what do I do?” He grabbed his single towel, drying himself as he walked to the desk. 

Trust Amelia Bones. That was what Kingsley said. Harry scrubbed the back of his head with the towel as he thought fiercely. She had been fair during his Hearing and he did know her niece. In fact, Susan had been a member of the DA. 

He pulled on his clothes and quickly dropped himself in the seat at the desk. He pushed the porridge aside. It was cold and unwanted. He snatched the charcoal and the parchment, settling it down in front of him. 

He dragged through his memories, going as far back as before Hogwarts when he lived at the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia loved watching law dramas during the afternoon when Vernon was at work. Sometimes, if Harry finished his chores on time, he was allowed to sit quietly and watch the TV with her. She would sniff and make commentary about the characters, mostly to herself. Harry never spoke. He only ever listened. 

But he had learnt. He remembered the really dramatic shows where the innocent were put to trial and the heroic lawyer fought to get them off. They would have witnesses to testify on their behalf, the chance to present evidence to the jury, and then a chance to make their own defence when cross-examined by both the prosecution and the defence. 

Of course, magical law was different. Harry experienced that for himself when he was tried before the Wizengamot for a trifle. There was no jury, no unbiased group of civilians to make a verdict. Instead he would go against the representatives of wizarding Britain, all who knew exactly who he was, already had their biases about him. They were corruptible, susceptible to bribes, perhaps even threats. 

But what if he could prove that he was in the right? What if he could prove that his actions had been made for the right intentions? Would they still let Fudge accuse him of conspiracy then? Would they send him to Azkaban for fighting against a corrupt Minister and his even more corrupt toadie just so he could help his friends learn how to protect themselves against mass murderers?

Harry scratched the charcoal on the parchment, his mind finally loosening from the shackles of fear. 

Get testimonies from the DA

Expose Fudge 

Prove Voldemort’s back

He sat back at his short list and gave a bitter laugh. 

“Easy enough,” he said to himself in a low voice. The top item would be a challenge if he couldn’t actually write to anyone. Maybe he could request them as part of his defence. 

Maybe they’re already trying to help. He wondered, his thoughts drifting to his friends. By now, they surely knew what had happened to him. He hadn’t returned to the Common Room for a start. Hermione would have worked it out, that much he knew. And he also knew that she would be likely fretting that he was in such trouble. Blaming herself too. 

He considered the second item. As he did, he ran a finger over the scars over the back of his right hand. He had proof on him that Umbridge would go to extreme lengths to silence him, but he could just imagine how easy it would be for her and Fudge to say that he wrote it on his hand himself. It was his handwriting. How could he prove that she made him do it in detention? Only they had been present in her office and if Aurors went to search her office, she could easily hide the evidence. 

But I’m not the only one. 

He remembered Lee Jordan’s bleeding hand. How many others had been subjected to the corporal punishment like he had? He was pretty certain that whatever the quill was, it wasn’t a conventional punishment. Somehow he doubted parents would be too pleased that Hogwarts had descended into the dark ages as far as discipline was concerned. 

He sighed. He would need help to expose Umbridge and Fudge for their censorship and silencing of the truth. His word just wasn’t enough.

Which brought him to the last goal. Proving that Voldemort was back. He rubbed at his scar. Any real evidence would have been long since covered up since June. He couldn’t imagine Voldemort leaving any signs behind at the graveyard outside Little Hangleton. He was the only witness who would talk and few believed him. He barely made it out of there alive, bringing Cedric’s body with him.

Cedric’s body…

Harry seethed as he remembered Umbridge dismissing his death as a ‘tragic accident’. Anyone could have seen that Cedric hadn’t died from an accident. There had not been a single mark on him. The signs of the Killing Curse were unmistakable.

So why did no one question it? Harry frowned, kneading his knuckles against his forehead. It was only then that he realised just how odd the lack of response from the Ministry was. Why did no one investigate Cedric’s death? Not a single Auror questioned him as a witness… or even as a suspect. He was the last to see Cedric alive. That should have been suspicious, but no… nothing had happened. Fudge had been the only response to the incident and he…

Harry raised his head, eyes going wide.

“Oh shit…”

The only person who corroborated Harry’s story had been Barty Crouch Junior. The one responsible for Harry’s kidnapping, for putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. He confessed to everything under veritaserum, an undisputed account. Fudge’s response? He had him Kissed. 

Harry’s head started to spin. Again, in Third Year, when Fudge showed up when Sirius got caught, he didn’t wait for justice to be done. He made the order to have Sirius kissed, no questions asked. Only Dumbledore questioned Sirius and made the move to intervene. Why was the Minister dispensing justice? Wasn’t that the job of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? The job of the Aurors? 

Was Fudge preventing them from doing their job? Was he purposefully stopping them from uncovering the truth? 

He started to write more notes. His heart was thudding as adrenaline spiked, energised at the thought of fighting back. A grim smile pulled at his lips. If they wanted him to talk, he’d talk. There was nothing Fudge could do to stop him.

His fingers were blackened from the awkward charcoal when he heard the scraping at his door as the guards came to escort him to his interview session. Harry nervously pulled on the outer robe of his inmate uniform, hastily going to wash his hands. The door clunked open. Harry looked over, backing up. Two guards entered his cell. The first threw something down on the floor. The clatter made Harry jump. He looked down, seeing a pair of plain plimsolls. 

“Put these on, Potter.” 

His instinctive response to be insolent and difficult spiked up at once, but he squashed it. Being uncooperative would not help him in the slightest. He had to be on his best behaviour and do all he could to keep everyone around him civil. He knew from experience from living with the Dursleys that sometimes swallowing his pride and appeasing his tormentors benefited him far better than getting a small piece of satisfaction from acting out. 

He stooped down and pulled the shoes on, noticing that they resized to fit around his cold feet. When he straightened, the guards were at either side. He glanced at them, not recognising either. 

“You didn’t eat your breakfast?” The one on his left noticed. Harry just shrugged.

“I… I wasn’t exactly hungry.”

The other grunted, noncommittal, and pulled his cuffs free from his belt. Harry froze at the sight of them.

“Arms in front.” Harry swallowed and did as he was told, bringing his arms up and his wrists together in a show of surrender. The guard didn’t meet his eyes as he locked the cuffs around his wrists. Harry lowered his bound wrists, face twitching from the discomfort. Just like the ones Kingsley slapped on him in Dumbledore’s office, they were solid bands of metal with no slack. He couldn’t move his wrists apart. The weight of the metal dragged his hands down, hanging limply. 

“Alright, we’re not going far. The Interview rooms are just through processing.” The guard who asked about his breakfast lightly took his arm. Harry didn’t resist as they led him out into the hallway. His shoes squeaked on the concrete as he tentatively walked between his escort. It felt so incredibly unnecessary. What did they think he could do? He didn’t have a wand and he was pretty lightweight. He wouldn’t be able to fight them off, much less the entire Ministry that stood between him and the exit. 

It was just as quiet in the processing room as it had been when he had been signed in. No one stood at the desks and Harry could only spy blurred shapes through the entrance he had come through when Kingsley brought him in. Without his glasses, everything was lost behind a smudged haze, courtesy of his particular bad case of myopia that he had for as long as he could remember. He could only really see what was directly in front of him. It made for a disorientating experience, navigating the world half-blind. 

“Can… can I ask what the process is?” Harry dared to say as his guards guided him over to where he spotted some doors in the far wall. He could see signs above the doors but he couldn’t read them. 

“Well, first they need to question you about the crime that you’ve been arrested for.” The guard on his left said hesitantly. “Normally, the arresting officer would lead any questioning, but this has been pushed up the chain.”

Harry rocked his head back, closing his eyes briefly as he walked in step. 

“Great.” He said darkly. “I’m guessing that this has something to do with me being… well… me.”

“That and it’s the Minister that’s leading the charges. I have to say it, kid. You’ve got yourself in a whole load of trouble.”

Harry glared side-along at him and lifted his bound wrists.

“I’ve figured that out for myself, thanks.”

Coming up to the doors, Harry could just make out the plaques. There were three interview rooms. It was obvious which one he was going in. A shining orb of green gleamed in the handle of ‘Interview Room 1’.

The guard on his right opened the door. The room beyond was brilliantly lit. Harry squinted against the glare as he was brought inside. Their footsteps clanged loudly in the cube box as they entered. Harry’s head craned around, taking in as much of his surroundings as he could. It was a bare, box room with a table taking up much of the space. On one side of the table, two seats had been set out, the other had just one. Harry knew where he was going. 

They led him to the lone chair. As he approached, he looked down at the table, his reflection peering back up at him. The surface was polished to a high shine. 

“Sit down, Potter.” 

Harry looked over at the man who had addressed him. He steeled himself and obeyed, lowering himself in the chair. He jumped in surprise when the other guard tucked him, pushing the chair with Harry perched upon it. The guard checked that he was sitting with his legs fully under the table, his chest pretty much touching the edge.

“Put your hands on the table.”

He shivered as he raised his arms, resting them on the table with a clunk. The guard gripped the left cuff and manoeuvred Harry’s wrists so the bottom of the bands settled into a grove in front of him. With a click, the bands fixed in place. Harry jumped and tried to pull away, but he was stuck fast to the table.

“Sorry, kid. It’s procedure. Madame Bones will be sitting in on your interview and we can’t take any risks around important personnel.”

Harry let out a laugh.

“What exactly do you think I can do like this?” He asked them, incredulous and very scared. It was one thing to be restrained, but as he was, he couldn’t move from his position without taking the table with him - which, he noticed, was bolted to the floor.

“You’d be surprised,” the other guard said, crossing his arms as he looked Harry in the eye. “Accidental magic happens a lot more when stressed.” Harry lifted his chin, looking at the guard, wincing as his shoulders already started to ache from the uncomfortable position. He didn’t argue with the guard, recalling how he had blown up Aunt Marge when ‘stressed’. 

To his surprise, the guards filtered out of the room, leaving him shackled to the table, quite unable to move. With him fastened to the table, there was no need to shut the door. He saw them moving to stand guard on either side of the door. He grimly ducked his head. He knew their presence outside wasn’t to keep him secured, but to guard him from any threats. At least they were taking that seriously enough. 

Harry then looked around the room, trying to control himself. He twisted his wrists, trying to get comfortable even with the bands of metal trapping him in place. It was small and very claustrophobic. His neck prickled and he had every suspicion that he was being closely watched. He rubbed his fingers over the smooth table top, the metal cool under his hot, sweaty hands. 

Voices erupted in the room outside. Harry’s head perked up, listening. He heard a loud, barking voice, sounding impatient and authoritative. A lower voice then responded, feminine. He rolled his sore shoulders, straining his hearing that was usually impeccably sharp.

“Is the suspect ready?” The gravelly unfamiliar voice demanded. Harry could see them through the door, blurred in his poor vision. He saw a man of gingery, grey hair and red robes but no other details.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. We have a full force at front to stop the bloody reporters getting in, but I want you to stay out here. Just in case one of Fudge’s lot tries to strong-arm their way past security.”

Harry listened intently, feeling a stirring of hope at the displeasure the man showed towards the Minister. He didn’t like the sound of there being reporters close by. That meant his arrest had gone public, then. 

The speaker then entered. He paused a moment, considering Harry cuffed to the table, then he strode inside, his details becoming clearer. He was extremely tall and had a mane of greying auburn hair. He wasn’t alone. Behind him came a figure that Harry recognised. She was shorter than her companion, stocky, in deep blue robes. He could see the outline of her monocle. 

“Close us in and raise the charms.” She ordered the guards. The door clanked shut, plunging the room into a weird muffled silence that Harry knew was charmed. No sound was getting in and no sound was getting out. 

“Mr Potter, although we have met before, I will still introduce myself,” she said at once, not wasting any time. She passed the wizard and strode up to where Harry sat. “I am Madame Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Due to your high profile, my presence is required for your interview.”

As if on command, the maned wizard set down two folders on the table. One large bulky purple folder and a smaller, thinner green file. The purple one caught Harry’s eye, it being the Ministry’s colour. He could see the gold sigil of the Ministry, then underneath, immediately noticeable even upside were three words.

Potter, Harry James

Stamped in large black letters across the nearest corner was the reason why Amelia Bones had to be present.

Extremely Confidential.

“Only myself, the Minister and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot can open this folder.” She explained, resting her hand on the purple leather. “I daresay, Mr Potter, you are by far the youngest wizard with a file so secret.”

She then looked over to the man who pulled out the seats for them both to take. 

“This is Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office.” Scrimgeour lifted his head, his eyes meeting Harry’s. He gave him a nod as he took his seat.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Potter, but I don’t think we should start this so early with falsehoods.” He said gruffly, dragging the green folder to him. Amelia stiffened a little at his hostile tone but said nothing. Harry could sense the animosity immediately, honed to detect threatening behaviour takes to his less than pleasant upbringing.

She gave Harry a curt nod and went to take her seat. The moment she flared out her robes and settled down, Scrimgeour cleared his throat.

“Commencing the first interview of Harry James Potter. Interrogator: Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office.” The maned man suddenly said, his voice oddly emotionless. “Supervisor: Amelia Bones.” 

Harry glanced around, wondering then if the interview was being recorded and if so, how? Obviously there weren’t any cameras, yet he had felt that he was being watched when he arrived. 

“The purpose of this interview is to question Potter on his role as a suspected accomplice to a conspiracy against the Ministry, spearheaded by Albus Dumbledore who confessed to his intentions last night before evading arrest.” Scrimgeour continued, opening the green folder. Harry glanced down, seeing many sheaths of assorted documents stacked inside. Multicoloured tabs stuck out, scribbled with notes, labelling each document. His heart jumped. 

That must be all the evidence about the DA.

“Potter, you reserve the right to refuse to answer any of my questions, however doing so may harm your defence. The transcript of this interview may be used as evidence against you. Do you understand?” 

Harry licked at his dry lips, looking over to Madame Bones who was staring at him intently. Panic fluttered in his chest, but he forced himself to remain focused.

“Yes.”

Amelia then laced her fingers together, still staring, not taking her eyes off him. Her stare made Harry very uncomfortable, but he couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the better of him. 

Scrimgeour gave a curt nod and leafed through his file. His fingers picked on a red tab and drew out two sheaths of parchment. One he pushed towards Harry, turning it so he could read it. 

“I’m presenting Potter with Evidence Article One. This, according to a witness, is the members’ list of the illegal vigilante group that Dumbledore instigated.” 

Harry did his best to hide his stab of anger at the lie. Vigilante group? He looked down at the condemning list, his own name written in his hasty hand at the top. Slowly, he looked down the list, feeling increasingly sick. Would they all get into trouble? 

“Potter, can you confirm that your name is on the list?”

Harry looked up at the head Auror. “Yes.”

“At the top… and that is your handwriting, correct?”

“It is,” Harry agreed. He lightly licked at his bottom lip, thinking quickly. He had to take responsibility for the DA away from Dumbledore if he had a chance of defending their motives. He was already in a lot of trouble, but he could control how much trouble. Taking the fall for the DA was a lot better than being labelled as an accomplice to a hostile takeover. He just had to somehow make his evidence more compelling than Umbridge’s and Fudge’s.

“At the time that this list was written, the forming of such a… gathering wasn’t necessarily illegal. Ill-advised, certainly, and in bad taste, but following the initial meeting that we know occurred on 10th October in The Hog’s Head pub, the Minister enacted Educational Decree 24.”

Scrimgeour drew out the other document, turning it so Harry could read it. Harry glanced down at it, recognising it as a copy of the decree that Umbridge put up all over the school. 

“I am presenting Potter with a copy of the decree. I will read the important part for the benefit of the recording.” Harry glanced around then. So this is being recorded? How? “‘No Student Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled’."

Harry shifted in his seat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, listening, paying as much attention as he could. 

“Did you seek permission from the High Inquisitor for you to continue your group, Potter?” Scrimgeour asked.

Harry shook his head.

“Verbal responses, if you will,” Madame Bones interjected. Harry swallowed. 

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yet last night when you were apprehended, you were fleeing the scene where you were meeting with this group. You broke the decree knowing that the risk would be expulsion. All of these students… excepting Miss Edgecombe… should be expelled.” Scrimgeour snatched back the document. “It makes me wonder why so many students, many of which are from respectable families, would go against a Ministry order. It makes me wonder who convinced them.”

Harry drew in a breath. It’s now or never.

“It wasn’t Dumbledore if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Harry said, a little surprised at how firm his voice was despite his shaking. Scrimgeour’s mouth moved to form a grim smile. He fished through the documents again, taking a thicker stack that was tied together with tabs. 

“Indeed? Then who did?” 

Harry looked up at him.

“Umbridge did.” He said, then saw Scrimgeour’s eyebrows shoot up. “Of course, not in person, but she was refusing to teach us defensive magic in class so we decided to take matters in our own hands. She wasn’t teaching the curriculum properly and it’s OWLs year so-.”

“Hold it there, Potter,” Scrimgeour cut over him. He turned the sheath of parchment around, turning the pages. “For the record, I’m showing Potter the transcript of Dumbledore’s arrest and confession.” He found the page he was after and jabbed a finger down. He stared at Harry intensely. 

“Do you expect us to believe that Dumbledore’s Army was a study group?” He asked him. “When you were present when Dumbledore himself confessed to the purpose of the group… that he was recruiting these students to be involved in his plots against the Minister?" Harry stiffly looked down at the transcript, seeing the damning confession for himself. His jaw tensed. 

“I do because what Dumbledore said wasn’t true. You can clearly see that he was lying. He said that yesterday’s meeting was to be the first one and that he was there to see if we were interesting in joining him, right?” He strained his bound hands over to point at the speech. He looked up at Scrimgeour, seeing him glance down to where Harry was indicated. “You don’t think he would have to be present for it? Sort of goes against the point, don’t you think?”

Scrimgeour met his eyes, a small hint of appraisal flickering in his yellowish eyes. It was gone before Harry could test if he imagined it. Harry glanced over to Madame Bones and continued.

“The first meeting, the one you know about at the Hog’s Head. Was Dumbledore there?” Harry then pointed over to the members’ list. “Did that witness who Umbridge had there...Willy Whatshisface... did he report that Dumbledore was there, spewing speeches to bring us over to his cause?” 

Scrimgeour’s mouth twitched.

“We have already ascertained that the first meeting was not illegal.”

“But it was when the group was founded and named,” Harry said. “We came up with the DA so it could have two meanings - The Defence Association and Dumbledore’s Army. One was the real purpose of the group and the other… was a joke… because we know about how paranoid Fudge is.” He swallowed. “And you’d know that because we said as much at the first meeting. Maybe you should get hold of that witness and ask him what he heard. He seemed to know a lot."

Amelia Bones leaned a little forwards, catching Scrimgeour’s attention. He turned his head in her direction, then drew back the transcript from in front of Harry. 

“If Dumbledore was not responsible for the group, why did he claim otherwise in front of the Minister and two Aurors?”

Harry’s stomach clenched with guilt. “Because I messed up. He was trying to protect me from getting expelled.”

“He would go to such lengths to shield you from facing the consequences of your actions?” Scrimgeour shot at him at once. “Albus Dumbledore would sacrifice his reputation and his freedom for you?” 

Oh no… 

Harry took a deep breath. 

“Yes because… Hogwarts is the only place where I’m safe. Expelled and without… my wand, I’d be vulnerable and… well…” He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, looking away. Don’t talk about Voldemort yet. Stick with what they can’t deny. “Whatever you believe, whether or not you think I’m an attention seeking brat spewing lies, you can’t deny that there are ten ex-convicts at large all who were Death Eaters and all who might have a vendetta against me. Expulsion for me is pretty much a death sentence.”

While not exactly true, as he would likely get to stay at Grimmauld Place with Sirius, they didn’t know that he had access to such a place.

Scrimgeour scowled at him and rested his fingers together, scrutinsing him. 

“If your life is in so much danger, why did you break a decree that would have you expelled?” He asked him. Harry sighed, looking down at the DA members’ list. “Were you forming an army for your own protection?”

“What?” Harry snapped, angered. “Of course not! I told you. The name was a joke.” He shook his head, frustrated. “I was teaching them how to defend themselves!”

Scrimgeour looked at him intently. 

“You were leading lessons?”

“Yes! Because Umbridge refuses to teach herself. She doesn’t want any student using magic in her class. The only time we’re allowed to use practical magic is during the practical test in our OWL exam!” Harry exclaimed. “ That is what Fudge wants at Hogwarts. Students who are unprepared and unthreatening because he fears the students being used against him.”

Harry looked over to Madame Bones.

“If you don’t believe me, the evidence is all there at Hogwarts. You just need to look at the educational decrees that Umbridge is rolling out. And if anyone questions her, well…”

He shot a glare at Scrimgeour, then flexed his right hand, showing them the scars. Madame Bones looked at his hand, her brows furrowing as she focused on the lines on his skin. 

“So yes, sir, I lead lessons. I lead the DA and I did it knowing that if I got caught, I would be expelled. Dumbledore had nothing to do with it,” he balled his right hand into a fist, “so if you want to accuse me of a crime, make sure that it’s the right one.”

He took in a deep breath, his head giving a spin as a swelling silence grew in the wake of his furious tirade. Scrimgeour stared at him, his mouth settling into a grim line that made dread sear through him. Had he just made a terrible mistake?

“So you are claiming that this organisation was not a militia but an unapproved study club. Should I refer to you as ‘Professor Potter’?” Scrimgeour scathingly said after the silence became unbearable. He gave a short, mocking laugh. Anger burned in Harry’s stomach. He then clenched both fists and sat forwards. 

“Before I started the first meeting of the DA, most of those students couldn’t properly disarm. Only two out of the whole DA even knew how to cast a shield charm.”

Scrimgeour’s bitter, mocking smile slid a little, his mouth turning downwards. 

“Since October, when we started, I’ve taught how to shield, stun, summon, repel. I taught basic duelling stances, how to move in combat… how to dodge.” Harry hunched forwards, glaring at the Head Auror. “Can you believe it that most students in the DA didn’t even know that you can dodge a curse? So tell me, is that acceptable to you? As an Auror, do you think that it’s right that underage students are purposefully being kept from learning how to defend themselves?”

Scrimgeour looked at him directly, about to say something scathing, but Madame Bones lifted a hand, resting it on his arm. He looked over at her, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“If indeed the standards of Hogwarts have slipped so low, it will need to come under review.” She said, speaking for the first time since the interview started. Harry looked at her and gave a stunned laugh. 

“It already is under Ministry review!” Harry exclaimed. “Why the Hell is Dolores Umbridge at Hogwarts in the first place?” 

Silence. Scrimgeour looked unsettled for the first time and he looked down at the members list for a moment. Amelia Bones then reached for the list, taking it in her own hands. She considered the list for a moment, then lowered it, frowning. 

“That, Potter, is a very good question.” Her voice was low. She then pushed the list back towards Scrimgeour. “Will these students corroborate your story? That you were indeed teaching defensive magic that students their age should already have mastery over?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Yes, of course they will. It’s the truth.”

“Then until we have testimonies from these students, questioning Potter on the subject will get us no further. Rufus… conclude this session.” 

He didn’t look pleased as he drew out his wand and cancelled whatever it was that recorded their interview. Harry noticed that the lights dimmed a little. 

Amelia Bones then held out her hand to Harry.

“Show me your right hand, Potter.” Scrimgeour pushed the documents back into his file, watching on sourly. Harry hesitantly pushed his right hand as far as it could go. 

“I must not tell lies,” she read in a hushed voice. Her mouth twitched and she carefully lifted his hand up, moving his skin into the light. “Deep scarring and precise too. This is not the result of a single cut, but many.” She put his hand back down and he caught an intense flash of outrage behind her monocle. “Rufus, permit me a moment with Mr Potter alone. I trust your discretion?”

“Of course, Amelia,” he said gruffly as he pushed himself up to his feet. He didn’t spare Harry another look as he gathered up the file and went to leave the room. Harry watched, bewildered. The door clunked open and Scrimgeour left, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

The atmosphere in the room lightened at once without his hostile presence. Harry didn’t relax. He couldn’t with his shoulders tensed and sore, arms trapped as they were. 

“Last night was the first time I had a look at your file,” Amelia said at once, not going for dramatic pauses. Harry looked down at the file in question. The purple confidential file was resting between them. “It was quite the interesting read but… not for the reasons you expect.” She tapped at the purple cover. “It was interesting because there was nothing to read. Other than your instances of underage magic, and the accident involving Marge Dursley, any and all reports that there should be are absent. There is no report about your involvement with the Chamber of Secrets in ‘93, nor your involvement with Sirius Black in ‘94. More worryingly, Mr Potter, is the sheer lack of any documentation surrounding the events of last year - not your illegal participation in the Triwizard Tournament or the events of 24th June. At the very least, there should have been some mention of you during the inquest.”

She pushed the file aside. “Now, as I told you, only three people have access to your file. While Albus Dumbledore held the seat as Chief Warlock, nothing could have prevented him from controlling what was placed on record about you.” 

Her brow lowered over her monocle again. 

“Why is Dumbledore covering for you, Mr Potter?”

“He isn’t,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I have no idea why there’s so little on me, but I don’t think he would cover up. Actually, I think he would rather that things had been handled properly.” He looked up at her. “He would want justice to be done and not covered up, like with… Cedric and…” He shrugged. “Me.”

She hummed thoughtfully and regarded him closely. 

“I agree with you,” she said, “which alarms me greatly, Mr Potter, because if it was not me who has ensured your file be so redacted, and it was not Dumbledore, then that leaves only one culprit.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“You.. you mean Fudge has been covering up?”

She gave a grave nod. 

“I do and to say as much is sedition, however the evidence continues to mount up. I can no longer ignore it. Either he is concealing evidence to save his position and cover up his incompetence… or there is another motive. He is sabotaging you on orders.”

With that, she rose to her feet. She collected the file as she stood, fixing Harry with a firm, serious look. 

“You have many enemies and few allies. You may count on me as an ally, Harry. I will help you but you must know that this will be a very difficult time for you. Every piece of privacy will be scraped away, every secret exposed, every word analysed.” She paced towards him as she spoke. He felt cold at the implications of her words. “But you are a brave young man and every part your parents’ son. Help me prove that Fudge is an accomplice to Lord Voldemort, willing or not, and together we can begin our stand against the true enemy.” 

After her speech, she took her wand and tapped the table. Harry’s cuffs were freed from the groove. He immediately pulled his arms back to himself, cradling them almost protectively to his lap. 

“If… if I can trust you, I assume that means you believe me about… everything,” he said cautiously, not willing to allow himself to hope just yet. 

“I do and you will find that more people believe you than you realise. You have that advantage.” She headed to the door, looking back at him. “Which is why first, we must plant the seeds of doubt and to do so, you need to make a public appearance.”

“W-what?”

“Fudge has been leaning on the press for too long,” she said. “I think it is time we give them a bitter potion to swallow.” 

 

---

 

The Boy Behind Bars

Following the unbelievable news of Albus Dumbledore’s plot to overthrow the Minister from power and supplant himself into the role of leadership, the rumours of his accomplice’s arrest have been confirmed. This morning, at nine o’clock, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, announced his statement - which is in full on page 5. Dumbledore’s accomplice is, of course, none other than fifteen-year-old Harry Potter. Now currently in Ministry custody, Potter was arrested at Hogwarts after his involvement in Dumbledore’s heinous schemes were unveiled. Dumbledore fled the scene, abandoning his young charge to face his crimes. The Minister has announced that Potter will be charged with Conspiracy, Sedition and Fraud. If his charges against Potter are approved, the boy will go to Trial and face the very real threat of imprisonment within Azkaban. 

The cowardly flight from justice does indeed reveal the true colours of the wizard once heralded as the greatest of his age. His escape left a young, impressionable boy to take the fall for him. Sources say that the Boy Who Lived has been denied visitors, any correspondence, and as he is famously without family support, no legal representation. Indeed, mere hours ago, Harry Potter was seen escorted from the Interview Room in detainee garb and inhibitors. As an underage offender, Potter must be detained in the Ministry, however it is not Auror protocol to restrain inmates. In fact, we find ourselves asking if these measures are necessary. Is Harry Potter unhinged and dangerous as some claim? Or is he a victim of manipulation and, perhaps, injustice?

Cont… on page 3.

 

It didn’t matter how many times Hermione re-read the article. No matter how many times she seized the paper and stared intently at the huge photograph that dominated the spread, she couldn’t help the person moving in the picture. Over and over, the reel repeating, guards escorting Harry through a bleak looking room, the picture slightly shaky as if taken in a panic. Two guards held Harry by his upperarms, marching him off. Harry, to Hermione’s initial surprise, had his head down and appeared to be cooperative. She could read his body language, the tense shoulders, the stiff walk. He was very on edge. 

At the end of the loop, Harry glanced up at the camera, noticing the photographer. He is without his glasses and squints, but the rest of his face is unmistakeable. His face is in full view, so unmistakably him. What horrified her wasn't what the article called his clothing ‘detainee garb’. They looked fairly normal and plain. No prisoner number emblazoned on his robes or something else dehumanising. What had made her actually sick were the thick cuffs of metal, solid around his wrists. His hands were bound in front of him. Not just his hands. They were ‘inhibitors’. That hadn’t just caged him, but his magic as well. 

She rubbed at her eyes and then, she tucked her knees under her chin and stared out the window. Her thoughts were immediately on Harry. She couldn’t bear the thought of him in a cell, locked up, alone and scared. What were the Ministry doing to him? Interrogating him for long hours at a time? Would they resort to using barbaric methods like Umbridge?

Would they hurt him?

Desperate to pull herself away from those thoughts, she studied the article again. Her eyes rested on the point about how Harry wasn’t allowed any visits or communication…

Her eyes fixed on the point about legal representation. 

While in our custody, you have the right to legal counsel and representation. 

Kingsley’s words while he told Harry his rights came to her. By denying Harry access to legal representation, they were preventing his rights. Hermione gripped the paper in her hands, her face splitting into a smile. An idea started to form in her mind. She didn’t know any justicars, any experts in magical law. She just had her books and the Library. Yet she had helped Harry with preparing for his hearing, she looked into the Law and she could do so again. She could act as his legal counsel and there was nothing the Ministry could do to stop her from talking to Harry. As far as she knew, there was no Law preventing her from being her legal aide. Why would they stop her? The Minister wanted Harry to fail, wanted him behind bars and shut up for good. If a girl came to his defence, he’d laugh himself silly and sign the approval. 

Her mind bursting with inspiration, her heart jumping with hope, she dived for her bag for parchment. There was just no way she would ever sit idle while Umbridge sat with that smug look of triumph on her face. Not after this. 

When Ron returned to the Common Room with a beleaguered Gryffindor Quidditch team in tow, he discovered the very familiar sight of Hermione writing with a fury. Her hands were splodged with blue ink, some spots even dusting her skin, joining with the freckles. He shuffled over to her, drenched through. She twisted in her seat, her eyes wild with determination. With a bound up from her seat, she crashed into Ron, grabbing his arms. 

“We need everyone from the DA to write to the Ministry.”

“W-What?” Ron tiredly blinking to focus on her. 

“Testimonies, Ron, we need them. I… need to work out how to get them to the Ministry without Umbridge stopping them…”

Angelina and Katie were drawn over, all looking tired and peaky like Ron. She faced them. 

“We need your help too,” she said, her attention on the girls. “I expect Umbridge’s classes are less than adequate for NEWT-level.” 

Ron shook his head, clearing his thoughts enough to work out what Hermione was talking about. He rubbed at his head.

“Bloody Hell, Hermione, slow down. We’re done in.”

She bristled, letting go of his shoulders.

“I can’t slow down, Ron! Who else is going to help Harry? He has no one. Dumbledore can’t help him. Sir- Snuffles can’t. He has no family and no support… he’s all alone.” She stepped up to him, his pale face looking up at her in shock. Tears, hot and stinging, smarted in the corner of her eyes. She grabbed the newspaper and thrust it at Ron. He scrambled back a bit, trying to see the cover, rain water dripping off his fringe. 

“Look! Look what they’re doing to him.” She near shrieked. Practically everyone in the Common room was watching then. “They’re treating him like a criminal!”

“Merlin’s Arse…” Ron said quietly as he read the article. Rain dripped on the paper. “They… can’t do this.”

“They are. And they can do so much worse. We have to help… we’re the only ones who can.” 

Ron lowered the paper, paler than before. Silence filled the Common Room and Hermione looked around, seeing then all the eyes on her. 

“I’ll help,” Colin Creevey said, moving from his fourth year friends, “what do you need?”

“Me too,” Neville said, then Dean smacked Seamus’s arm. 

“Count us in.”

More voices joined in as others stepped forward, even Gryffindors who weren’t in the DA. Before long, the voices were getting louder. 

“We’ll show Umbitch what Gryffindor is about!” Lee Jordan shouted. 

“They can’t silence us forever!” Someone else cried out angrily. 

“Justice for Potter!”

Hermione beamed, looking around, the noise filling her with hope. She turned over to the window, her thoughts going to the person whose voice should be raised with the others in a rallying cry. 

Hold on, Harry. 

Chapter 3: I Must Not Tell Lies - Part 1

Summary:

The fight back begins.

 

Albus Dumbledore was wise to steer clear of Number 12, Grimmauld Place after his brief appearance after fleeing arrest. When Kingsley’s patronus reported that Fudge, in his triumph, went one step further and arrested Harry as Dumbledore’s accomplice, the combined fury of the resident members had him thoroughly humbled. It wasn’t just Sirius who let his anger loose. Albus Dumbledore found himself on the receiving end of Molly Weasley’s rage as well as Remus Lupin’s. 

Sombre and grim, Dumbledore took his leave and went to stay in Hogsmeade. It was a frightening thing to witness the greatest wizard of the age to appear defeated and lost, but even his mind could not have envisaged how tyrannical Fudge had become in his paranoia. 

When the edition of the Evening Prophet with Harry being led off in handcuffs made its way into the dark, dingy dining room of the Black family house, the room rang with Sirius’s furious shouts as he raged. He wasn’t the only one, but his reaction was the most volatile. The chairs and table were rubble by the time he wound down, his energy spent. He staggered back, leaning against the wall, wand tip burning like an ember. Remus then jumped in with Arthur to fix the furniture, watching his friend closely, his lips set in a firm line of worry. 

Not long after that, Remus retrieved a bottle of firewhiskey and ushered an exhausted and defeated Sirius into the kitchen. Of all the rooms in the house, only the kitchen possessed any sort of homely feel. It had a friendly feeling absent of pureblood bigotry sprawled in every inch of the decor. The stove was on, keeping the room pleasantly warm. 

Sirius had sunken into one of his sullen silences. One hand resting on the top of his drink, the other supporting his head, his dark blue eyes were unreadable. He had recovered much of his health while hiding in his family home, now fed three square meals a day and as well groomed as he used to be. Yet twelve years of Azkaban had left a permanent mark. His gaze would often turn hollow as he sunk into bad memories, a horrible hopelessness would bleaken his usually lively features. It was in those moments that Lupin felt guilt the keenest. 

“Sedition.” Sirius finally broke the silence, life returning to his eyes as he raised his gaze to look at his old friend. “How can any man in his right mind accuse a fifteen-year-old boy of that ?”

Remus left out a huff, giving Sirius a firm look. “Fudge isn’t in his right mind.”

Sirius let out a soft snort. “Either that or he’s been imperiused.”

Remus finished his glass of firewhiskey and pursed his lips, drumming the worn table surface with his chewed nails.  

“It’s rather ironic. Fudge is using Harry as a scapegoat to convince the public that he is the menace threatening the peace where really, Harry is the reason why there is peace in the first place.” He reached for the bottle and topped up his glass. Sirius rolled his head on his hand, his expression darkening.

“There is just no way that the Wizengamot would pass a prison sentence for Harry. It would cause an uprising. Too many lost family to Voldemort and his followers. Even if Fudge somehow convinces them that Harry made everything up about Voldemort and used the lie to rally up troops to march on the Ministry, at the very least he’ll have his wand snapped but to send a minor to Azkaban?” Sirius shook his head. “I can picture Crouch ordering it, like how he sent me to prison without a trial, but I thought those times had passed.”

Sirius downed the rest of his drink and then held out a hand for the bottle. Remus passed it over to him, watching his friend carefully. 

“He faces at the worst a few months in Azkaban. As much as Fudge wants to dress up the supposed crimes, Harry and his friends didn’t attack anyone or launch any sort of hostile coup. Really, all Harry has done is speak out against the Minister and dispute his authority.” Remus said once Sirius finished filling up his drink. Sirius looked up, drying a wry grimace.

“And aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive,” Sirius pointed out roughly as he filled his glass. 

“Which thankfully Fudge is unaware of.”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t know. When I used the floo to talk to Harry before Christmas, Umbridge nearly caught us. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m brought up in Harry’s questioning. Especially when he was the one who helped me escape…” He set the bottle down. “Harry’s nose isn’t exactly squeaky clean. No thanks to me.”

Their conversation stopped as they both heard the careful thud of the front door behind closed. Sirius twisted in his seat, looking through the open doorway. He glanced at Remus.

“Are we expecting anyone?”

Both listened to the approaching footsteps. Remus noted the lack of the thunking fake leg so it ruled out Moody. And the portrait of Sirius’s mother hadn’t been triggered, so it wasn’t Tonks. There was a soft knock at the door to the kitchen and it swung open. In the doorway was the tall, imposing form of Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

He stepped inside, giving the bottle of firewhiskey an amused look. 

“Hmm that appears to be a trend at the moment,” he remarked, striding inside. He was still dressed in his Auror robes, raising his wand as he summoned a glass to himself. “Is Arthur here?”

“No, he went back to The Burrow about an hour ago,” Remus said, leaning back in his seat. “Have you just come from the Ministry?”

“I have and I’m very grateful that you’re still here,” Kingley said, settling in the seat next to him. He set his glass down and Sirius immediately filled it. 

“Me?” Remus asked, a little alarmed. “Why?”

Kingsley responded by reaching into his robes. He drew out an envelope, the parchment crisp and formal. He placed the letter on the table and pushed it towards Remus. Both he and Sirius looked down at it in surprise. 

“I told Amelia that I know how to find you. No one questioned it,” Kingsley explained. “I can tell you what it says, but it’s better that you read it yourself.” 

Remus turned it, letting out a breath. The purple seal was unmistakable. 

“A letter from the Ministry hand delivered by an Auror. Why does this feel ominous?” Lupin said dryly as he opened it. Kingsley didn’t respond, only sipping at his drink. His shoulders dropped and he shared a look with Sirius. He cracked open the seal and took out the letter, unfolding it carefully and went to read. 

 

Dear Remus Lupin, 

As you are no doubt aware, we currently have Harry Potter in our custody within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while we investigate the exposed conspiracy that he is a suspected accomplice of. It is unclear at present how long our investigation will take, however, Mr Potter’s personal circumstances place us in an awkward position. Ordinarily, once we have concluded our investigations and are ready to place charges, the accused would be expected to remain under house arrest until their trial. However, Mr Potter does not have a magical residence that would be suitable for the conditions of his detention. As he also does not have a valid magical guardian, we must unfortunately make arrangements for Mr Potter to be made a ward of the Ministry. This will mean that Mr Potter will be in for a lengthened stay within our accommodations here in the Department and will be staying here until the charges against him are dropped or a conviction is made.

The reason why I am relaying this information to you is because Mr Potter named you as his emergency contact. As you are the only adult wizard who has any role of responsibility towards him, I believe it best that you are well informed of the situation. That is why I am also granting you visitation rights. I also would like to inform you that Mr Potter has not named any legal representatives. He reserves the right to meet with a legal aide while the investigation is underway. You will be allowed to make any arrangements for him on his behalf.

I do hope that if you make a visit, you will take time to meet me. There are other matters regarding Mr Potter’s case that are sensitive and I wish to only disclose in private. I look forward to seeing you again, Remus. I only regret that we must meet again in such circumstances. 

Yours sincerely, 

Madame Amelia Bones

Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

 

Surprise, relief and anger all merged together, leaving Remus in a shocked daze as he lowered the letter. He mutely handed it over to Sirius who took it up at once. Once he processed the information, his thoughts a little sluggish thanks to the whiskey, he looked over to Kingsley.

“Harry named me as his contact?” He asked. That piece of information was the hardest to process. Harry named him? A registered werewolf who he only knew because he taught him for one year? 

“It was very smart of him.” Kingsley said over his glass. “I expected him to name Arthur, but you are the better choice. Arthur’s already under a lot of suspicion following Voldemort’s attack while he was guarding the Department of Mysteries. Actually, that’s why I hoped he was here. I have a feeling he might be called in for questioning about his family’s relationship with Harry.”

Remus stared at Kingsley, alarmed. “Is Fudge going to accuse him of conspiracy too? Me as well for being named as Harry’s contact?” 

“Fudge has no say in the investigation,” Kingsley assured him. “Amelia has full jurisdiction-.”

Sirius then slammed the letter down on the table once he finished reading. 

“They’re keeping him locked up in the Ministry until the trial? He’s a sitting duck in there! ”  

Kingsley sighed, running a hand over his shaved scalp. Remus only noticed then how tired the Auror was. 

“I’m in charge of his security, Sirius. Guards are posted outside his room around the clock-.”

“They got to Sturgis. What’s to say they can’t get to one of your guards?” Sirius interrupted, his eyes wide with panic. 

“Any attempt to move Harry out of his room without authorisation would trigger an alarm. One that locks down the entire floor. It would take a siege to get Harry out of the Ministry. A siege that Voldemort is not at present strong enough to attempt.”

Sirius and Kingsley held eye contact for a few moments. Sirius furious, Kingsley calm and controlled, but assertive. Sirius looked away, sighing heavily. 

“How long do you think we have to wait for the trial?” Remus said, moving the subject away from Voldemort. 

“Once the interview process is over, Fudge can then present his prosecution to the Wizengamot. He has already underestimated Harry, however. I don’t think he expected Harry to be as smart as he is.” Kingsley said, the pride evident in his voice. “He’s already making his defence and disputing the charges, making us work harder to pin anything on him.”

“Did you see him today?” Sirius asked, his voice low with emotion. Kingsley gave a small nod.

“Briefly. I paid him a visit before signing off for the day to give him his glasses back.” Kingsley drank some more whiskey. “I had them charmed so they can’t be smashed. It was a good excuse to get to see him.”

Remus shared another look with Sirius.

“And… how is he?”

“Bored,” Kingsley said. “But better than yesterday. He told me that Amelia spoke with him in private and that she’s willing to help him get dirt on Fudge.”

“That’s good news and all, but what dirt is there?” Sirius asked, picking at the table with a long nail. “Fudge is pretty good at covering his arse.”

Kingsley knocked back the rest of his whiskey.

“That’s exactly what we need to expose,” Kingsley said then cleared his throat. “Fudge has been hamstringing the DMLE for years now. First he overruled our jurisdiction when it came to you,” he nodded at Sirius, “using dementors to hunt you down rather than letting us do our jobs. He did the same thing in June when he overruled us when it came down to interrogating Barty Crouch Junior. The main suspect rather conveniently lost his soul and his testimony with it.”

Sirius growled low and drank more firewhiskey, his eyes dark and menacing. 

“Amelia is covertly running an inquiry into the miscarriages of justice. It will be discovered soon enough, but Fudge is more preoccupied with burying Harry. The more focused he is with discrediting Harry and Dumbledore, the more time we have to build our case against him. ” Kingsley wore a grim smile. “A case that will serve as a very good defence for Harry and he’s already laying the groundwork for us.”

Remus’s gaze drifted over to the letter that Amelia Bones sent him.

“I’ll go to the Ministry tomorrow,” Remus said then, his gaze lifting to look over to Kingsley. “I think it might be best if you meet me before I go into the Department. I might have Madame Bones’s approval… but I’m still a registered werewolf.” His tone turned bitter. 

“Of course.” Kingsley nodded, his smile small and subdued. Sirius sullenly drank his whiskey, his displeasure at being unable to see Harry himself evident. He didn’t suggest going as a dog to accompany Remus at least. Since Harry had expressed his opinions about Sirius taking risks, he had been close-lipped about the subject. It had shocked him more than he let on how much Harry was more like Lily than James. 

“I’ll be staying here, as always,” Sirius grumbled into his glass as he drank the rest of his whiskey. He then nodded at Remus’s glass. “You might want to stop drinking. Can’t go into the Ministry smelling like a whiskey keg.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I thought I’m the responsible one.”

“You are. That’s why you’re the one Harry named as his contact. You didn’t go after Peter in a blind rage and get yourself framed for murder when you should have been looking after your one-year-old godson who’d just been orphaned.” Sirius said as he stood up, taking the bottle as he did.

“Sirius…” Remus began. Sirius shook his head. 

“Don’t bother, Moony.” He lifted the bottle. “I’ll cover for this.” He turned his face away as he went to leave. Remus watched him leave, anguished and concerned, but over the last few months of rekindling their friendship, Remus learnt that Sirius needed space when he sunk into his self-loathing. 

“Good night, Shacklebolt,” Sirius said before leaving, giving the auror a half-hearted wave before slipping out the kitchen.

“Black.” Kingsley said in response. Sirius offered a grim smile in return and left. Both Remus and Kingsley listened to his fading footsteps as he went to make his usual journey up to the master bedroom where Buckbeak was. 

Weary, bone-tired all of a sudden, Remus sighed and finished his whiskey. Kingsley’s eyes were unreadable as he watched the empty doorway where Sirius had vanished. 

“Albus is worried about him,” Kingsley said quietly. Remus looked up, meeting the dark enigmatic eyes. Remus didn’t need to question who he meant. 

“So am I,” he said softly, looking down into his empty glass. “It’s not just Harry that needs help. If there is a chance that Harry can be believed… if there is even the slightest hope that we can prove Sirius’s innocence…”

He sighed again, closing his eyes. Kingsley reached a hand out and clasped his shoulder, making him look up at him. 

“I swear to you, I will make sure Sirius gets his trial. Once Harry is exonerated and Fudge deposed, he’ll be a free man.” He then smiled and finished his drink. “Maybe then, I’ll actually be arresting the real criminals… not school children. And then our fight won’t be in the shadows any more.”

Remus smiled and raised his empty glass to that. Kingsley winked, bringing out his wand. He tapped Remus’s glass and then his own, refilling both. 

“Until then however, I can settle for being a rebel working against a corrupt government.” He raised his glass. A wolfish grin lifted Remus’s lip as he clinked his glass against Kingsley’s.

 

---

 

Harry Potter lay on his back on the bed in his jail cell. He was idly throwing a scrunched up ball of parchment up into the air and catching it over and over… and over again. His desk was strewn with other sheets of parchment covered in smudged charcoal markings. Some had his messy handwriting scribbled over, others he used to doodle and draw to pass the time. 

The kind woman who had sorted out his processing when he arrived, Amanda, had come by and checked in on him during his second day of detention. She even left a couple of books for him to read, clearly feeling sorry for the whole day of isolation that he would be subjected to instead of being interrogated all day. The books were sitting on the shelf. He knew the woman had meant well, but romance novels weren’t exactly his go-to choice of reading material to pass the time. 

He let the ball of parchment bounce off his forehead and roll onto the floor. He blew out an exasperated breath. He rolled his head over to look at the door, which he could now see thanks to having his glasses returned to him the night before. 

All in all, being in jail wasn’t terrible. It was a strange thing to admit. He suspected that had Fudge or Umbridge been responsible for his detention in the Ministry holding cells, things would be a lot different. Instead, he’d been given fresh bedlinens for his second day, fresh clothes as well. The biggest surprise had been the regular meals. Jail time in the Ministry was luxury compared his jail time at the Dursleys. The portion sizes had been more than generous and the food had been pretty good. He’d left his empty dinner plate on the tray by the hatch ready for whoever was responsible for his meals to arrive and remove it. He wondered why they didn’t use house elves. It was strange that he had qualified wizards delivering his food and seeing to his needs. He wondered if there was a canteen in the Ministry where the workers went on their breaks. Was he being given the same meals that the workers received?

Having a day to himself had helped him feel calmer about his situation. There was every opportunity to mistreat him while incarcerated, yet his handlers were keeping a close eye on his general needs. He could hear when the guard shift outside his cell changed every four hours. He listened in, but their conversations were just a low hum through the thick door and walls. He strongly doubted that Fudge would have posted a guard around the clock outside his cell nor taken seriously that Harry needed to be protected more than he needed to be guarded. 

The trudging sound of approaching footsteps had Harry springing up from the bed. Kingsley had visited him around a similar time after his dinner the day before. He snatched his plimsols from the floor and tugged them on just as the bolts slammed back from his door, unlocking it. 

Sure enough, Kingsley Shacklebolt entered his cell. His auror robes swished around him, his dragonhide boots causing his footsteps to be heavier and louder than the guards. His beam towards Harry’s direction was genuine. Harry straightened, giving him an assuring smile back. 

“Evening, Harry,” Kingsley greeted. He gave Harry’s desk a meaningful look. “I see you have got to work making your accommodations look like a teenager’s bedroom.” 

Harry followed his gaze and gave a dry chuckle. It was a mess. He couldn’t argue that. 

“Call it my little act of rebellion.” He said in return. Kingsley laughed back, nodding. He strode up to him. 

“Well, I won’t tell Fudge if you don’t. We wouldn’t want him to fine you for littering on top of everything else.” 

Surprised at the joke, Harry stared at him for a moment before laughing. Kingsley grinned at him. Seeing the Auror in a good mood had to bode well for him, especially if he was joking around. 

“Ah, good, you’ve eaten,” Kingsley then remarked on the tray on the floor, “we can go straight away. You have a visitor.”

Harry blinked, catching up. 

“What? But… how? Who?” He choked out the questions and saw Kingsley’s amused look. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He said, then his gaze dipped down to Harry’s hands. He sighed. “It’s policy to have inmates restrained when on civilian floors.” Harry’s heart sunk when Kingsley reached around his hips to the belt where he had his inhibitors hooked up. He heard the metallic clink as he retrieved them. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

He dipped his head down and stepped up to the Auror, lifting his arms up a little from where he had them dangling at his sides. Unlike when he had to manhandle him before in front of Fudge and Umbridge, Kingsley was gentle as he clipped the solid bands of metal around his offered wrists. 

“I guess your hands are just as tied, right?” Harry remarked once Kingsley finished and he awkwardly held his bound hands close to his chest. Kingsley’s mouth jerked up in the corner and he nodded. 

“I’m afraid so. I have to maintain appearances.” He said quietly and took Harry’s arm. “Remember, there are eyes and ears everywhere.” 

Understanding, Harry gave him a nod. He had to act as a subdued prisoner to avoid any suspicion that he was getting support. He walked out of his cell, spying the guard who was on duty waiting in the hallway. He recognised the man as Foyle, one of the more friendly guards. He nodded at Harry as he left. 

Reaching the processing room, Harry saw that the enchanted windows were dark to indicate that it was late. It was quiet and he could see through the staff entrance to the reception that barely anyone was in. The silence was eerie. 

Kingsley took him away towards a door that he hadn’t been through yet. Above he read a sign - ‘restricted access beyond this point’. Kingsley opened the door, taking Harry through as if they were supposed to be there. Harry found himself in a narrow corridor, the right side set with doors. Plaques read the names of the staff members who the offices belonged to. It was still deathly silent and he assumed that all the staff had gone home for the evening. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked Kingsley in a whisper. 

“These are the administration offices - where all the paperwork gets processed and filed. It links the detention block to the Head offices and the Auror office.” Kingsley looked down at him. “You’ve been here before when you came with Arthur before your Hearing.”

“Oh, right.” Harry looked behind him, seeing the door they had come through was shut. “I take it that it’s late if no one’s here.”

Kingsley nodded. They reached the door at the end. Kingsley opened it and Harry then knew where he was. He could see the opening that led into the Auror office where he knew he’d find many wanted posters of Sirius and likely the escaped Death Eaters. He could hear some activity. Unsurprisingly, Aurors worked night shifts. 

“This way.” Kingsley told him, taking him away from the Auror office. Harry’s head was straining around to look in the direction of the Improper Use Of Magic offices. He wondered if Arthur Weasley was working late as well. 

The decor changed from an office environment quickly as Kingsley took him into the heart of the operation in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The windows were more ornate, the doors now panelled and glossy. They reached the end of the main corridor where they came across the first people in the department. Harry felt a stab of nerves when he saw that they were guards, dressed in uniforms that were a lot smarter and sharper than the guards in the detention block. His gaze moved from their faces, not wanting to be caught staring. He looked up at the plaque beside the double doors they were guarding. 

The Wizengamot Assembly Hall. 

Kingsley didn’t take him towards the end of the hallway, inside pulling Harry to the side in front of a black panelled door. He quickly looked over to the brass plaque beside it and let out a breath. 

Head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

“Won’t… this get back to Fudge,” Harry said as quietly as he could under his breath. He looked up at Kingsley who gave him the barest of nods. Not speaking, Kingsley reached for the knocker on the door. Harry looked up at it, seeing it was in the design of an eagle gripping the ring in its talons. Kingsley tapped the ring sharply against door. 

The eagle came to life. 

“State your business.” The metal bird demanded. 

“Senior Auror Shacklebolt with Inmate Potter.”

Inmate Potter? Harry’s stomach seized at the way he was addressed. He knew that he was classified as an ‘inmate’ but it was still galling to hear it said so bluntly. 

The door clicked as the magical locks disengaged. Kingsley pushed the door open and guided Harry inside. The moment they stepped in, Harry could feel the brush of spells raking over him. He bristled at the touch, but then turned sharply to look behind him when the door shut at his back. 

“We’re clear.” Kingsley said to him. Harry looked back around and then went still as he took in his surroundings. He expected the Head of the Department to have lush accommodations in the Ministry, but he didn’t expect it to be as different from the box office Mr Weasley shared with his colleague Perkins in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. 

It was similar in size to Dumbledore’s office with a high vaulted ceiling. Against the walls, filling every available space, were bookshelves. Every one of them was crammed with leather bound volumes, varying in size and colour. They stretched up to the ceiling which he noticed was home to a few fluttering lilac memos. 

In front of him was a round table of granite, highly polished, with many chairs around it. It appeared like some sort of conference table. Beyond, he could see the doorway that led into another room, the door slightly ajar. There were doors on his left and right that led to other rooms in the office, but it was clear that his destination was in front. He could hear voices through the crack. 

He gave a jump when the cuffs around his wrists suddenly loosened and Kingsley tugged them off. Harry sighed, the relief immediate. He brought his arms around himself protectively and looked up, meeting Kingsley’s gaze.

“We are well within our rights to bring you here while in our jurisdiction, Harry, but you are right to suspect that Fudge will not be pleased.” Kingsley said. Though he had removed the inhibitors, he still had hold of Harry’s arm. He led him further into the room towards the office at the back. “Think of this as a little power play between two very important people.”

“And I’m right in the middle of it?”

Kingsley grimaced. “You are.” He nodded over to the table as they passed it. “This was where your Hearing was originally supposed to take place before Fudge overruled protocol and had it moved to the Courtrooms.” 

Harry frowned at that. “This is a lot less intimidating.”

“It is,” Kingsley agreed. He then came to a halt when they were a few feet from the door. He looked down at Harry. “But this is a lot more serious. Come on. They’re waiting.”

Harry gave a miserable nod. It wasn’t just his wand on the line and his attendance at Hogwarts. If he didn’t find a way to dispute Fudge’s charges before the Wizengamot, he could be spending a long time in a much less comfortable prison cell. 

That is until Voldemort comes along to finish me off.

He shuddered. 

Don’t think about that. 

He shook himself mentally and focused instead on putting one foot in front of the other. He had to believe that there was a way out of the trap he’d fallen into. Kingsley pushed the door open, allowing them into the office before. Harry saw even more book shelves, a huge desk and…

“ Remus! ” He choked the name out in utter surprise. Sure enough, standing previously with his back to the door, was Remus Lupin. He turned to see Harry and Kingsley enter. The familiar small, fond smile was on his face when his amber eyes found Harry and lit up at the sight of him. Harry noted that he was dressed in less shabby clothes than usual, his dark robes not threadbare or patched. Harry noticed the others in the room, but paid them little heed, his attention focused on the sight… the proof … that things were becoming better. 

“Harry.” Remus gasped out his name and started towards him at once. 

Amelia made her presence known, moving quickly from behind her desk. Her monocle flashed in the firelight as she came around. Harry then noticed the third person in the room who was standing to the side. Her arms were folded, her expression stern, but it softened when she met his look. He recognised the lime-green robes she was wearing and, at once, alarm prickled through him. 

Why is a healer here?

He looked up when Remus was right in front of him. To his surprise, the man pulled him into a hug. 

“Skies above, it’s good to see you.” Remus said at once, bringing both his arms around him. It was the first time Lupin had hugged him and Harry wasn’t sure how to react. He and Sirius embraced often, their relationship much closer. Remus then held him out, hands holding his upper arms. He searched Harry intently as if looking for any signs he was hurt. 

“How are you holding up?” He asked him, his tone serious. Harry’s shoulders slumped and he let of a breath of relief.

“Better now.” He said honestly. “I… I didn’t think I was allowed visitors.” The point was more directed to Amelia Bones who came to join them. 

“Cornelius is currently handling a lot of backlash from the Wizengamot that he didn’t anticipate. Denying you rights to visitation on the loophole that you have no close family members has seriously damaged his public image. Many believe he is exploiting your situation to isolate you - which he was.”

Remus’s face twisted with rage. “He only agreed to allow me to visit you because he knows I’m not a threat. I’m a registered werewolf and have no legal standing. Fudge wants you alone in the courtroom.” 

Harry looked up at him, startled at the unrestrained anger and hate on the normally composed face of his ex-professor. 

“He’s banking on me being unable to present a defence.” He said. Remus’s shoulders slumped and he nodded. 

“And that is why we are here - to get started on exactly that,” Amelia said, and gestured over to the seat in front of her desk. “Take a seat, Harry. Remus?” 

Lupin nodded and went to take the seat next to the one Amelia pointed out for Harry to take. Harry looked over his shoulder, seeing that Kingsley was standing back. He appeared to be on guard. Harry took in a breath and went to take a seat, his nerves triggered as he went to join his allies at the desk. Amelia settled down in her seat, moving around files before her. As Harry sat down, he recognised the purple file that she moved in position in front of her. 

Remus pushed his chair closer to Harry before he joined him. Harry looked across at him, grateful when he gave Harry a smile. Amelia then looked up to the healer who was still standing back. 

“Have you ever received a full medical and magical diagnosis scan before, Harry?” Amelia asked once she had sorted out her desk. Harry blinked and glanced over to Remus. The man gave him the barest of shakes of his head.

“No… I don’t think so.”

“Not even last June after… the Triwizard Tournament?”

Harry stilled at the sudden mention of that event. He gripped at his robes, his hands on his lap, and he shuffled to the edge of his seat.

“I’m not sure. I was… um… given a Dreamless Sleep Potion when I was brought to the Hospital Wing. It’s possible Madame Pomfrey checked me over while I was unconscious but I… I don’t know.” He looked curiously at the healer. 

Madame Bones made an impatient huff and rested her fingers together on top of his file. 

“She did not. Results of a scan would have found its way to our medical records.” The Healer spoke for the first time. She nodded down at the desk. “That is all we have for Mr Potter’s medical history.”

Harry looked down at the purple file and felt a little intruded upon that they were talking about his medical history. Surely that was private? 

So private, it doesn’t exist. 

He frowned. Amelia had told him that his records were very blank and likely redacted on purpose, but she had pointed the finger at Fudge. Madame Pomfrey didn’t work for Fudge.

She worked for Dumbledore. 

Amelia raised a brow at the Healer. “Does Madame Pomfrey run scans for any other student?”

“Not without a parent’s consent, no.” The woman in the lime-green robes folded her arms again and she scowled. “That may explain why she did not scan Mr Potter when he was her patient.”

“What… what exactly would a scan show?” Harry asked, interrupting. The Healer then looked directly at him.

“Every injury, ailment and malady a patient has had over the course of their life - magical and non-magical. It is very invasive which is why it is always done with a patient’s consent.”

Harry then turned to look at Amelia Bones, his heart jumping in his chest. 

“You want me to consent to one?” He asked her. She held his gaze, eyes unblinking. 

“I do, yes.” Her stern eyes moved over to Remus. “That is partly why I moved to have a temporary guardian established for you. Remus is here to support you in your decision.”

At that, Remus reached over and patted Harry on the shoulder to show that he was indeed there for emotional backup. 

“Harry…” Amelia hesitated after saying his name. “You should also know that the results of a full medical diagnostic scan - performed at the hand of a qualified Healer like Celia here - can be used as evidence in a court case.”

He stared at her, blood draining from his face. His left hand went over to the back of his right where the scars were etched into his skin. If he agreed to having his medical history recorded, they would find out about the many detentions where he had been forced to carve into his own hand. Umbridge’s sadism would be exposed, black and white. 

And yet…

Nervous, he fiddled with his fingers. He knew just how extensive his medical history would end up. Not just for the amount of injuries he amassed while at Hogwarts, but before then. Every time Dudley had broken his nose, every cracked rib, every black eye… the marks on his back where Vernon took his belt to him when he got into trouble for being on the school roof. 

“It will also be confidential,” the healer said quietly when Harry squirmed in silence. “What is made public is up to you and you alone, Mr Potter. As a Healer, I am bound to patient confidentiality. Anything you wish to keep to yourself, I will redact from the record.”

His anxiety must have been very noticeable.

“Harry,” Remus whispered to him. Harry turned to him and the man leaned to his ear. “A Healer’s Oath is unbreakable. Not even Fudge will be able to get out whatever’s redacted.” 

Harry nodded shallowly and then lifted his chin. “And will he be able to dispute what it records?”

Amelia gave him a warm smile and she shared a look with Remus. 

“The results cannot be falsified. Whatever it discovers about your medical history, whatever you agree to have released as evidence, will be documented as fact.”

Rems leaned towards his ear again. 

“It will pick up any curses that have been used on you,” he said under his breath, “Fudge won’t be able to deny that you were cursed that night - and he won’t be able to argue that you cursed yourself either.”

Harry turned, his eyes going wide. He stared at him, searching his face. 

That hurt, didn’t it Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you?

He flinched as the memory flicked in the back of his mind. Him, barely able to stand as he shook violently with the tremors of the Cruciatus Curse plaguing his muscles, while his ears rang with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter. 

“It’ll be seen as proof?” Harry asked him, his heart starting to race. “That I really was… that he…” He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say the word ‘tortured’. “That I was kidnapped.”

Remus’s face tensed, his jaw clenching. He swallowed and nodded. Harry felt winded. The whole time, there had been a way to prove that he’d been at the end of Voldemort’s wand, and no one bothered to bring it up with him. Remus might not know exactly what Voldemort had done to him in front of his Death Eaters, though he clearly knew enough to guess that he’d been cursed. But Dumbledore knew… and Sirius knew. 

Madame Pomfrey knew. She’d seen him suffering the after effects. 

“Why hasn’t anyone told me this before?” He then said. Remus focused on him and his expression grew haggard. “Why haven’t we thought to use me as proof?”

“You’re not a piece of evidence, Harry,” Remus said quietly, “but it should have come up - you’re right.”

Harry let his anger and frustration go. While it hurt desperately that there had been a way for him to defend himself from the accusations that he was a liar the whole time, it was being offered to him now. He had the chance to stick under Fudge’s nose that he’d been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse twice that night. He could watch the man squirm and try to come up with some excuse that his torture was a ‘tragic accident’ just like Cedric’s murder. 

And he could expose Umbridge. 

He had to do it. Even if it would unearth his trauma and his miserable childhood, it was key to everything. It was the ammunition Amelia Bones needed to go after Fudge and his cronies. 

“I’ll do it.” He said firmly, lifting his chin to stare at the Head of the DMLE. “Do I… need to sign anything or…?”

Amelia gave a curt nod. She summoned up a sheet and passed it over the desk towards him. She inked a quill and placed it on the top. Harry pulled his seat with him to get close to the desk. He read the official document, seeing the wand and bone logo of St Mungo’s at the top. He scanned over it, the document confirming what they told him about the scan and the means it could be used for. 

The healer had already filled out her part of the form. His part was blank. He picked up the quill and filled out his details. When he then reached the end and added his signature, the strokes of his name flashed white. 

“What was that?” He asked, suspicious. 

“A spell of authenticity. If someone had tried to fake your signature, it would have burst into flames.”

Huh. That’s kinda cool. 

He handed over the form to Amelia. Healer Travers then moved from her position as Amelia took the form and handed it to the healer. She took it and checked it over. She nodded, satisfied, then looked over to Harry. 

“I have brought my equipment with me and I can carry out the scan in the conference room through there.” She told him, stooping down to pick up a green satchel that had been stashed next to the desk. “We’ll have complete privacy.”

Harry glanced up at Remus, realising that he wouldn’t be able to witness the scan due to confidentiality purposes. He nervously got to his feet and shuffled towards the Healer who watched him with a kind smile. She was around the same age as Remus, perhaps younger, with brown hair cut in a bob around her round face. She reminded Harry a little of Neville. 

“Okay.”

Kingsley patted him on the back when they passed. Once he and the Healer were in the conference room, Kingsley shut the door behind them. 

“Try not to be nervous,” Healer Travers said to him over her shoulder. “I’ve done these hundreds of times. Do you want to pick a seat? You might be more comfortable sitting than standing.”

Harry followed her until she put her satchel on the stone table and opened it, bringing out different objects and setting them up. He approached carefully, grasping the back of one of the seats and pulled it out. She had set out a highly polished metal tablet, her wand, and a clipboard with several sheets of parchment affixed, ready for her to take notes. 

She took a sheet of parchment from the clipboard and set it over the highly polished tablet. It lodged into place in the centre. She took up her wand and approached him, quickly checking him over. 

“I’m afraid you are going to need to take off your glasses, Harry.” 

He reached up, a little alarmed that his hand was shaking, and removed them. She took them from him and set them aside. 

“This should only take a minute, but it will feel a little strange. Try not to move while the spell gets to work.”

She then swept her wand up, casting an arch of shimmering golden mist. It hung above Harry’s head, then began to descend. She paced around him, casting more mist. Harry watched nervously as the mist settled down on his head first, his skin tingling at once. He went rigid as it settled on his face and his shoulders, then his torso and legs. His robes were glittering from the mist and it then glowed brightly, magic passing through his clothes and touching his bare skin underneath. He could feel it touching him everywhere. As if he was submerged in it. It was between his toes, behind his ears… and even around his privates. 

He didn’t like it. His chest started to feel tight, but he didn’t move. The glow was bright around his face and the shimmering mist pressed on his eyes, registering the defects in his lenses.

“We’re nearly done, Harry,” Celia assured him as she paced to move in front, her wand still sweeping around him, sending more of the mist to settle over him. It pressed on him, pushing further, entering his body. It tingled his skin, thrummed in his muscles and then pushed on his bones, making him go rigid for a split second before it released him. 

“Well done… you did amazingly. I’m going to collect the results now, okay. Keep still. It will be over in a moment.”

Harry couldn’t see much past the mist in front of his eyes. He was trembling when he felt her lean over her, holding something in her hands. He heard her wand tap against something metallic, then the glow disappeared from his vision. He blinked, seeing her standing over him, holding the polished tablet. Runes were gleaming gold as she moved the tablet down his body and the mist swept up into the runes. When she reached his toes, she took a step back and put the tablet down on the table. Harry let out a breath and slumped back. 

“Are you okay?” She asked him. He swallowed.

“I didn’t like that at all.”

She gave an apologetic hum and went to her satchel, rummaging inside. She then pulled out something he did recognise. A bar of honeydukes chocolate. She snapped off a piece and handed it to him. He smiled, glancing over to the door where Remus was waiting. 

“I thought chocolate was for dementors.”

“It’s a medicine for a lot of things,” she said with a smirk and took a piece for herself. She then glanced down at the tablet. 

Her eyes widened and her smile completely disappeared. Harry looked at the tablet in alarm, seeing that the parchment was no longer blank. Words were printing across the sheet, line after line. She immediately snatched it up and then grabbed her quill. She handed both over to him. 

“When it’s done, strike through anything you want me to redact.” She said, her mouth set in a line. The way she looked at him then. 

Reluctantly, Harry dipped his gaze down, taking the objects offered to him. The tablet was warm under his touch, pulsing with magic. He skimmed over his patient details.

 

Patient name: Harry James Potter

Date of Birth: 31/07/1980

Gender: Male

Blood type: AB positive

Height: 5’ 6’’

Weight: 8st 9ib

 

Then it started to document his medical history. He felt violated again at once. He made it up to 1984 before he couldn’t read anymore. He looked up at Celia, horrified to see how she was still looking at him with unveiled sympathy and alarm. He held the quill in his hand, frozen, then he extended the tablet and the quill back to her. 

“Redact everything between October 1981 and September 1991.” He said, his hands shaking. She just stared at him. Her eyes trailed up to his forehead, to his scar, and then back down. Blinking. She slowly put a hand over her mouth. 

No… no…

“Please.” He whispered. “I can’t… if it gets out…”

“Does anyone know?” She whispered back. “Albus Dumbledore must have… Poppy…”

He licked at his lip and then risked a look down at the list of injuries he’d sustained while living at the Dursleys. Some he didn’t even remember - such as his fractured wrist he apparently received when he was three. Perhaps Vernon had pulled his arm a little too hard once. 

“If they did, nothing was done,” he said to her, then he raised the tablet at her again. “Please, it’s not what’s important right now.” 

Finally, she met his gaze and she took the tablet from him. She said nothing as she put it back on the table and stood over it. Harry gripped at his robes as she read over everything, then she brought over her wand and ran it over the parchment, burning out the lines of the evidence Harry didn’t want on record. 

Evidence of child abuse. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry.” She said as she blotted out his tragic past. He let out a breath. 

“So am I,” he said quietly. “But one fight at a time.”

When she finished, she handed the tablet back. “Here - you… you can remove anything else that you don’t wish to be on record. The purpose of this isn’t to treat you, after all.” 

He winced at the bitterness in her voice and he took the tablet back. The parchment was marked with angry black lines where she had burned the evidence away. Without the horrible list of cracked ribs and incidents of concussion facing him, he read through the list of his magical injuries. He crossed out a few things. The scan covered everything including silly injuries like when Dobby’s cursed bludger broke his arm and Lockhart vanished the bones instead of healing them. 

In the end, he kept only what he thought was important. 

 

31st October 1981

Dark magic anomaly located on upper cranium

 

12th June 1992

Cardiac arrest

 

20th May 1993

Large puncture wound in upper right arm

Basilisk venom contamination

 

24th June 1995

Acromantula bite to left thigh

Laceration to right forearm

Cruciatus Curse exposure - nerve scarring

Imperius Curse exposure

 

4th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 123

 

5th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 102

 

6th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 232

 

7th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 203

 

13th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 154

 

14th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 165

 

15th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 103

 

16th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 112

 

17th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 102

 

18th September 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 151

 

13th October 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 205

 

10th December 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 123

 

4th February

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 108

 

20th February 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 310

 

21st February 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 232

 

22nd February 1995

Cursed laceration to reverse of right hand x 50

 

A shrill whine went through his mind as he took in each and every detention he had sat with Umbridge. He focused on the detention he had when the Quibbler interview came out. Umbridge had made him stay until he was half delirious with blood loss. Seeing it printed before him, undeniable proof, made him feel half triumphant and half sickened. Umbridge had sat there and watched him cut into his own hand over a thousand times. She was truly monstrous. 

After he handed back the tablet and let Celia make an official record of his scan, he studied the back of his hand. It was beyond the normal level of cruelty to inflict that amount of pain on a person. 

“Before I release you back to join them, I need more information about some of the injuries that will likely be used as evidence.” Celia finished clearing away her equipment, leaving only her clipboard and the medical record that was now sealed in a scroll to be handed over. All evidence of his childhood was gone. 

She pulled a chair out, flicking her robes out before sitting opposite him. 

“Will you let me assess the damage done to your right hand?”

Just as he had done with Amelia, he extended out his scarred hand. Celia expelled a hard breath as she carefully took his hand in both hers. She gently ran her finger over the scars. 

“A blood quill,” she said under her breath. Her brown eyes flicked up to him. “Did a cursed quill do this to you?”

He dipped his chin in response. Suddenly, her open horror brought home to him exactly what had been done to him in those hours alone with Umbridge. He’d been systemically tortured. 

She let him take his hand back and started to write notes. Her expression morphed from one of horror to one of utter fury. 

“You were made to write the same line again and again until it no longer sealed over?” She asked him, her voice tight with rage. 

“Y-yes,” he said haltingly. She scribbled down more notes. 

“And did you have to continue even when it stopped healing?”

His breath hitched and he hesitated. Her eyes flicked up and her expression softened. She then reached across to him, resting her ink-spotted hand on his. 

“You’re doing really well, Harry, but I need to know the extent of damage.” 

He met her eyes. “Yeah… I had to continue when it stopped healing over.”

Celia’s eyes blazed and she looked back down, her quill scratching more and more notes. When she finished, she made a flourish that looked like her signature, then she removed the parchment, setting it on the table. Harry watched as it rolled itself up into a scroll and joined his record. 

“I need to ask you about the treatment you received for curse damage.” She let out a breath and stared across at him. “Poppy Pomfrey is very good at tending to backfiring hexes and potion spills, accidents that are common in a classroom. But we have specialists in St Mungo’s for a reason. Was a specialist consulted at any point during your visits to the Hospital Wing?”

He shook his head. “No, Madame Pomfrey was the only one who treated me.”

“You didn’t see a single Healer?” She then asked, clearly very shocked. “Even... after you had been subjected to two Unforgivable Curses?” 

“No.” He said quietly, gripping at his robes again. 

“Can you remember what treatment Poppy Pomfrey gave you for the Cruciatus Curse?”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “I… I… don’t really know. I was given a Dreamless Sleep Potion, like I said.”

Celia sighed and started to write notes again. “It is possible that you were kept in Hogwarts for your protection, but a Healer could have been transferred to treat you properly. It sounds as if Poppy believed bed rest sufficient enough to heal after being subjected to one of the worst Dark curses in existence.”

Harry looked down at his hands, his eyes stinging. It felt so horribly unfair that he had been deprived of proper medical attention. He had spent days in that bed, tormented with painful spasms that he’d been told would fade on their own. 

“I… need to ask you about the Cruciatus. The scan picked up the curse, but no other details.” She sighed and looked down at her notes. “Can you tell me how many times the Cruciatus Curse was used on you?” Her voice turned into a calm, professional tone. Harry tensed and then answered.

“Twice.”

Her quill noted that down. 

“Can you remember how long the curses were held on you?” She looked up at him, her eyes warm with understanding. “I need to know so I can record the true cruelty of the acts performed on you.” 

He could understand. The record had just said ‘Cruciatus curse exposure’. Fudge could easily brush it off as him being tapped with a weakly cast curse or cursed like Fleur and Cedric had been by Krum when he was imperiused.

“The first one… maybe around half a minute.” He said. Celia gasped audibly but she didn’t look up. “The second was shorter.”

“Thank you,” Celia said softly. “Last question and… this is really important. I need you to describe the pain as detailed as you can.”

Harry suspected this would come next. He nodded in response, hearing the ringing laughter in the back of his mind and the explosive sound of his own screams. 

“It was like… every bit of me was under attack, like there were thousands and thousands of knives stabbing me over and over. Like… I was burning alive and the pain was so bad, it should be killing me but it just kept going.” His vision went unfocused as his words came free. “T-that’s the worst bit. No end, no relief… it didn’t stop and I just wanted it to end.” He sighed. “I wanted to die.”

Celia stopped her writing when he admitted the last bit. He looked up and saw her eyes were closed. 

“Sorry. That was a bit much,” he said hesitantly. She opened her eyes and stared at him. 

“It’s exactly what makes it irrefutable,” she said softly, giving a light sniff as she then signed the last document. The parchment joined the others. 

She got up from her seat, moving to the table. Harry looked away pointedly when she wiped at her face. She pushed the three scrolls to the side and finished packing up. 

“I read your interview,” she said suddenly once she closed her satchel. “The one you gave for the Quibbler.” 

Harry, realising that they were done, got up from his seat. He hesitantly moved towards her. 

“Do you want me to sign your edition?” He asked, trying to lift the mood. She glanced over at him, brow raised in surprise that he was joking after they just spoke about something so horrific. She then smiled and laughed.

“You should think about being a Healer with that sense of humour… but no, I’m not asking for your autograph.” She picked up the bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “When I read about how you described the Cruciatus, I knew you were telling the truth. It’s why I work with the DMLE. I verify testimonies.” 

She picked up the three scrolls and held them out for him. He frowned, wondering why she was giving them to him. He took them, holding them carefully, fully aware that they were incredibly important. 

“I believe you without a shadow of a doubt, Harry Potter.” She then nodded down to the scrolls. “Take those to Amelia. It’s more than enough for her to make her move.”

She then held out her hand to him. Understanding that she was going for a handshake, Harry transferred the scrolls to his left hand and took her hand. She smiled at him, then took his glasses from the table and put them back on his face. 

“If you ever need to talk about… what I know about your past, remember my name - Celia Travers.” She said, her smile fading. “I’m oathbound to keep it confidential, but if you want to talk, I am willing to listen.”

He gave her a small smile. 

“I need to get out of this mess first but…” He sighed. “Thank you.” 

Notes:

Will aim to get the second half of the secret meeting done asap

Chapter 4: I Must Not Tell Lies - Part 2

Summary:

The Lions make their move.

When Kingsley shut the door behind Harry and the Healer, Remus wondered if he should have argued to be present. He stared where the back of Harry’s head had been. His unruly black locks had been stuck up exactly like his father’s hair. It shuddered through him, the wrongness of the whole situation. The unbearable helplessness as he saw the fear in Harry’s eyes as he sat at his side, trying his hardest to be brave.

He’d felt dizzy with relief when he saw Harry healthy and unharmed. When he hugged the boy then searched him for any signs that Fudge had dared to mistreat James and Lily’s precious child, he started to understand the position he found himself in. He was Harry’s only support. Sirius couldn’t be there for him. Dumbledore… well… he was the reason Harry needed support in the first place. 

I won’t fail you, Harry. I promise. 

“Remus.” The sound of his name brought his attention back over to the formidable older sister of an old friend of his. He grew aware of Kingsley moving to join them. He met Amelia’s gaze. 

“Yes, Amelia?”

“Does the name ‘Hermione Granger’ mean anything to you?”

A mixture of feelings shot through Remus in quick succession. Fear came first. Fear that something had happened to Hermione as well as Harry - that Umbridge and Fudge hadn’t been satisfied with just tormenting one kid. Then came confusion. Surely he would know if something had happened to Hermione as well. Kingsley would have said something. Harry definitely would have started their reunion asking after her. 

Last was hope. 

“Yes, of course.” He said, looking over as Kingsley went to sit in the chair Harry had left unoccupied. “I taught Hermione and Harry both when I was a professor at Hogwarts. She’s a close friend of his.”

Amelia nodded at his answer, leaving him relieved. He knew Hermione outside of his position as a professor, of course, having spent time at the same table in Grimmauld Place during the Summer and Christmas. She reached for a folded letter at her side, opening out two sheets of crinkled parchment, smiling knowingly to herself. 

“I believe this may be of interest to you.” She said, holding out the letter to him. Bewildered, he leaned forwards and paused when he recognised the handwriting covering both sides of each sheet. He had read his fair share of essays in that particular neat hand. Hermione’s handwriting. Astonished to find something that she had written to the office of the Head of the DMLE, he brought his chair closer to the desk. Remus let out a sigh and took up Hermione’s letter.

 

Dear Amelia Bones,

 

I am writing on behalf of every student who was part of the defence study club dubbed ‘Dumbledore’s Army’. 

We are not child soldiers. We are not conspirators trying to destabilise Cornelius Fudge’s authority as Minister for Magic. We are not blind puppets following the lead of Harry Potter, manipulated into believing a web of lies.

We agreed to establish Dumbledore’s Army, or as we refer to it ‘the DA’, for our own sakes. We had to take matters into our own hands because we no longer trust those who are responsible for our education, welfare and protection. We do not believe that the Ministry has our best interest at heart. We do not believe that the Ministry values our safety over their public image. We do not believe that the Ministry’s current presence in Hogwarts is for our benefit, but in fact is there to subjugate us, subdue our happiness and control our freedoms. 

As the future generation of the magical population, we believed - foolishly - that we had some value to those in a position of power. Instead, we are treated like criminals in our own home. Those of us who try to speak out are forced into silence. We cannot write to our families as our correspondences are monitored. We cannot speak to our professors and ask for help as our educators have also been muzzled as effectively as we have been. 

I’m writing this knowing full well that sending a letter to the Ministry will be noticed. I know that the so-called Headmistress will move to silence and discredit me. But I will not be silent while the Minister uses our club as a means to bury Harry Potter in his schemes to silence him forever. We will be heard and I will face the consequences for standing up against my oppressors. 

I am not asking you to believe about Lord Voldemort’s return. I am asking you to see that no power of authority should treat us as we are being treated. 

The Ministry’s response here at Hogwarts is not a rational reaction to one student speaking in defiance. Since the first week of this year, Harry Potter has been subjected to systematic corporal punishment at the hand of the Ministry’s appointment as Professor of Defence Against The Dark Arts. His detentions last into the early hours of the morning and the manner of punishment has left him visibly scarred. If this is not enough, he has been constantly targeted and unfairly disciplined. He has never once complained about the injustice of his treatment and only stands by his convictions. If he was indeed lying about Lord Voldemort’s return, he would not remain so resolute in the face of such harsh treatment. 

He tried to assemble a group to teach fellow students the defensive magic being denied to us. In response, the Ministry made all groups illegal and the involvement in an unapproved group punishable by expulsion. He carried out an interview during a visit to Hogsmeade and as a consequence, he was banned from visiting the village and the magazine which printed the interview was banned from the school - possession of which is expulsion. I must add that the punishment for these decrees is worse than if a student is caught attacking another, worse than discriminatory language and behaviour and also worse than if a student uses an illegal love potion on another student without their consent. The Ministry views illegal assembly and possessing a publication as more heinous crimes than aggravated assault. 

We need our voices to be heard. We are not criminals. We are victims of paranoid, power-hungry cowards who would rather we be meek and subdued followers than live free and equal lives as we have a right to. 

Please. Free us from injustice before it is too late.

 

Hermione Jean Granger 

 

Remus put down the letter in shock. Amelia moved between him and Kingsley, setting down two glasses of what looked and smelled like Firewhiskey. 

“I must admit, I was surprised to learn that Miss Granger is a witch of sixteen years. She writes like an equal rights’ activist.” Amelia remarked, standing between them. She rested her fingers on the parchment, scrutinising it through her monocle. Kingsley took up the glass of firewhiskey at once. She glanced across at Remus. “You know her better than me. I assume she is not one to embellish the truth.”

He shook his head, trying to displace the shock. He gratefully took the offered drink. 

“Not at all. Hermione Granger is a child prodigy - so much so that during the year that I taught her, she had special access to a time turner for her to dedicate as much time to her studies as possible. She eventually handed it in when the stress pushed her to the limit, but I assure you, she is not one to cause trouble for the sake of it.”

He did his best to push aside his own guilt. He hadn’t been alone in encouraging both Harry and Hermione in running their extra-curricular club despite the risk of what discovery brought (though he, Sirius and Mundungus had kept the information from Mrs Weasley). Harry and Hermione both had been resolute in that their secret was safe. Neither of them believed they would be betrayed as they had been. 

“I received this letter this morning.” Amelia informed him. “As melodramatic as it is, I cannot deny that Miss Granger raises some very alarming points about Dolores Umbridge’s changes to the school discipline system. Corporal punishment was banned ten years ago when we evoked laws to protect young children from violence. If any students are being harmed at the hand of a professor, it must be reported to the authorities.”

Kingsley sighed into his glass.

“Unless, of course, the students are being harmed by the authorities.” 

Amelia nodded grimly. “Indeed, which is why I have consulted with the Board of Governors. They remain the only power with the authority to step in and overrule the Ministry’s decrees.” She then turned away, moving back to her seat on the other side of the desk. Remus nodded faintly, knowing all too well that the Governors were capable of stepping in. He had resigned himself before they were able to fire him for being a werewolf.

His gaze then lingered on Hermione’s letter. 

Systematic corporal punishment.

The rushing rage of the beast within him fought for dominance as he went over the phrase again. Across from him, Amelia had made it to her seat. She had herself her own glass of liquor. 

He quickly slugged back a slurp of the whiskey. 

“Harry never said anything about her… using corporal punishment. He told me that he was getting lines but…”

He stopped at once when there was a knock at the door. Kingsley was up at once and he went over. Remus watched and then it shuffled into place in his mind. 

The medical scan… Hermione’s letter… 

The Healer hadn’t been brought in just to get proof that Harry had been likely tortured by Voldemort when he had been kidnapped. She had been brought in to prove that Dolores Umbridge had been torturing him. The Undersecretary to the Minister had tortured Harry… Harry…

Kingsley opened the door and stepped back, allowing Harry back into the room. He held three scrolls of parchment in his hands delicately as if they were priceless heirlooms. He noticed the glasses in their hands and wore a wry smile as he approached. His gaze flashed over to Remus briefly, but he didn’t appear able to look either of them in the face. He reached the chair and hovered at the desk, extending the scrolls out to Amelia. She set her glass down and stood. 

“Celia has gone?”

“Yeah, she said for me to give these to you.” He said, very obviously avoiding eye contact. Amelia took the scrolls from him and set them down onto of the purple file. Remus could see each scroll bearing the seal of St Mungo’s. The results of Harry’s scan. 

“I suspect that was a trying ordeal for you. Sit down, Harry. Do you want a drink?” 

Amelia’s expression was uncharacteristically soft and maternal. 

“I’m guessing something of what you’re having is out of the question,” Harry quipped, glancing at the glass in Remus’s hand. He then rather shyly looked at Amelia, clearing his throat. “Some water would be nice, thank you.”

Remus never checked Harry over as intensely as he did then, even sniffing for any traces of blood. Harry was perfectly healthy, if not visibly shaken from the scan he had to provide. Remus knew from his own ordeals that they were not easy. It took so long to document at his point, there was no need for it. Without the Wolfsbane Potion, he mutilated himself on a monthly basis. 

Harry then looked down, frowning when he spotted the letter. His face went slack when he clearly recognised Hermione’s handwriting. He at once looked at Remus, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What is this?” He asked quietly.

“It is what we now need to discuss, Harry,” Amelia told him and gestured to the seat that was now empty again. Harry stiffly lowered himself in the chair. “Kingsley, I think we can bend a rule or two. Can you…?”

“On it, Amelia.” Kingsley swept off to where he clearly knew where his boss kept her liquor. 

“Go ahead - read it. It is about you, after all.” Amelia encouraged Harry. Remus saw the fear in Harry’s eyes and knew it wasn’t for himself. He didn’t hesitate to take the letter that Remus had just finished reading himself. Harry’s eyes widened, turning round with shock, terror and disbelief as he absorbed the anger-fuelled words Hermione had put to parchment. 

“Holy… shit, Hermione. What have you done?” Harry murmured, sounding horrified. His hands tensed on the parchment, oblivious when Kingsley returned to give Harry his own glass of strong Firewhiskey. Kingsley shared a look with Remus over Harry’s bowed head and he gave him a nod, bringing around another chair for him to take at Harry’s other side. 

Harry’s hands were visibly shaking as he read every word Hermione had risked to write on his behalf. Across from them, Amelia broke the seals of the medical reports, the only one with the authority in the room to do so. She smoothed them out, looking over them. Remus watched her now, reading her response, hoping to glean that Harry hadn’t subjected himself to an invasive ordeal for nothing. 

“U-Umbridge will never let her get away with this,” Harry whispered, finishing the letter. Remus looked back over to him, seeing that his face was drained of colour. He met Remus’s gaze. “She just admitted to being my accomplice - there’s nothing to stop Fudge from writing up another arrest warrant and…” He put his hands over his mouth, his cheeks flushing as he looked as if he was about to be sick. 

“Calm yourself, Harry,” Kingsley’s deep voice soothed on his other side. “I assure you, had Umbridge or anyone tampered with Amelia’s correspondence, we would know about it. She would know that Hermione has sent a letter, but not the contents.”

Amelia suddenly gasped sharply from across the desk. She then broke her composure, slamming a hand on the desk. All their glasses jumped and clanked. Harry flinched very violently. 

“If Cornelius knows about this, I swear… I will make that man suffer far worse.” She hissed out. Harry let out a breath, catching Remus’s attention. There was a sudden long of terror on his face as his eyes darted around, as if he was looking for a way out. Alarmed at his panic, Remus at once reached for his hand, gently taking Hermione’s letter from his grip and setting it on the table. 

“Take a deep breath, Harry.” He told him, his rough calloused fingers carefully taking Harry’s now limp hand. His palm was hot and clammy. 

Amelia had Harry’s classified file open and added the medical reports. Her eyes were hard with outrage as she closed the purple file with a snap. She snatched up her glass of firewhiskey and leant back in her seat, her mind at work. 

Remus kept his attention fully focused on Harry. He’d seen him pale and clammy before, many times when he had been teaching him the patronus. It was something he could never get used to - seeing such fear on the face of someone as young as he was. He reached forwards for Harry’s own glass of Firewhiskey and put the tumbler into his other hand. Harry then peered up at him, surprise flickering past his fear. 

“I think you need this more than we do,” he said softly. 

Harry nodded and sat back in his seat, taking his hand from Remus’s. He cradled the glass in both his hands, bowing his head over it. He nervously looked between Amelia and Kingsley before having a sip. He coughed at once, wincing. Remus gave a chuckle.

“A bit stronger than butterbeer.”

“Just a bit,” Harry mumbled and sipped again. He then looked up at Amelia. “Is… is it enough? To move against them?”

Amelia Bones gave a low laugh. Her mouth stretched into a humourless smile and she then looked Harry in the eye. 

“Your friend was not exaggerating. ‘ Systematic corporal punishment’ indeed!” She took a large mouthful of whiskey before setting it down. Her fingers lingered on the rim of the glass as she gathered her thoughts, then she looked across to Remus. “Would you like me to tell Remus about it or would you like to?”

Harry glanced over and then sighed. “I suppose I should… I know you’re going to be mad at me for not telling you and Sir- Snuffles.” Harry winced at his near mistake and covered with drinking more firewhiskey. He coughed again. He then sighed and placed his right hand flat on the desk in front of him. “I wasn’t lying when I said that she made me do lines.”

Confused as to why Harry would show him his hand, Remus frowned as he looked down. Kingsley leaned in curiously as well, but he spotted the evidence faster than Remus did. He let out a loud curse word and was on his feet at once. Alarmed that Kingsley of all people had lost his composure, Remus nervously studied the back of Harry’s hand. 

Then he saw it. He knew Harry’s handwriting just as well as he knew Hermione’s. He never expected to see it scarred into his own skin. Each mark of the words etched with precision spelled the line that he had been made to write over and over. 

I must not tell lies.

“She gave me a quill of her own to use.” Harry began to explain. “And when I told her she forgot to give me ink, she said I wouldn’t need it. I thought it was odd but just assumed that maybe it was ink-spelled or something.” He shrugged. “The… uh… ink was red. I… it was my blood.”

Rage throbbed through Remus. He stared at the scars, knowing then just how depraved Dolores Umbridge truly was. He feared that when he read the mention of corporal punishment that Harry had been caned, as he knew was a popular form of punishment in the years before Dumbledore took over as headmaster. As painful as a beating was, it didn’t leave any permanent marks. 

Harry had been made to cut into his own hand. Many, many times over. 

“I didn’t want Ron and Hermione to find out. I knew they’d overreact. They found out eventually. It was pretty hard to hide.” Harry took his hand off the desk, not looking at Remus. “I knew speaking up about it would just make things worse… and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.” 

Remus growled at that, barely controlling his rage. Kingsley made a similar noise across from him. 

“You didn’t want to give her the ‘satisfaction’?” Remus asked, outraged. “Merlin, Harry, the woman was torturing you! If you told someone-.”

“Who, Remus?” Harry cut over him, his green eyes now hard with anger of his own. “Dumbledore? You? What could Dumbledore do? Report it to the Ministry?” He laughed bitterly. “She is the Ministry. What would stop her from arguing that I did this to myself? It is my handwriting, after all. She’d just say that it was us trying to frame her and who is Fudge going to believe? Her over me?” Harry let out a bitter laugh. “I’m an attention-seeking, deluded, unhinged brat, remember?”

Remus’s heart sank with each angry word.  

“You have to hand it to her. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She targeted me first because I was the most outspoken. She waited for me to expose her opposition, those I thought could depose her. I didn’t - I took the punishment and didn’t let her get to me. I am not a liar, but I don’t want people who believe me to get in trouble because of me.” 

Harry’s shoulders slumped and he drank some more of the whiskey. “I’m not the only one. She’s used the quill on other students. I don’t know if they’d be willing to risk testifying, not when she can put students in detention for breathing too loudly.”

Amelia hung onto his every word. 

“But your friends in the DA would testify?” She asked him. Harry looked up at her.

“I don’t know how many of them know about the quill, but those that do might. They joined the DA to fight back at Umbridge and still came to our first lesson even after Educational Decree Twenty Four.”

She nodded and reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. 

“I need you to write me a list of students you feel confident will answer questions about Umbridge.” She stood, putting the sheet in front of Harry. She then placed an inkwell and quill down for him. “I already intend to have Aurors sent to the school to question witnesses about the true purpose of the DA. Umbridge will be under the impression that we are conducting an investigation into you, but in truth, we will be investigating her.”

Harry’s eyes brightened up at once and he took up the quill. He started to scribble down names at once. 

“I will also need to take measures to protect your friend,” Amelia continued. Harry looked up, stopping his eager writing. “While Cornelius hasn’t made any attempt to arrest her on the same charges as you, she has painted a target on herself. Now that I know the lengths Umbridge is willing to go, I will make arrangements to have Miss Granger brought here for immediate questioning as your accomplice - however the true motive will be to ensure that she is as far from Umbridge as possible.” She then smiled. “You will be seeing your friend sooner than you expect.”

Harry’s eyes were wide. “Y-you’re going to place her under arrest?”

“It’s the only way we can overrule Umbridge’s authority, but rest assured, once we have questioned her, she will be free to go.” 

Remus could see Harry was still upset. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, making him look up at him. 

“It’s a necessary evil, Harry. Getting Hermione out from under Umbridge’s thumb is crucial.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “I know but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He then reluctantly went back to writing down names. Once he was finished, he handed it over. “Here. They should be the most willing to talk.” Amelia gave him a grateful nod and took it from him. When she read the list, she smiled. 

“I see you have named my niece.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I figured naming witnesses from respectable families would make the Wizengamot pay attention. Old blood talks and all that.”

Remus looked across at Harry in surprise. That level of cynicism was normal coming out of his Godfather, not Harry. 

“N-not that I’m saying you’re prejudiced,” Harry quickly said once he realised what he had said. “I just… well… not all of us have family in high places is all.”

Amelia laughed at his discomfort. “Cornelius has truly underestimated you. You know how to play the game, it appears.”

She placed the list on top of his file and then picked up her drink. Her gaze moved across to Remus and she let out a sigh. 

“There is also the matter of your medical record. For us to use it as evidence, you will need to be questioned about it.” She tapped the purple leather with her fingernail. “Cornelius will know by tomorrow that you have evidence against him, but we can get ahead of him. I’m afraid it will be another long day in the Interview room.”

Harry visibly sagged at the news. Remus twitched, reaching for his hand again. 

“If I have you before Rufus before Cornelius can throw a tantrum, it may be enough to divert his attention, long enough for me to move Miss Granger out of Hogwarts.” Amelia told him. Harry sighed wearily and reached for his drink again. 

“I understand.” He winced after he gulped down some of the whiskey. 

“If we play this right, I can have Miss Granger brought in to corroborate your story. A friendly face will no doubt be a comfort to you both.” 

She then stood up. Harry lifted his head and looked around. Remus recognised the signs of a meeting being adjourned. 

“Now it is indeed late and you will need as much rest as you can get.” Amelia firmly said, concluding matters. Her monocled gaze moved over to Remus’s direction. “I authorise allowing you to accompany Harry and Kingsley back to the holding cells. I rather suspect you have some things to discuss… outside my earshot.”

While Harry looked puzzled at her meaning, Remus understood at once. One of the first things Amelia had said when he showed up in her office was that she knew the Order of the Phoenix had reformed. She said nothing much on the matter but her disapproval was more than apparent. 

Her late brother, Richard, had been part of the old crowd. Richard Bones had been a legend among the Aurors, partner to Mad-Eye himself. His prowess in duelling brought him the personal attention of Lord Voldemort and he, his wife and his parents had all been killed - murdered in their own home. Remus remembered it all too well. It had been one of the early losses they endured before the war picked up. The Prewetts had been next, then the McKinnons. Families had been wiped out overnight, one by one. 

Until the Potters.

Finishing their drinks, they started to make their farewells. Remus brought a protective arm around Harry when they both stood up. It stayed there especially when Kingsley had to secure Harry’s wrists in those infernal inhibitors. His hand tensed on Harry’s shoulder when the bands tightened around his wrists, containing both his freedom and his magic. He saw the subtle change in Harry’s complexion as his magic was frozen in his veins. The spark in his eyes muted. 

Harry tiredly wished Amelia well, saying his thanks as well as a well-meant ‘Good night’. Remus kept hold of him as Kingsley led the way. When they reached the exit, Kingsley gave him a rueful look. Understanding, he released Harry from his embrace so Kingsley could take his arm. 

He held onto his control as best as he could. Losing it in front of Harry would be the worst thing he could do. Harry’s control was hanging on by a thread and if he didn’t remain strong in front of him, he risked causing that to break. He’d been trusted to act as Harry’s support, the pseudo-parental figure to stand in place of the real thing. He had a responsibility to Harry now - to be his crutch and support him no matter how hard things got. 

Remus pulled him around, not caring that Kingsley was meant to escort the prisoner and maintain appearances. He dragged the boy into his arms, wrapping them around him as his heart thundered in his chest. 

“You’re not alone, Harry.” He whispered into his ear, feeling Harry’s imprisoned arms squirming under him. His arms stopped at once and the tension left him. Harry leaned into his embrace.

“Never forget that. No matter what happens, I will not let you down. I promise you.” He let go, aware that he was likely hurting Harry’s shoulders with the way his wrists were restrained. Seeing the moisture in Harry’s eyes, he sighed and cupped a hand under his cheek. He smiled at him. “Marauder’s oath, Harry. You’ve got Moony and Padfoot in your camp.” 

The smile Harry gave him ached in his heart.

“Do you solemnly swear that you’re up to no good?” He asked him. Remus grinned, feeling a swooping feeling inside him that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He could almost feel as if James was with them, his long lost friend watching on with approval.

“Until mischief is managed.”

 

---

 

 

It wasn’t the physical pain that Hermione felt in the back of her right hand that drew tears. It wasn’t even the injustice of the situation. With every sharp stab of pain, every time the skin sliced open, the depths of her guilt rose up higher and higher. After the first hour, she struggled to breathe past the crushing shame she felt. Another line of glistening blood later, another moment of acute pain as she watched the back of her hand gash open in her own handwriting, and the overwhelming squeeze inside her dominated the burning, stinging sensation in the back of her hand.

That was pain she could soothe away later. A bowl of murtlap essence would drain all the pain away. What she couldn’t deal with was how Harry had sat through hours of the same torture and chose to suffer in silence. Only an hour had passed since she picked up the same quill Umbridge used to control Harry, an hour of writing her line of punishment. In her head, she tallied roughly how many more Harry had endured and never complained. He had been determined to hide it from her and Ron, even when he showed up in the Common Room hours later. 

Tears threatened and she held them back. 

I am not going to give that woman the satisfaction of seeing my tears, she thought fiercely. Then immediately after the thought blazed in her mind, she remembered how Harry obstinately said the same thing to her and Ron. About how he wouldn’t speak to Dumbledore because he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. She thought he was being petulant. 

I’m so sorry, Harry.

The skin on the back of her right hand was inflamed and shiny, but her lines hadn’t scarred like Harry’s. He had spent hours after hours carving into his hand until it finally didn’t heal. Hermione turned her attention back to the glistening parchment in front of her. The first lines at the top had already turned rusty red. A quick glance upwards confirmed to her that Umbridge hadn’t noticed her brief break. 

She started on the next line, biting back any sounds of pain. The skin on the back of her hand split open once again as she wrote the words in her own blood.

I must not question authority. 

The choice of line spoke volumes about Umbridge’s insecurity. She would never be respected so controlled through fear and intimidation, forcing her regime on her domain. No one followed her out of choice. Hermione couldn’t even count the Slytherins as willing pawns. Most of them came from families under Voldemort’s rule and were likely conditioned to obey their superiors - no questions asked. Even if they hated Umbridge as much as the rest of them, they wouldn’t fight back and risk their own necks. They were only out for themselves. 

Not everyone was brave enough to question those in control. Hermione had been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw for a reason. She was smart enough to know when those in power were wrong, their position immoral and their actions unjust. But then she was brave enough to do something about it. 

Her hand seared again as she continued to write the lines. Each time the word ‘authority’ appeared on her hand, she found herself biting into the side of her mouth. 

Authority. 

It was painfully clear to Hermione that a woman like Umbridge should never be given a hint of authority over anyone. She was a sadist. A power-hungry, bigotted, psychotic-.

“ Professor Umbridge? ”

Bright green flames suddenly blazed from the hearth across from the small table where Hermione was sitting. The voice came from the flames themselves. Hermione jumped violently in her seat, her chair clattering loudly. Her head shot sharply over to where Umbridge had been sitting the entire time, going over some sort of paperwork that occupied her time while she was torturing Hermione. 

Her muddy brown eyes met Hermione’s and a flash of alarm tensed across the woman’s face. That brief hint of alarm was the proof Hermione had been waiting for. The woman knew what she was doing was wrong and was afraid of being caught in the act. She got to her feet and snapped her fingers at Hermione. 

“Your detention has been concluded, Miss Granger. You are dismissed.”

She snatched her wand up from the table and before Hermione could even think, the black quill and the bloodied parchment zipped across the room to Umbridge’s desk. Hermione sat frozen, staring at the spot on the table where she had been forced to write those cursed lines. 

She’s hiding the evidence. 

Umbridge gave her a nasty smile. “Unless you wish me to add the time you missed tonight onto tomorrow night’s detention, you will leave now. ” She jabbed a stubby finger at the door. Hermione let out a breath, eyeing the fireplace which she now saw had a floating head waiting in the flames. She looked away before Umbridge caught her spying. 

That’s Neville’s Gran!

She recognised the woman from when she, Harry and Ron had bumped into her and Neville in St Mungo’s during the Christmas break. Carefully, she gathered her bag and made her way to the door. Umbridge, satisfied that she was indeed leaving, turned her back on her and went to address the witch who had just called her. 

Hermione smiled to herself and patted at her pocket. Ever since Harry’s arrest, she had taken to carrying around an Extendable Ear, waiting for opportunities to eavesdrop on any conversation that could give her information about Harry. This was the perfect opportunity.

“Madame Longbottom. What an unexpected surprise.”

“Is that Hermione Granger I spy behind you?” 

At the question, Hermione froze at the door. 

“She is leaving.” The statement was weighted. Hermione swallowed and made a show of leaving. She pushed the door shut behind her and then hurried reached into her bag, grabbing a fistful of shimmery, silky material. Fearing that the Ministry would send Aurors to search Harry’s trunk, she and Ron had taken some of the more suspect belongings from his trunk to keep them from getting confiscated. She had his Cloak; Ron had the map.

Pulling Harry’s cloak around her, she edged around into the shadows, stepping behind a suit of armour that already splashed a human-shaped shadow on the flagstones. As she made sure she was completely covered with the Invisibility Cloak, head to toe, she became aware of a pleasant fragrance. She recognised the smell of Harry’s shampoo. He was one of few boys who chose to use muggle toiletries over magical. It amused her when she found out the summer before fourth year when she stayed at The Burrow before the Quidditch World Cup Final. Mrs Weasley gave her the plastic bottle, thinking it was hers. When she returned it to its rightful owner, Harry had been extremely red-faced. 

Breathing in the soothing scent of Head and Shoulders 2 in 1, she took out the ear. She levitated it carefully towards the gap under the door, then placed the receiver in place. 

“-not often have to make calls to the School in my capacity as a Governor. Especially not so late at night.”

Hermione adjusted the ear so that Augusta Longbottom’s voice came out as clearly as if she was in the room with them. 

“I have just come from an emergency Board meeting. The news that the Minister for Magic has filled in the vacant position of Headmaster without the Board’s approval has not been met well.”

A gasp puffed out of Hermione before she slapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet. Of course, she knew that Neville’s gran sat on the Board of Governors. Neville had mentioned it in their first year. A mixture of conflicting emotions were triggered. She was overjoyed at hearing that the Governors were stepping it, but frustrated that Madame Longbottom had been so close to catching Umbridge in the middle of harming a student. Hermione knew that corporal punishment was illegal, everyone did, but Umbridge made it clear that she was the law so the rules didn’t apply to her. 

It appeared that her authority wasn’t quite as all-encompassing as she thought. 

“I believe you will find, Augusta, that the Minister has the authority to fill the position.”

“You believe, do you?” Madame Longbottom’s stern voice cut over Umbridge like a whip. “In that case, would you care to explain why, as his appointed Headmistress, you do not have access to the office of your position?”

Hermione giggled behind her hand. She wished she could see the look on Umbridge’s face. 

“ If the School does not recognise your authority as Headmistress, then you do not have the position. It is that simple, Dolores. The School does not recognise the Ministry’s authority, nor has it done since the Education Privatisation Act of 1655. The Board approved your appointment as High Inquisitor as we believed that conditions at this school have slipped unacceptably over the past few years. That appointment does not mean you are the natural successor to Dumbledore. In fact, considering that Albus Dumbledore has not handed his resignation nor have we voted for his dismissal, the school recognises that he is still Headmaster.”

If she wasn’t hiding and eavesdropping, Hermione would have jumped for joy. She was grinning madly behind her stinging hand, clutching the ear closely. 

“Harry, you are going to love this,” she mouthed behind her hand. 

“That is preposterous! Dumbledore admitted to conspiracy and fled the Aurors when they made an arrest. He is a wanted criminal!”

Umbridge dropped her facade of sweetness at once, her outrage palpable. Rather than be impressed with the argument, Madame Longbottom laughed. It was harsh and humourless, but it was clear what the woman thought of Umbridge. 

“Indeed? Then the Board will take that into account when we come to the school tomorrow to consider his petition to the position - as well as yours.”

“The Board of Governors do not outrule the Ministry.” Umbridge snapped nastily. 

“Actually, they do where Hogwarts is concerned. If you and the Minister deny this simple fact, there will be consequences. If the schools needs are not met within a week of the Headmaster’s seat being empty, it will seal itself for the children’s protection. This castle is first and foremost a fortress to protect the future generation of our kind. It will read the absence of its Headmaster as an attack and act in defence.”

Hermione’s mirth dissolved at once. She knew this to be true from her many rereadings of Hogwarts: A History . The Headmaster is responsible for the safety and security of the students. Without his presence, the school will lockdown until someone takes the position. No one will be able to leave. If the Minister didn’t accept that he doesn’t have autonomous authority, he could be responsible for imprisoning them all. 

Thus making a lot of parents very unhappy. 

“That you are no aware of this makes it abundantly clear that you are not suitable for the role that you have usurped. ”

“I am Undersecretary to the Minister. I will not be talked to in this way!” Umbridge seethed. 

“You are a bureaucrat, not an academic. I suggest you work on convincing me otherwise if you wish to have the Office that is currently sealed off to you.” Madame Longbottom said with an air of finality. “I expect to be received at the Entrance Hall with my fellow Governors at Eight o’clock. Your presence is compulsory, Dolores. If you do not meet with us, we will view it as disrespecting our position as Governors of the school. You have disrespected us enough as it is.”

Hermione had every suspicion that Umbridge would be calling the Ministry immediately after Madame Longbottom left her grate. 

“I beg your pardon.” 

“Do not think it has escaped our notice that you have been going above the Law with your rule changes. Students of this school can only be expelled after a formal Hearing. You are well aware of this having been present at Harry Potter’s disciplinary Hearing last August. We will be reviewing all the rules you have enforced since your appointment.”

Hermione gasped softly again. She started to feel sorry for Neville that he had been raised by someone so authoritarian and strict. If she was able to put Umbridge so firmly in place, it was no wonder why Neville was as shy as he was. 

“I will inform Cornelius of this blatant act of conspiracy against the Ministry. ”

Madame Longbottom laughed again. 

“When you do, remind him that all the Governors have positions in the Wizengamot. It would be unfortunate if a vote of no confidence makes it into the Council Hall. ” 

Hermione choked a laugh at her immediate parry and reposte. 

“Aha! That is sedition.”

“Not if it is justified.” Madame Longbottom snapped. “ A fact that I believe slipped your mind when you arrested Harry Potter. ”

“Wow…” Hermione whispered, awed by the remark. There was no debating where her allegiances were. The argument appeared to have finally subdued Umbridge as there was a swelling silence in the wake of it. 

“Good night, Dolores. ” Madame Longbottom clearly felt that she had won the exchange. “I will see you in the morning. ”

Hermione kept listening in as she heard the flames blaze as the formidable Longbottom matriarch took her leave. She waited for the outburst, holding her breath. Sure enough, after two whole seconds of silence, Dolores Umbridge shrieked with outrage. There were several smashes as a number of her ugly decorative plates apparently fell victim to her temper tantrum. Hermione’s grin was so broad, her face ached. She savoured every single one of Umbridge’s screams as she tore through her office like a petulant child being denied their favourite toy. 

Eventually, Hermione came to her senses. She summoned the ear back before she could get caught listening. Being caught by a very angry witch she knew to have no compulsions against harming students was not wise. She stowed the ear in her pocket and hastily, yet reluctantly, beat her retreat. The conversation between Umbridge and Fudge would have been interesting, but the risk was too great. She had more than enough information. 

She made her silent way back to the Common Room, light with euphoria. Her journey back couldn’t be more different than the one she made earlier, terrified of the torture she would have to sit through after Umbridge discovered she had written to the Ministry. 

Wrapping the Invisibility Cloak tightly around herself, she breathed in the faint scent of her friend. Her heart ached with the need to tell him in person what she’d just heard. Everything that he had suffered and was currently suffering would be worth it. Umbridge was finally being held accountable. She knew, just knew, that the Governors had gotten involved because of him. Harry finally had his lectern from which to have his say from and this time, his audience were listening. 

She clung onto the folds of his cloak, finding herself thinking of him, wondering what he was doing and where he was. Was he asleep in his cell? What was his cell like? Had the Aurors been questioning him? Was he okay? 

When she came up to the Fat Lady portrait, a new thought came to her. One that she hadn’t had during the whole time of their separation. 

Was he thinking of her? Did he miss her? 

Pausing in step, she felt shocked at the questions. She hadn’t wondered if he missed Ron or the School, his home. She wondered specifically if he missed her. 

Why did I think that? 

She closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent that surrounded her. The answer came quickly.

Because I miss him.

Chapter 5: Never Silence A Lion's Roar

Summary:

Harry and Fudge clash in the Ministry while there are big changes afoot at Hogwarts.

The wait was much longer than the last time Harry was alone in the Interview room. The questioning hadn’t even started and he was incredibly uncomfortable. The same as before, his hands were locked in place, the inhibitor sealed into the table. He occasionally looked up at his reflection in the two-way mirror, wondering if someone was watching him on the other side. If they were, it must make for boring viewing. It wasn’t as if he could do anything. He sighed, resisting the urge to rest his head on his arms and get a bit of sleep. He hadn’t slept well the previous night, his mind wired. Nerves kept him from eating much of his breakfast as well. Today would make or break his case. He would either win a victory against Fudge or have it all blow up in his face.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop thinking about Hermione. He knew he should worry about himself, worry that he was due to talk about the most traumatic experience of his life, but all he could think about was Umbridge hurting Hermione. When he did eventually fall asleep, he was gasping back awake, the image of Hermione’s delicate hand bleeding from several cuts burned into his head. Her soft hisses of pain as she was made to cut into her hand, just like he had been made to. 

The thought of Hermione in pain terrified him. It set off a whine in his head that paralysed him, made him immediately forget where he was and what he was doing. It reminded him of when she had been petrified, that horrible helpless feeling that made it hard to breathe when he spent every free moment at her bedside. He couldn’t be there now, couldn’t be just present and supportive. Instead, he was chained to a table, isolated and afraid. 

Loud footsteps out in the hallway beyond brought him out of his thoughts. Harry pulled his shoulders back, ignoring the ache in the centre of his back from the uncomfortable position he was in. He leaned forwards, trying to spy through the ajar door.

Foreboding gripped Harry at once when Rufus Scrimgeour entered. He nodded his greeting to Harry and made his way without hesitation to the empty seat across from him. Harry noticed that he was empty-handed. No purple file, no pieces of evidence to interrogate him about. Where was his medical record? 

The door then slammed shut, making Harry jump. He froze. Amelia wasn’t present. Scrimgeour pulled the seat out from under the table, the legs squeaking on the floor. 

“Good morning, Potter,” Scrimgeour said gruffly. He interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the table top. “I apologise for the wait. I have just come directly from the Minister’s office where we reviewed the evidence that you submitted last night as part of your defence. 

Harry lifted his head up, stunned. He stared at the Head Auror. Gone was the harsh, unfeeling interrogator who pushed his buttons to get him to talk. He was still incredibly serious and intimidating, but Harry didn’t feel threatened. 

“To be frank with you, Potter, the Auror Office regards the use of the Cruciatus Curse and a Blood Quill on a minor to be more serious than an illegal gathering of students.”

Harry listened, his throat dry. Scrimgeour then drew out his wand and took Harry completely by surprise when he tapped it on his cuffs. The bands of metal loosened. Unnerved with the change, being suddenly treated differently, he pulled his hands through the rings and brought then tentatively to rest on the table, mirroring Scrimgeour’s pose.

Scrimgeour then conjured up a glass with a wave of his wand. Another wave had the vessel filling with clear water. He pushed the glass across the table towards Harry. Giving him a grateful look, Harry took up the glass, his hand shaking visibly. 

“The Minister has dropped the charges of conspiracy and fraud, Potter. That’s the good news.” Scrimgeour said when Harry started to sip at the water. He tapped the base of his wand on the table. “The bad news is the sedition charge. He has presented it before the Wizengamot this morning… and argues that you are not in your right state of mind and are a danger to yourself and others.”

Harry nearly choked in surprise. He lowered the glass from his mouth. “W-what?”

“The abuse you have suffered is undeniable… however, the Minister argues that you… carried out the abuse yourself.” Scrimgeour explained in a much more considerate tone than he used before with him.

Harry let out a dark laugh. He had suspected that Fudge would lean back on the questions about his sanity. 

“He thinks I cast the Cruciatus on myself ? Is that even possible?” Harry asked, angry and bewildered. Scrimgeour’s mouth was set in a grim line. 

“It is very unlikely for a wizard of your age to cast a full powered Cruciatus Curse, much less direct it at yourself.”

A vivid memory of thrashing against ropes burned into Harry’s mind. Of pain so unbearable, he longed for the release of death. Harry put down the glass, looking down, gasping in a breath. 

“You and Cedric Diggory were unaccounted for during the night of June 24th for two hours. In those hours, Mr Diggory lost his life… and you were tortured.” Scrimgeour stated the facts. Harry winced at the mention of Cedric, his heart palpating a little. It went past the walls Harry had erected around the trauma and past the defences he had built to keep him functioning. He started to smell the dirt and decay of the Graveyard. His ears buzzed with the laughter, the jeers, and the applause.

He advanced slowly. Turning away from the audience, from the crowd, his gleaming white face hardened and eyes as red as blood burned in his face. The promise of pain in the merciless depths was quickly fulfilled with a single word. 

“Crucio. ”

A hand suddenly gripped one of his. Harry focused, gasping into the present. He met Scrimgeour’s gaze, his yellowish eyes softening with concern.

“You don’t strike me as mentally unstable, Harry.” It was the first time the man had called him ‘Harry’. “But I’m afraid I need to ask you some questions about what you have said publicly about what transpired during those lost hours. You can refuse to answer as is your right, but I assure you, I will listen to whatever you say.”

Miserably, Harry nodded, understanding. He knew that it would come down to this. Rita Skeeter had already publicised his episodes with his scar, interviewing healers who said in print that he should be examined for brain damage. He had no real argument to prove that he wasn’t damaged. He knew having visions of Voldemort’s mind wasn’t normal. It definitely wasn’t normal to experience crippling pain when he was in proximity with the murderer or when he felt powerful emotions. It was so abnormal that he’d been given occlumency lessons to deal with it. 

“I understand.” Harry said quietly, trying to not show how terrified he was. He kept picturing the closed ward at St Mungo’s. Was that his destination now? A bed alongside Neville’s parents?

“Where did the portkey take you and Mr Diggory?” 

Dazed, Harry stared at the man for a moment before realising that he had asked him a very important question. He reached for the water again and took a couple of sips. He needed the brief break to pull himself together. 

“To where Voldemort’s father was buried,” he said, “Tom Riddle Senior.” He noticed Scrimgeour's slight wince at the name. “A graveyard… I don’t know where it was exactly, but… the location was important. The ritual that brought him back needed his father’s bone.”

“What happened when you both arrived?”

Harry closed his eyes the moment the memory hit him square on just like the Avada Kedavra that killed Cedric. He could feel the icy fear in his bones, the searing pain in his head… the grass under his knees as he fell. 

Kill the spare.

He could hear the thump as Cedric’s corpse dropped next to him.

“He killed him.” Harry said, hating how scared he sounded. “I… I couldn’t stop it. I knew the moment I saw him that… we had to get back, but he just killed him like he was nothing.”

To his horror, his eyes started to burn. 

“He gave the order to ‘kill the spare’. He didn’t cast the curse, but it was on his orders. He didn’t want any witnesses and so Wormtail killed him.”

“Wormtail?” Scrimgeour repeated the name at once.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Harry clarified. He then sighed. “And yes, he’s alive. He faked his death all those years ago and was hiding as a rat - he’s an animagus.” 

Harry opened his eyes to see that Scrimgeour looked visibly shocked. 

“He’s alive?”

“Yes… I found out a couple of years ago.” Harry started to recover from the distress of reliving the night, steeling himself. If Scrimgeour believed he wasn’t mad, if he believed him about Pettigrew and Voldemort, he might believe him about Sirius. He knew that ranting about Sirius's innocence could do him more harm than good so he stayed on topic.

“He rejoined his master last year,” Harry continued. “He’s the one who betrayed my parents to Voldemort. I’ve seen his Dark Mark myself.”

Scrimgeour brought his hands over his face for a moment, bringing them down slowly.

“He and Barty Crouch Junior… they were the only Death Eaters who found Voldemort. They discovered a ritual that could restore Voldemort’s body. It needed three ingredients. Bone of the father, Flesh of the Servant and…” Harry swallowed. “Blood of the Enemy. He said he could have used anyone, but he chose me because… well… I’m responsible for him not having a body in the first place.”

He slowly drew back the sleeve of his right arm. He rolled it over to show Scrimgeour. “This is where I was bled. I was tied up so I couldn’t fight back… gagged too.”

Scrimgeour’s jaw tensed as he examined the thin scar on his arm. He sighed. “That is the laceration your record reported.”

“Yeah, he… he used a knife,” Harry said nervously. “W-Wormtail did.” He pulled his sleeve down. Harry drew in a deep breath. “The whole thing was a trap. Putting my name in the Goblet of Fire. They found out about the Triwizard Tournament…Voldemort found out about it from Bertha Jorkins… that’s what happened to her, by the way.”

Scrimgeour drew in a sharp breath. “Merlin…”

“Barty Crouch Junior took Moody’s identity so he could work behind the scenes and make sure I got to the portkey . Cedric… he shouldn’t have ever been there.” A painful lump rose in his throat. “I convinced him to lift the cup… it’s my fault…”

He stopped talking, staring down at the table. The burning in his eyes got worse and he blinked several times. 

“That’s survivor’s guilt, lad. Only one to blame is the one who took his life, not you.”

Scrimgeour’s attempt to console him surprised him. It was enough to get him to continue. 

“The ritual worked and he returned. He used Pettigrew’s Mark to send a signal to the other Death Eaters. They all have the Dark Mark branded on their left arms.” He looked up at Scrimgeour, remembering who he was talking to. “And they go black when he touches them. They apparated to the Graveyard so I… guess it tells them where to go too.”

The Head Auror sighed again and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

“Voldemort revealed their identities. I wasn’t supposed to survive so it didn’t matter that I knew.” Harry glanced to the mirror behind him. “I know a number of them avoided Azkaban after the war with arguments that they were under the Imperius Curse. If they avoided sentencing then, they’ll just resort to their old tricks.” Scrimgeour looked taken back. Harry let out a soft scoff. “I know my enemies well, sir. They’re powerful people who threaten and bribe to get what they want. I’ve named them before but the Minister just dismissed it as me knowing the names from old court cases.”

He held up his right hand, showing Scrimgeour the scars cut into his skin. “I’m just a boy who tells lies. They financially back up the Ministry.”

Harry had already thought it through. Accusing Lucius Malfoy would only put him in even more danger. While he knew he was under strict guard, he knew his enemies could get to him in multiple ways. He didn’t want to force their hand. 

“You are in protective custody.” Scrimgeour said in response. Harry noticed he didn’t deny that there were Death Eaters at large and not just the ones that escaped from Azkaban.

“I’m not so naive to believe that means I’m safe. Voldemort managed to kidnap me right from everyone’s noses at Hogwarts. Dementors found me in the middle of Surrey. All it would take is an Imperius Curse on one of the guards and I don’t exactly have a way to defend myself if someone gets to me when alone in my cell at night.”

Being alone in his cell for a whole day didn’t help with his paranoia. He’d thought of many different ways Voldemort could get to him while in the Ministry’s custody. 

“Voldemort was less than pleased with those that showed up that night. What’s to say what they would do to win back his favour?” Harry continued, his tone bleak. “I’m frankly surprised they haven’t tried anything yet.” Harry looked sharply away. “Now that people are starting to listen to me, I’m a danger to them. I wasn’t supposed to survive their little resurrection party, after all.”

“How did you survive?” Scrimgeour asked then, his eyes drilling into him intently. 

“When he finished with his Death Eaters, he turned on me. Tortured me… as you know.” Harry held his gaze until the man nodded in response. “But he didn’t want to just put me down without making an example of me. He wanted to make sure there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that I was ever a threat to him, so he had me cut free and gave me back my wand.”

“You duelled?”

Harry let out a derisive snort. “If you can call it that. He forced me to bow and hit me with the Cruciatus again. He hit me with the Imperius too but I threw it off.”

Scrimgeour sucked in a breath, catching Harry’s attention. He could see a glint of appraisal in his yellowish eyes. 

“I knew I had no chance, but I didn’t want to die a coward, so I fought back.”

Scrimgeour frowned. Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. He felt exhausted already and he’d barely been in the room for an hour. He knew he had to share about the twin wands, even if the information got back to Voldemort. It wasn’t as if his wand was much use to him while confiscated. 

“I went to disarm which is pretty stupid, I know. I wasn’t really thinking clearly, but… impossibly it worked. It hit his Avada Kedavra and the spells connected.” Scrimgeour just stared at him, his face impassive. “I know how it sounds. Our wands share the same core and don’t work properly against each other. I’ve known since I got mine from Ollivander that they have the phoenix feathers from the same phoenix, but had no idea that they’d clash like they did. Neither did Voldemort.” Harry could see Scrimgeour’s mind processing what he was saying. 

“Our wands connected and forced Priori Incantatem. It showed all the spells Voldemort had cast… the Cruciatus first… and then it showed the lives it had taken in reverse order.”

Harry swallowed. He closed his eyes. “It showed my parents.”

He heard Scrimgeour shifting in his chair quietly but he didn’t open his eyes. He took in a deep breath and continued. 

“They spoke to me… told me to take the portkey and that they’d distract Voldemort long enough. Cedric… he asked me to take his body back…” It was getting hard to speak past the lump in his throat but he was close to the end now. He pushed on. “I broke the connection and ran for it. They chased me, but I got to Cedric and summoned the cup. Then… then I returned to Hogwarts.”

The silence fell flat after finishing his tale rather anticlimactically. He opened his eyes but didn’t look at Scrimgeour. Anxious of Scrimgeour’s reaction, he reached for the glass and finished the water. Still the Head Auror didn’t speak. Harry risked a glance up. Scrimgeour’s expression was stern, but not hostile. There was no sign of scoffing disbelief. No hint of a sneer. He then sighed out his nose and nodded slowly. 

“It’s certainly an incredible story, but that does not make it untrue. Finding evidence to support your account will be difficult. Leads are eight months cold and you are the sole witness.” Scrimgeour brought his hands up, resting them together. He leaned his chin against the tips. “We will work on finding evidence. Finding the Graveyard shouldn’t be too difficult and Dark Magic leaves traces.” Scrimgeour said after a moment contemplating the matter. “Regretfully, an investigation will involve examining Mr Diggory’s body. Something that I wish we could avoid but if indeed he was killed with the Avada Kedavra and murdered… a long-overdue Post Mortem is necessary. ”

Harry stared at him. Shock brought his thoughts to a stand-still. Scrimgeour met his gaze and, for the first time, he appeared guilty. 

“Surely… surely someone looked into the cause of his death?” Harry’s voice sounded weird, distant. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t… 

“The official report stated that his death was an accident during the Tournament. The Auror Office doesn’t investigate accidents. The matter was handled by Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.” 

Harry put his hands over his face. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay under control. He could hear Umbridge’s sickly sweet voice in his head.

Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident. 

“He… he’s been dead for,” Harry paused to count the months, “ eight months. You can’t seriously mean you are going to… dig him up.”

He felt sick. Worse than sick. Cedric’s death had been covered up on purpose. Whoever made that official report would have known Cedric’s death was no accident. The Avada Kedavra leaves no marks, no signs of damage. It would have appeared that he just dropped dead. No accident could cause that. 

“You can’t do that to… to his mum and dad.” Harry breathed past his palms. “Surely there’s another way.”

Suddenly, the door was practically blasted open. Harry violently jumped, his instincts screaming at him. He pushed himself off his chair, the metal slamming into the ground. He was backing off, feet carrying away from danger. Warnings wailed in his head. He brought his hands up defensively, hopelessly vulnerable without a wand. 

Cornelius Fudge stormed inside, his face ruddy red with his rage. Harry pressed his back against the wall, but Scrimgeour was on his feet as fast as Harry. He pushed aside his chair, tearing across the space with his wand held high. He was between Harry and Fudge before the latter made it to Harry’s side of the table. 

Harry had seen the Minister angry. When he and Dumbledore argued, he dropped his fatherly demeanour very quickly. He’d seen him so mad, he was spluttering with rage. But he didn’t come across as a threat then. This time was different.

He was absolutely livid.

“I will not entertain another one of this boy’s delusions a second longer!” Fudge bellowed, his voice exceptionally loud. Harry cringed back against the wall, bracing for a blow. A childhood of being on the receiving end of shouting matches had him recoiling instinctively. “He should be at St Mungo’s where he can cause no rather harm!”  

Amelia Bones then tore into the small room. 

“Cornelius, that is enough !” Amelia boomed. With a jerk of her wand, the door slammed shut behind her. “You are endangering an important witness and interrupting a formal-”

“And you are feeding into his sickness!” Fudge rounded on her. Harry inched himself away from the wall once he was sure Fudge wasn’t about to curse him or have him carted off in a strait jacket. Scrimgeour had reached him, moving into position to shield him.

“The boy is ill, Amelia. It’s sad that he can’t differentiate between reality and his delusions but-.”

“Delusions don’t cause corpses!” Amelia shouted over him. Despite being shorter than the Minister, she managed to tower over him as she advanced. “Delusions don’t cast the Cruciatus Curse!” 

Fudge bristled, not backing down. 

“In both cases, we had a culprit.” His voice lowered in volume. “Barty Crouch Junior confessed to imperiusing Mr Krum, forcing him to use the curse on two champions.” Fudge stepped up to Amelia. “It is likely that he also cursed Potter.”

Scrimgeour turned from the two as they argued. He took Harry’s arm and guided him behind him. Harry met his look and gave a small nod to communicate that he was alright. 

“Indeed, it is likely, Cornelius. However, it is just conjecture. Questioning Mr Potter’s sanity is also conjecture.” 

Amelia strode away from Fudge, leaving him seething before the table. She stopped behind the seat Scrimgeor had been using. 

“I believe you made the same assessment of Barty Crouch Junior when you had the man Kissed without a trial. Are you going to deprive Harry Potter of his soul before he can go to Trial?”

She turned back to the Minister. All of them looked to Fudge to see his reaction to her direct insinuation that Fudge had gone above the law to silence a suspect before he could confess in a trial before the full Wizengamout. She then pulled out the seat and gestured down to it.

“By all means, question Mr Potter yourself if you are an expert in determining a suspect’s mental state. More so than both Healer Travers and Unspeakable Croaker - each who said, clearly, that Mr Potter does not show signs of psychosis.”

“I noticed that neither mentioned the ‘Dark magic anomaly’ that the results picked up. The same anomaly that Potter claims hurts him and gives him visions.” Fudge retorted, raising a hand to point directly at Harry’s forehead. At his scar.

Outrage screamed through Harry. Total rage roared out of him in an almost animalistic growl. Scrimgeour’s hand tensed on his arm. Harry met Scrimgeour’s look again, understanding then that he wasn’t just there to shield him from Fudge but to also stop him from attacking the man. He couldn’t protect Fudge from his words, however.  

“That ‘dark magic anomaly’ is also where the curse that was meant to kill me deflected off. Where my mum’s sacrifice saved my life!” Harry raged back, his voice raised up to match Fudge’s in volume. “Show me at least some respect.”

Fudge’s eyes then moved to Scrimgeour. He appeared to notice that he had overstepped and had done so in front of witnesses. Harry couldn’t stop now. His temper had been set loose like a caged animal with the scent of blood in its nostrils. It was going for the kill, target in its sights. 

“You wouldn’t even have your position as Minister if not for this ! Hell, there wouldn’t even be a Ministry. Do you think Voldemort would have left you all to your jobs if he didn’t blow up when he tried to kill me as a baby?” Harry jabbed a finger up at his scar, his face now bright red with his anger. “If you truly believe that I’m a sad little nutcase because of what happened to me, you have a strange way of treating me.”

Harry then extended his right hand out towards Fudge, pulling against Scrimgeour’s hold, wanting to shove the scars under the man’s nose. Fudge’s eyes narrowed on the scars and then widened. Harry gave him a humourless smile.

“I have to say, your methods are medieval. Is this how you treat victims of brain damage? With corporal punishment?” 

Cornelius Fudge took a step back. His eyes were fixed on the scars on Harry’s hand. 

“Either way you spin this, Fudge, you look bad. Face it - either you have to come clean about mistreating a poor mentally challenged war orphan or you admit that I’m not mad and you’ve been slandering me publicly.”

He retreated back and glanced at Scrimgeour. He caught the amused look in the man’s eye and the Head Auror let go of him, pacing back around the table. He stopped at Fudge’s side. 

“Mr Potter does have a point, Cornelius.” Scrimgeour said firmly. “And you are currently breaking protocol. The Wizengamot will not like you going outside official procedure in your efforts to prosecute a minor.” He then moved behind him and went to settle down in the chair he’d been occupying previously. 

Fudge stiffly looked over to Amelia, seeing her impassive, neutral expression as she passed Scrimgeour, moving to leave now that the situation had been successfully defused. She caught Harry’s eye briefly, inclining her head to him, then waited in the doorway for Fudge to leave the room. The Minister bristled, his face twitching, but he knew he’d been outplayed. He swished out his pin-striped robes, turning on his heel. Before he left in a huff, Harry made sure he had the last word. He jutted out his chin, putting on his most obstinate expression and glared at the back of the leader of wizarding Britain.

“I have a right to be heard, Minister. You tried to silence me and you failed.” 

Fudge halted in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. His nose twitched furiously. Harry made his way to his chair. “You can call me a liar. You can say I’m a delusional, unhinged loon. But whatever you accuse me of, it doesn’t change the fact that Voldemort is back and sooner or later, he’s not going to be content to wait in the shadows. He’ll make his move to seize power and then you’ll see just how deadly my ‘delusions’ can be.”

He pulled out his chair and sat down. He then smirked and looked ahead at Scrimgeour.

“Any further questions?”

 

---

 

Mind frazzled from the lack of sleep, Hermione gazed absently at the blackboard as Professor McGonagall lectured, the chalk squeaking as she wrote down incantations. She singled out students in turn to identify the spell for each incantation. Hermione blinked slowly, her thoughts a grey static fuzz as she struggled to make sense of the squiggles on the board. She didn’t register Ron pushing her arm lightly, then more roughly. 

“Miss Granger?” A stern voice snapped through her befuddled thoughts and Hermione returned to the room. She jumped, seeing Professor McGonagall’s disapproving face focused on her. As well as every other face in the room. Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment. 

“It is not like you to not pay attention so I will ask you again. Identify the spell.” The professor tapped her finger sharply on the board next to the incantation. Hermione focused on it, her mind reengaging at once. 

“ Vitrium ocular, ” she recited the incantation, “transfigures an unenchanted wall, ceiling or floor into a window. The size and shape of the window depends on the will of the caster and the depth and dimensions of the object or substance being transfigured.”

Professor McGonagall’s stern expression softened when she immediately got the answer right. 

“That is correct. I would, however, appreciate it if you could follow the lesson and not your personal thoughts.” 

With that she turned on the next student. Hermione rubbed at the bridge of her nose, a headache still throbbing. Her hand still stung as if it had been burnt, but she knew it was nothing compared to how painful Harry’s hand had been. Her thoughts were preoccupied with the current meeting going on between Umbridge and the Governors. Her nerves see-sawed to excitement at the prospect of someone finally taking Umbridge down a peg or dread that they would be met with further disappointment. 

In her euphoria from overhearing the meeting between Umbridge and Madame Longbottom, she had completely overlooked something incredibly important. Something that only came to her when it was staring her in the face. The Great Hall had been abuzz with activity that morning, mutters and rumours flying from mouth to ear faster than ever before. Those who had seen the Governors arriving were quick to share with the others. Those who were related to the Governors were questioned thoroughly for what they knew about their surprise appearance. 

Malfoy in particular.

She froze in mid-step when she caught the flash of platinum blonde hair disappearing through to the antechamber that led off the Great Hall. She inwardly berated herself thoroughly for not twigging before now. She knew fully well that Lucius Malfoy was a Governor and that he had a lot of sway on the Board. He had managed to get Dumbledore deposed after all in second year. 

Her nerves drained her appetite. She ate little breakfast and didn’t speak much to Ron when he asked her if she was alright.

“Of course I’m not alright, Ronald!” She burst out at him. “You saw who arrived with the Governors!”

He stared at her, his face paling. 

“He… he wouldn’t do anything. Nothing that will blow his cover. He can’t go after Harry without notifying the whole DMLE floor.” His voice was low, panicked. 

She shook her head, despairing. “It’s not just Harry. Do you think Lucius Malfoy is going to willingly relinquish the hold Fudge has on Hogwarts when he has Fudge’s ear and lines his pockets with his gold?” 

Her harsh voice had attracted some attention then and the pair of them fell into a worried silence. Since then, Hermione couldn’t concentrate on anything. It felt like they were going two steps forwards and one step back. She wasn’t the only one noticeably nervous. Neville had spilled pumpkin juice on himself when his Grandmother strode through the Great Hall at the head of the Governors, her stuffed vulture hat towering over the assembly. 

When she and Ron arrived in the transfiguration classroom soon after, she was sure that their professor was more agitated than usual. Hermione wasn’t used to her being the subject of his disapproval and so after the slight scolding, she did her best to stay focused on the lesson after the slight scolding from McGonagall. Ron sheepishly didn’t go to ask to copy her work for a change. 

After the quizzing was over, they were expected to write up all the incantations and their definitions and wand movements. As the class got to writing, McGonagall swept up to Hermione. 

“See me after class, Miss Granger.” 

She moved away after speaking to her so quietly, her whisper would not be heard. She froze. Had she been in trouble, Professor McGonagall wouldn’t be so secretive. Thanks to one of the many Ministry decrees, teachers weren’t allowed to talk to students about any matters that weren’t about the lesson material.

Ron raised his eyebrow at her, clearly having heard what was said but neither of them spoke about it. Once the bell finally rang, Hermione murmured to Ron that she will meet him for lunch. She slowly packed her things so the class would empty out before her, then she carried her bag with her to the front of the class where Professor McGonagall was neatening up a stack of essays. 

“Our Headmistress is currently very preoccupied with meetings so we have a moment at least without her… omniscience interfering.” Professor McGonagall spoke without acknowledging Hermione’s presence at the desk, her eyes diverted downwards to what she was doing with her hands. Her expression gave away her very evident opinions about Umbridge even if her low, discreet tone did not. 

When the last student had left the room and they were alone, Professor McGonagall reached into her robes, taking out a folded letter. Hermione quickly looked over it.

“This is for you. It was sent to me through a more secure route than owl post.” She held it out to her. “It is from Remus Lupin.”

Lupin? Hermione was stunned. Why does he want to talk to me? 

The moment her fingers touched the parchment, she knew the answer. It was about Harry. She said her thanks to the Professor and took the letter. She glanced over her shoulder, understanding that it was best to open it then and there. The contents were likely to be very confidential. 

She unfolded it, seeing that the letter was very short and to the point.

 

Hermione,

I send this at Harry’s insistence but I must be brief. Your letter to Bones has set much in motion. I am allowed to visit Harry and have done so. Rest assured, he has allies and a plan. When the Aurors come to Hogwarts, cooperate with them. You are not in trouble but you will be brought in for questioning. This is a way for us to move you out of the school safely before Umbridge and Fudge move against you and Harry. 

You will be released after questioning and will have a chance to see Harry. 

Do not speak to anyone about this - not even Ron. The slightest suspicion could upset our plans. 

Honori leone.

Remus

 

She reread the note, astonished and alarmed. Her heart jumped, her imagination going wild. The Aurors were going to take her out of the school to be questioned. She shivered in fear at once at the thought of being locked in a bleak interrogation room, facing down stony aurors. Professor McGonagall took the letter from her stilled hands and incinerated it with a tap of her wand. 

Instead of asking Professor McGonagall if she read the letter or knew anything more, a different question came out of her lips.

“What does ‘honori leone’ mean?” She asked softly. “I know ‘ Leone ’ has a latin root for ‘leo’. Lion.”

Minerva smiled at the question. 

“It is an ancient motto for Gryffindor. It roughly translates as ‘for the honour of lions’. I believe Remus is complimenting you on your bravery and salutes you as a Gryffindor himself.”

That at least answered if she had read the letter. Hermione watched the parchment curling into a crumble ash pile on the desktop. 

“I daresay, Dolores will be out for blood when the Governors are done with her.” Minerva said heavily. “Potter has powerful allies in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, allies who had enough with Fudge’s desperate censorship and abuse of power. He and his allies have made their move.”

Professor McGonagall wore then a look of fierce pride and she moved back around her desk. She nodded up at Hermione, her smile warm and genuine. 

“You both do your House proud. Before this is over, both Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge will learn that you never silence a lion’s roar.”

Hermione smiled back. Her words ignited her courage once again. Whatever she faced, she would face it with her back straight and her determination unshaken. Harry never backed down and neither would she. 

And I’ll be able to see him!

“Thank you, professor, though I’m… a little worried that the Governors may not want to move against the Ministry,” she said, voicing her anxieties. “Having Umb- Professor Umbridge as Headmistress may suit their personal agendas.”

Professor McGonagall eyed her closely and then rested her hands together, sighing in response.

“Indeed, however, I believe Cornelius has made too many enemies in his attempt to stifle his opposition. One well-financed supporter will not be enough.”

She gave Hermione a meaningful look, communicating that she knew precisely which Governor she was alluding to. 

“Stay strong and good luck. Give my best to Potter.” 

Hermione nodded, understanding the dismissal. “I will.” She turned away.

Head swirling with thoughts, Hermione rushed through the corridors. Her feet clattered on the flagstones as she swept past idling students to make her way to the Great Hall. She was desperate to tell Ron about the development, that Harry was gathering allies, but Remus’s note was clear in her mind. She couldn’t tell him. While she trusted him, he wasn’t exactly the most subtle person she knew. 

She came to an abrupt halt when she arrived in the Entrance Hall. An interested crowd had formed by the hourglasses, where the main noticeboard was hung imperiously up on the wall. She spotted Ginny, Ron, Fred and George very visible in the crowd with their matching red-heads. She squeezed her way through to reach them, looking up at the noticeboard as she did. Her progress stuttered as she froze, seeing exactly what had drawn the attention. 

Three Ministry Decrees had been taken down from where they were previously proudly set in pride of place. Their gaps between the others were stark. Hermione gasped hoarsely when she noticed exactly which ones were missing. The decree that forbade teachers to talk to students about matters outside their learning, the decree that banned the Quibbler and most importantly of all, the decree that named Umbridge as the Headmistress. Her loud gasp caught Ginny’s attention, who turned with a huge grin on her face. She grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her over. 

“Filch took those down during the third period,” Ginny whispered to Hermione, “Fred and George watched him. He also replaced Decree Twenty Four. It’s been amended.” Ginny pointed up to the decree in question. “Take a look.”

She did, looking up. 

"All Student Organisations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs must be approved by the High Inquisitor. No Student Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organisation, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be subject to disciplinary action determined by the Head of the student’s House. ”

Hermione put her hand over her mouth, absolutely stunned. 

“But… but that means that they can’t expel Harry… or any of us!”

“Yep,” Fred said, overhearing them. “Umbridge isn’t in the Great Hall, looking all high and mighty, so I’m guessing she’s sulking in her office.”

Hermione caught Ron’s look. He looked as dazed as she felt. Hearing voices picking up behind her, she turned, seeing Professor Flitwick making his way over, his hat barely visible.

“Oh… oh! ” The small Charms professor was just as shocked as the rest of them as he blinked up at the noticeboard. Professor Sprout and Professor Vector had followed him from the Great Hall. Everyone moved aside to let them pass, watching avidly to see their reactions. 

“The Governors must be displeased indeed to exert their authority,” Professor Vector said as she tapped her chin thoughtfully.

Hermione looked over to Professor Vector. 

“Is it true, professor?” She asked. “Have the Governors really overruled Umbri- Professor Umbridge?” She hastily covered her near mistake. Overhearing her, the gathered students whispered and gasped in surprise. 

“It does seem that way, Hermione,” she replied primly, sharing a smile with Professor Sprout. 

“The Governors?”

“Did Granger say the Governors did this?”

Chatter rose up in volume. Ron slid up to Hermione’s side, taking her sleeve and nudging her over. 

“Is that what McGonagall wanted to talk to you about?” He asked quietly. Hermione looked over, seeing that the professors were returning to the Great Hall now that they had seen what the source of the commotion was. They hadn’t told them to disperse and Hermione was aware that now more students were keen to overhear them now that she made it clear that she knew more about the miraculous turn of events than anyone else. 

“No… something else.” She said, but didn’t reiterate. “Come on, let’s go and get lunch.” She raised her eyebrow meaningfully. Ron nodded, understanding, and they left the thinning crowd. Ginny was close behind. 

“Did you see that the decree naming Umbridge as Headmistress is gone?” Ginny said, catching up to them. “That must be why Dumbledore’s office didn’t open for her. The School doesn’t recognise her as the Head. There must be a rule that she didn’t know about! One that overrules her and Fudge.”

Hermione shared a look with Ron. They hadn’t filled in their friends on what Hermione had overheard in Umbridge’s office, everyone else having gone to bed by the time Hermione made it back to the Common Room.

“The Board of Governors decide on who becomes the Headmaster and vote on it. It’s always been done that way.” Neville said, speaking in Hermione’s place. “The Ministry must have gone behind their backs to put Umbridge in charge.” 

They reached the Gryffindor table and took seats, settling down.

“Ha! Serves them right.” Ron said when he threw himself down. “I wonder who they’ll choose then. It has to be McGonagall right? She’s the deputy head.”

 More of their classmates were coming to join them. Seamus and Dean sat opposite, trying to not make it obvious that they were after information.

“The Governors must really not agree with her if they changed so many decrees.” Ginny said, buttering up some toast. “Just think what the Governors might do if they find out that Umbridge hasn’t let us practise a single spell the whole time she’s been ‘teaching’.” 

“Can they fire her?” Dean asked, giving away that he was eavesdropping. Ron nodded, beating Hermione to it.

“Yeah. They got Dumbledore to step down in second year, remember? If they can get rid of a Headmaster, I bet they can do the same with her.”

They excitedly discussed the likelihood of Umbridge being outed. Hermione searched the hall for the other members of the DA. Her gaze caught on the Hufflepuff table, seeing Susan Bones chatting with Hannah Abbott. Their eyes met across the hall. At once, Susan got up from her seat and headed over to them. Hannah and Justin Finch-Fletchley followed, both looking excited and also apprehensive. Hermione got up, brushing off her fingers on her napkin, and intercepted them. 

“I need to talk to you, Hermione,” Susan said before she could ask. Hermione then saw that she held a letter in her hands. “This is from my Aunt - you know, Amelia Bones?” 

“Yes. I know she’s the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” she said in a hushed voice. And I wrote to her about the DA.

“That’s right. She… knows that I was in the DA,” Susan said, wincing, “but she’s not angry. In fact, she’s told me that she will be sending someone to the school to question us about the group. About its real purpose.”

Hermione’s mind raced as she looked down at the letter. 

“And with the amends of the decree, it doesn’t matter if we admit to what we were doing. It’s no longer punishable by expulsion.” She found herself saying. 

Susan nodded eagerly. “I think my Aunt might have something to do with the Governors being here. She’d listen to Harry - I know she would. Aunt Amelia believes him about you-know-who.”

As she spoke with Susan, Hermione didn’t notice Umbridge arriving in the Great Hall, not until the pockets of conversation in the hall died one-by-one. Hermione looked around, seeing a very angry Umbridge trudging into the room from the side-door, accompanied by none other than Neville’s grandmother.

“ Hem hem. ” Umbridge’s ridiculous cough had all heads swerving over to her direction. “Students, may I have your attention please?”

Hermione and the Hufflepuffs shared a look and went to return to their seats, knowing that being caught talking about such things was far from wise. When Hermione sat down, the whole hall was deadly silent. She looked for Neville to see his reaction at his grandmother. He looked just as shocked as everyone else. 

“This is Augusta Longbottom, Senior Governor for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Umbridge sniffed after she introduced the witch. “Madame Longbottom, you wished to speak to the school?”

Neville noticeably flushed as faces flicked in his direction, everyone picking up that he was related to the elderly, dour witch. 

“Indeed I do, Madame Umbridge.”

Hermione smirked subtly. ‘Madame’, not ‘Professor’.

“As you have no doubt all noticed, the Board of Governors have convened here today and have made corrections to a number of Educational Decrees that were unauthorised. One of them being the unapproved posting of Headmistress.”

Umbridge swelled, her eyes hardening with anger. Hermione grinned at once. She could see her expression mirrored throughout the hall.  

“The Board will deliberate on choosing an appropriate candidate for the position now vacated by Professor Dumbledore and recognises Madame Umbridge’s petition for the position. In the meantime, we acknowledge the Deputy Headmistress as Acting Headmistress until a decision is made. The school will remain open under her authority.”

Umbridge’s face was now a puce colour as she twitched with rage. Madame Longbottom coolly looked over to Umbridge before addressing the head table. 

Her announcement had cheers erupting down the table where Fred and George were sitting. Hermione looked up at the table at once, seeing Professor McGonagall acknowledge the news with a faint smile. Professor Sprout and Flitwick then clapped. Hagrid’s huge hands thundered in applause, triggering the room to erupt with sound. Hermione beamed at Ron as they joined in. It didn’t feel real. 

“We also believe that expulsion as a punishment should always be determined following a Disciplinary Hearing and that no figure, no matter their political backing, has the autonomous decision over a magical child’s future.” Madame Longbottom gave Umbridge a withering look and turned to face the hall.

“We have disbanded the Inquisitorial Squad. No student should have authority over Prefects and Head students who are chosen specifically with the Board’s approval.

Small barks of laughter sounded around the room. Ron twisted around, sneering over at the Slytherins. “That is all.” She then lifted her head to look over her shoulder to Professor McGonagall

Umbridge then stormed up to the head table, indicating that their announcements were concluded. She didn’t take the seat that she so smugly lorded over from the previous day, instead taking the one beside it, leaving the Head chair empty. 

“Blimey, Nev. I don’t want to ever get on the wrong side of your gran!” Seamus suddenly exclaimed. Neville watched his grandmother make her way to Professor McGonagall, his expression pensive and his face pale. 

“She is really angry,” he observed softly. 

“If the Governors have the power to overrule Umbridge, why wait until now?”  Ron asked  once he cleared his mouth of scrambled egg. “She’s been lording over the school for months now.”

Neville nodded behind Ron, making him turn around. Hermione followed his point, seeing the Slytherin table. Her eyes fell on a sallow looking Malfoy, appearing oddly subdued. She noticed that he’d removed his Inquisitorial Squad badge.

“Because not all the Governors agree.” Neville said darkly. “I know from gran that she’s had a few rows with Lucius Malfoy about the running of the school. Some believed a bit of Ministry intervention was just what the school needed.”

Hermione looked over to the head table and felt her blood run cold when she saw Umbridge glaring over in their direction. Remembering then that the DMLE had plans to move her out from under Umbridge’s tyranny, she grabbed Ron’s arm. 

“She isn’t going to take this well. And neither is Lucius Malfoy.” She said quietly, looking into his eyes and watched as his euphoria ebb out of him as he realised what she was implying. He glanced up at Umbridge and then bit his lip, looking away. His eyes dropped down to her right hand. The skin was still a little pink but nothing compared to the open wounds Harry had been left with. 

“Susan told me that her aunt wrote to her. Her aunt - the head of the department that has Harry in custody,” she continued. “She’s on Harry’s side.”

Ron looked at her, surprised. Then his eyes widened, looking back over to the head table. Madame Longbottom was taking her leave. She purposefully strode down past the Gryffindor table, moving behind Neville, who stiffened in his seat. 

“Hello Gran.”

“Neville.” She greeted primly, giving him a nod, then she nodded over to Hermione. Her expression was impassive as she then continued, causing murmurs to kick up again in her wake. Umbridge glowered, still looking as if she had eaten a lemon. 

“Bloody hell…” Ron gasped softly. “Hermione… do you know what this means? The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is one of the only people in the Ministry who has the power to force a ‘vote of no confidence’ against the Minister.”

Hermione’s eyes went round.

“She can unseat Fudge?”

“Yeah… well… she would have to put her case before the full Wizengamot and they get the final say. It hasn’t happened in years as most Ministers either get voted out at the next term or retire.” He put his cutlery down, staring at his plate in shock. “ Shit… ” He cursed, his face pale behind his freckles. “If Harry can somehow prove that Fudge and Umbridge are covering up the truth about you-know-who, you bet that’ll be enough to get Fudge off the top seat.”

Hermione felt electrified at Ron’s words. She knew that was precisely what Harry was trying to achieve. She’d read the proof in Remus’s hand. She bit on her lip, feeling awful for not confirming it. 

An owl suddenly swooped in the room, catching everyone’s attention. While late post wasn’t exactly rare, making a beeline towards the head table was. The owl itself was incredibly ominous with black plumage. It dropped a letter in front of Umbridge before leaving. Her sulking expression drained away at once as she snatched up the letter. 

“That can’t be good.” Ron remarked at Hermione’s side. She agreed, nerves prickling through her. 

Umbridge’s surly face split into a hideous smile. She rose from her seat, pushing her chair back. The chatter in the hall immediately diminished as she left her position, ignoring all the questioning, suspicious and anxious looks coming her way. Hermione held her breath, knowing that there could only be one piece of news that would please Umbridge after losing her authority on the school. 

When the nasty, savage eyes of Dolores Umbridge targeted her in particular, Hermione was certain. She drew in a sharp breath and leaned towards Ron.

“Whatever this is, we have to cooperate. We can’t make things worse for Harry.” She whispered to him. Ron’s eyes widened in response but he said nothing as the buzzing in the room got louder as Umbridge made her way towards them, taking the same path Madame Longbottom had done. She reached them, gripping the letter in her ringed fingers, her smile board and vicious. Professor McGonagall had then left her seat.

“Miss Granger, I do not wish to make a scene. Come with me quietly to the Entrance Hall and the Aurors will escort you off the school premises without an audience.” Umbridge said in her most sweet, sickly voice. 

Ron went to stand, pushing his plate back. Hermione rested her hand on his arm warningly. She just nodded in response, ignoring the sudden heavy silence ringing around her. She picked up her bag. 

“You will not need your bag, Miss Granger. You are wanted for questioning. We will see to it that your belongings return to your dormitory.” Hermione dropped her bag down to the bench with a purposeful thud. She then stepped back, lifting her chin. She saw Ron grab her bag and shared a look. He knew she had Harry’s Invisibility Cloak in her bag. 

“Come along.” Umbridge said, eagerly daring to put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder to guide her out of the hall. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Professor McGonagall following quickly. She reached them just before they made it to the door. 

“Dolores, I do hope what you hold in your hand is a sanctioned warrant.” Professor McGonagall hissed when she loomed over Umbridge. 

“Why of course, Minerva.”

They stepped into the empty Entrance Hall. The doors shut behind them but they all heard the uproar from the students before the sound was abruptly cut off. Umbridge’s grip on Hermione’s shoulder tightened and she led her to the huge doors that opened out into the grounds. Hermione saw the furious look on Professor McGonagall’s face at Umbridge manhandling her but she didn’t speak. 

They had to maintain the ruse. 

“You may think you have us outwitted, Minerva. You and Dumbledore both.” Umbridge’s voice dropped the sweet facade. “But you play a dangerous game if you believe you can move against the Ministry.”

McGonagall’s nostrils flared but she leveled Umbridge with a cool look. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Dolores. My concern is and has always been for the students in my care. If I believe their welfare is being threatened, then I will act without hesitation. As a Professor, you should share that sentiment and value their education over your politics.”

Before Umbridge could round on her, a rushing sound announced the arrival of a portkey outside the castle doors. The doors then swung open to admit the arrival of the next round of guests to the castle. Red robes swished around the group, all dressed in their Auror uniforms. They moved in an arrow formation as if charging into a fight. 

Hermione’s eyes locked onto Kingsley at once. His head inclined in her direction. 

“Your hypocrisy will be exposed soon enough, Minerva.” Umbridge trimuphantly grinned with no shame as the Aurors moved into position, surrounding them. “The Ministry’s investigation into the conspiracy plot extends far beyond Potter and his little cabal. We will weed out every single traitor in our midsts. Robards?”

Umbridge addressed one of the Aurors, his expression grim as he nodded and moved to McGonagall’s side. 

“Professor, we have a warrant to search the castle and take witness statements,” he informed her. “This will not be disruptive if we have everyone’s cooperation.”

“Understood, Gawain,” Minerva said stiffly. Hermione felt a surge of relief to hear that she was on first name terms with the Auror. “And I assume you are here to take Miss Granger to the Ministry.”

“That is my job, Minerva.” Kingsley then spoke, moving up to Hermione and Umbridge. “Miss, you will accompany me. Don’t be afraid. You aren’t in trouble. We only wish to ask you a few questions regarding your involvement with Harry Potter”

It was easy enough to act scared. Even though she knew Kingsley, he was still intimidating enough. Umbridge let go of her as Kingsley held out an arm to indicate that she was to go with him. She stepped up to him, taking a deep breath. His eyes gleamed appraisingly when she steeled her spine and held her head high. She ignored Umbridge’s self-satisfied smile, though she relished in the thought that she would soon be under fire herself. 

She looked back over her shoulder as she stepped out of Entrance Hall into the crisp spring air. Her eyes met Professor McGonagall’s. Her heart soared at the look the Acting Headmistress was sending her way. Her fierce pride set off Hermione’s steely determination. 

It didn’t matter who the threat really was. If Cornelius Fudge and his paranoia were the culprits or if he was a puppet dancing to Lucius Malfoy’s strings, they both would find themselves locked in a fight. Dumbledore was willing to let them get away with it, let them chip away at his reputation and his power to keep himself free from further scrutiny while he worked in the shadows. He played his game and he lost. But he wasn’t the only player. Unlike him, Hermione was determined to not flee before a fight. She would stand at Harry’s side and look their enemies in the eye. 

And they would go to war.

Chapter 6: Protective Custody

Summary:

Harry and Hermione reunite

A few hours had passed since clashing with the Minister for Magic. After giving his full account of his kidnapping and near murder, he moved onto exposing his other enemies. In that time, Harry had told Scrimgeour everything about Umbridge’s methods of silencing him. The satisfaction of testifying against her had long since worn off however. Once Scrimgeour had gathered his testimony, he had Harry escorted back to his cell for a break. 

The Head Auror appeared to have taken Harry’s remarks about his safety seriously. He wasn’t alone in his cell. The dour Dawlish stood guard against his door, his wand resting on his forearm. Harry, incredibly embarrassed when he had to use the bathroom with an audience, didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation with his bodyguard. The Auror kept watch on him at all times. He even tested his lunch for poison. 

Eventually, a guard spared Harry further embarrassment and came to escort him back to the Interview room. His relief was short-lived when Dawlish ordered him to put his wrists together.

“Wh-why? It’s not like I can do anything.” Harry protested as the man unfeelingly gripped his arms and crossed them over at the wrists.

“Suspects have to be restrained in the presence of civilians. It’s policy… nothing personal.”

Civilians? Hope then bounced back to life in his chest. Is Hermione here?

“But-.”

“This isn’t a discussion.” Dawlish said as he looped the rings of metal over his hands. The metal tightened at once, causing a miserable sound to escape from Harry. It was hard to control the panic, the initial terror of being rendered helpless. He felt it when he’d been first arrested. Having his hand tied behind his back had been a lot worse, but he still felt horribly vulnerable. The Inhibitors forced his arms into an uncomfortable position, making him hold them straight down with the twin bands fused together in a solid figure-of-8 shape. There was no slack at all and he couldn’t twist his wrists to get them more comfortable. 

He jumped when the guard came to take him by the arm. The contact triggered an involuntary response. The guard gave him an apologetic look. 

“Is a bit harsh though,” the guard said under his breath as he guided Harry out of the room. Dawlish took the rear. 

“Foyle,” Dawlish warned. The guard sighed. “You know we can’t give special treatment.”

Harry scowled at that. Being treated with some decency wasn’t special treatment. He kept his mouth shut. If he really was being taken to meet with Hermione, he couldn’t sabotage his chance to see her. He needed proof that she was okay, that he hadn’t put her in danger. He glanced down at himself, grimacing at the restraints. If she was the civilian in question, she was going to flip out at him being handcuffed. No one got riled up at unjust mistreatment like Hermione Granger did. She was trying to single-handedly advocate for the liberation of an entire race of House Elves. If she saw how he was being treated, it would be her that the guards should worry about. 

Arriving at Processing, Harry’s mouth immediately dropped open. There were security guards everywhere. Five were posted at the entrance that led to the reception. Two at the door that led to the Administration offices. Guards flanked the entrance he’d just passed through. He immediately spotted Kingsley standing by the Interview rooms. He was in deep discussion with Amelia Bones. Harry was brought over to them and they both looked up as he approached. 

“She is here, Mr Potter. I have her in protective custody in Interview Room 1.” Amelia said to him before he could ask about Hermione or anything. “We are currently in the process of evacuating all personnel from this floor and will lock it down. I assure you, the Minister will not be able to burst in like he did earlier this morning. Not now you have testified against his staff and I have secured a witness to support your claims.”

Harry reeled with the news. He stared at the door behind him. Hermione was there. She was safe. Getting her out from Umbridge’s clutches had been a success. 

“I have my Aurors in Hogwarts as we speak.” Amelia continued to inform him of the situation. “I cannot risk you falling victim to any form of retaliation. You have already been subjected to great harm in their attempts to silence you.” She then looked to Kingsley. He understood her wordless order and moved to unlock the door to the Interview room. “I apologise for the need to restrain you, but I cannot be seen moving outside procedure when it comes to you, especially when I am due to accuse the Minister of doing just that.”

Kingsley pushed open the door and Harry’s guard guided him over. 

Once Harry moved into view of the room, Amelia’s witness let out a squeal at the sight of him. His guard let go of his arm and Harry rushed in, his feet taking him on autopilot. Hermione reached him in a second, her body crashing against his. The impact nearly sent them both flying. The force of the hug winded him and his vision was immediately obscured by a lot of brown curls. Kingsley chuckled behind him. 

“Harry!”

His arms squirmed as he wanted desperately to return the hug but they just jerked in his restraints. Hermione’s arms squeezed him tightly, her head burrowing into his shoulder. He soon relaxed, breathing deeply as he closed his eyes and rested his head on hers. 

“As far as anyone is concerned, you're both in here to be questioned - but in truth this is the safest place for you at present. Kingsley is on guard. I will speak with you both later.” Amelia informed them from the door. Hermione didn’t let go of him. She clung to him like Devil’s Snare as if scared they were going to take him away. He heard a sniffling sob. He raised his head, looking over to the mirror. He nodded at Amelia in the reflection and she turned away, leaving Kingsley to shut the door. 

He could see Hermione properly in the reflection, seeing her wild mane of curls cascading over her shoulders. She was in her school robes and the sight of the normality eased the tension out of him. The sound of the door shutting and locking behind him appeared to bring Hermione to her senses. Her grip on him relaxed. 

“Blimey, Hermione. I’ve only been gone for three days.” He said weakly. He couldn’t keep the emotion from his voice. Her overwhelming reaction to his presence had moved him. It was like the hug she gave him when he showed up at Grimmauld Place after the Order’s rescue. Only this time he hadn’t reeled in shock and then blistered with rage. This time he felt comforted. 

She drew back from him slowly, her head bowing down as she sniffed again. But then her hands dropped from and went instead to his wrists. He jumped at the touch of her fingers, unable to suppress his response. Her head then flashed up to him, her expression aghast. She looked over his shoulder to the door, then inspected his cuffs, her expression growing more and more horrified. 

“They can’t treat you like this.” She gasped, trying to pry them off. They of course didn’t budge. Harry smiled at her protectiveness.  

“It’s okay.” He assured her. “Uncomfortable as hell, but suspects have to be restrained around civilians apparently.” 

“Oh Harry.” Her arms went around him again. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

What? 

“Huh? How d’you figure that?”

She huffed out a sob into his chest as she burrowed her face into him again. Harry’s heart leapt as she held him close again. His hands might be squashed, but it was still nice to be hugged. 

“The DA… it was my idea and I pressured you into it. If anyone should be wearing those… those things, it’s me.” She said miserably into his chest. “I got so wrapped up in the idea of fighting back, I didn’t think how much I was risking. I should have known how it would look if we were exposed. What was I thinking, agreeing to naming us ‘ Dumbledore’s Army’ ?”

Harry sighed and rested his head on hers again, unable to console her with his hands. 

“I had the chance to refuse, Hermione, and I wouldn’t change it for a second. I have no regrets.” He then squirmed his arms against her, lifting his weighted wrists to bring his hands up to her. He got a hand under her chin and gently tilted her face upwards.

“Look at me.” He said when her eyes remained downcast. Her watery brown eyes lifted and a feeling of great fondness swirled at the sight of them. “We had every reason to form the DA. Umbridge’s control of the school was risking lives… is risking lives. Of all the subjects at Hogwarts, Defence is the most important right now and it’s not being taught. Because of your idea, all of the DA now can successfully disarm, shield and defend themselves from most attacks. That’s something we achieved together.”

He found himself wanting to wipe the tears from her face as she listened to him. She was looking at him with enrapt interest, taking in everything he said. He smiled, enjoying the attention for once. Hermione stepped back from him, making him drop his arms back down. The Inhibitors were annoyingly heavy as well as cumbersome. He walked himself to the table, looking up at the mirror for a moment. He wondered who was watching them. Hermione joined him. He watched her cautious look around the room, her anxiety plain to see. Her hands took his and turned him around to face her.  She threaded her fingers through his and sighed. Harry hummed a content sound. Contact was nice. 

“I’ve given them proof about what happened after the Third Task… and proof about the blood quill.” He told her. 

Hermione then surprised him. She brought her hand up to his face in a tender gesture she’d never shown him before. Her hand cupped his cheek and she gazed into his eyes. 

“I know. Kingsley told me what you did. You’re so brave.” She looked intently into his eyes. Harry held his breath. Hermione was a physical person. She was the first person to properly hug him and to take his hand in hers in a way that wasn’t to make him move. It took some getting used to at first when he was younger, but he soon found himself appreciating every soft gesture handed to him. 

She had never shown him such tenderness before. The touch on his face was important, more so than a hug. She was staring into his eyes, looking into him, seeing him in a way no one else really could. Everyone else could only see his scar and never looked beyond. She could see the person he was underneath it all. He stared back at her. His heart ached with an unfamiliar feeling. A feeling that he couldn’t describe. A lump was rising in his throat. 

He closed his eyes, savouring the touch. 

“What is it?” Her voice was still soft and caring. He’d rarely heard her talk to him with such gentleness and affection. Usually when she was trying to pick him up, she treated him no differently than she did Ron. She was exasperated with him when he did something stupid, praised him when he did something sensible for once and encouraged him when he needed support. This was different. It was beyond the level of support a friend would show another. She definitely wouldn’t act this way to Ron…

Her hand dropped from his cheek and he immediately missed the contact.

“I read your letter,” he said, not sure why he brought it up. Hermione frowned, a little puzzled for a moment, but then she gave a small squeak of shock. He laughed, opening his eyes to see her reaction. “It was pretty strongly worded. Remus read it too. Did he manage to get a message to you, by the way?”

Hermione’s mouth closed from where it had fallen open in surprise. She nodded. 

“Thank you for doing that for me... writing that letter. You gave me hope that they’ll take me seriously.”

She stepped closer to him, making his heart jump. He’d never felt so aware of her before. He gazed into her eyes, drinking in every shift of her expression. He reached for her hands and her fingers threaded through his again at once. She knew what he wanted in a heartbeat. 

“You’re the one that inspired me to take a stand. You never let Umbridge have the satisfaction of silencing you.” She sighed. “You took the punishment and never cracked. I called you stubborn when really you were in a battle of wills. I should have supported you instead of criticising you.”

He then fiddled with her fingers, tentatively taking care to not touch the back of her right hand. 

“Did you get in trouble for the letter?” He asked cautiously.

“Detention. She didn’t read it but knew I sent something to the Ministry. I was more relieved that she didn’t intercept it.” Hermione said with a slight shrug. “The detention didn’t last long. The Governors interrupted.”

Harry blinked. “The Governors?”

Hermione then smiled, her eyes lighting up. She gasped. “You don’t know? The Board of Governors have stepped in. The Minister tried to make Umbridge Headmistress and it backfired spectacularly. The position has to be approved by Governor decree and the Ministry can’t overrule it. He nearly made the school lock itself down in self-defence.”

Disbelief rocked Harry back on his heels. 

“It’s working.” He said breathlessly. “I testified too about the conditions at Hogwarts. Amelia must have gone to the Governors. Wow… I bet Umbridge was livid.”

Hermione laughed. “You have no idea! I overheard Neville’s gran having a word with her in her office.”

“You did what?” Harry looked at her, flummoxed.

“I thought I would hear something that could help you.” She said, then smiled, her eyes gleeful. “Madame Longbottom is pretty formidable. She gave Umbridge a thorough dressing down and told her to be present for a meeting with the Board. I overheard her little temper tantrum after she got the news.”

Harry grinned, elated. “That’s fantastic! Ha! I wonder if that’s why Fudge is in such a terrible mood. He’s losing grasp of power.”

“That’s not all.” Hermione continued. Harry listened in. “The Governors overruled her decrees. She doesn’t have the power to expel students anymore. Expulsion only follows after a Disciplinary Hearing… like yours.”

A laugh bubbled out of him. “Wait, so she can’t expel anyone for being in the DA?”

“Punishment for being in an unauthorised club is for the Head of House to decide, not her.”

Harry laughed again. “Oh WOW! She must be pissed. ”

“Not for long,” Hermione said, grinning broadly back at him. “The Aurors are in Hogwarts right now, investigating you and Dumbledore… of course. But they’re also there to investigate her. Abusing a minor is a really serious crime. More serious than supposed plots and conspiracies. She’s going to be facing a lot of angry parents very soon.”

Harry looked down at his restrained arms and sighed. “Well whatever evidence they find, I hope they find it fast. Fudge has put forward his case for prosecution before the Wizengamot this morning. I think he’s getting desperate to bury me. I’m not a co-conspirator anymore. I’m a dangerous nutjob now.”

Hermione looked at him, alarmed. “He’s questioning your sanity again?”

“Yeah. I expected it though. He did the same thing in the Hospital Wing, remember?” She nodded. “Rita Skeeter did a damn good job with that article. Anything I say has lost its credibility and, well, there’s not much evidence to prove that I’m in my right mind.”

He turned, resting his hands on the table top to take some strain off his shoulders. 

“The conspiracy and fraud charges are dropped,” he said, looking over his shoulder to where Hermione was watching him. “If I’m insane, I’d believe what I’m saying is the truth even if it's not. Can’t really accuse a mad man of lying if he can’t tell the difference between fact and fiction.”

Hermione brought her hands to her mouth. “I can’t… I can’t believe he’d resort to this. It’s… inhumane. And even if he believed that you aren’t in your right mind, dragging your name through the dirt and arresting you is undeniably callous and cruel. Mental illness isn’t a crime.”

Harry nodded. “I know. I told him that.”

She looked at him in surprise. “You told him? You’ve spoken to him?”

“Yeah. He burst in on my interrogation earlier when he didn’t like what I was saying. Either way this plays out, he will lose support.” 

Harry turned around and then perched on the table, resting his arms on his legs. 

“Let’s just say, playing devil’s advocate here, that Voldemort’s curse did scramble my brains when I was a baby.” Harry said, causing Hermione to scowl as his indelicate choice of vocabulary. “What would be the more humane way to deal with it? Giving me specialist treatment with a psychiatrist or whatever the magical version is - or condemning me in the national news and making me a laughing stock.”

Hermione let out a gasp. Harry looked up at her, seeing that she was impressed. He felt a burst of heat light up his cheeks at the sight of her appraisal. 

“He’s dug his own grave.” Hermione said. 

“Yup.” Harry shifted back on the table. “I don’t know if he was aware of how Umbridge was trying to get me to shut up, but that together with what he’s been letting The Daily Prophet get away with isn’t going to win him any sympathy. I expect he’ll make her take the fall and try to salvage what he can of his reputation. I might end up having to spend more time with Healers than I want to, asking questions about my so-called delusions, but it beats Azkaban.”

Hermione slapped her hands on the metal table angrily. 

“You don’t deserve this. Any of this!” She forced out furiously. Harry felt a thrill at seeing her righteous rage burning on his behalf. 

“To be honest with you, Hermione, I know I’m not doing too well up here.” He pointed a finger up at his head. “Who would be if they’ve gone through what I have? Seen what I’ve seen?” She slowly looked at him, her eyes wide. “I saw every single injury I’ve ever had on my medical scan results and I couldn’t face reading them all. How can anyone go through so much as a child and not be messed up?”

He then dropped his head down, his eyes starting to sting again.

“There’s so much I’ve been through that I’ve never even told you and Ron and… and it was right there.”

She was there in a blink. Her arms were wrapped around him, pulling him to her as she leaned over him, standing in front of him. His muffled ‘oomph’ was lost in her robes as she hugged him tightly. 

“I’m so sorry.”

He dropped his head forwards to rest on her shoulder. “I had it redacted. I… I couldn’t have that used against me. Being a punching bag for ten years of my life…”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to talk about it.” She then rubbed at his back. He went still as she touched him, actively trying to comfort him. It was the first time she’d held him specifically to console him and soothe him. She usually carried herself with restraint, respecting his space. But this time he desperately needed support.

“You’ve suffered so much and no one’s been held accountable.” She said softly. “You don’t deserve this.” She held him closer, bringing her head next to his. Harry leaned in, breathing in the warmth of her closeness.

“You’re not alone.” She continued, her hands rubbing circles into his back. “Okay?” He hummed in response. “You’re not mad or delusional. You’ve been through a lot of trauma and it’s left its mark - but that’s not your fault. Anyone would be. I… I’m sorry I’ve not been more supportive.”

He brought his hands up, limited to touching her front with his hands bound. He gripped her jumper. 

“You’re the most supportive person in my life.” He said earnestly. “You’ve always had my best interests at heart unlike anyone else. You worry about me more than anyone. No one else makes sure I eat enough, sleep enough,” he met her gaze, “study enough.”

She lifted her head from his chest, looking directly at him. 

“That’s what friends do, Harry. I’ll never stop helping you because, frankly, if I don’t, you’ll end up getting yourself killed.” He gave a small wry chuckle at that. “Maybe that makes me selfish.” Hermione said thoughtfully, her gaze deepening. 

“I think that’s pretty much the opposite of selfishness.” Harry remarked. 

“I worry about you all the time because I don’t think I could live in a world without you in it.”

Hermione’s face immediately flushed as she realised what she had just said. Her hands went up to her mouth and she looked away. Harry stared at her in complete disbelief. 

It all dropped into place. Hints that had been right in front of him but he’d been so wrapped up in his own head, he hadn’t been paying attention to what was right in front of him. He let himself get distracted with Cho’s pretty smile and long, glossy black hair, thought that attraction was enough to form a relationship and learnt the hard way to think with his head and not his second brain. Who was always there for him when he was at his lowest? Who stood up for him against the greatest diversity? Who made him feel valued as a person and not as a celebrity? 

Hermione turned her pink face back to him, her eyes shining with tears. His breath hitched at the sight of them. She looked deeply embarrassed. 

“H-Hermione?” He softly said her name. Her eyes travelled back to his, the pain leaving their brown depths as she regarded him cautiously. They move back and forth between his eyes, focusing on each in turn. 

“I can’t do this without you,” he whispered. He shifted himself towards her, moving to sit at the edge of the table. 

He knew what he had to do. His bound hands travelled up, opening up like wings. When the tips of his fingers touched her face, it was as if his touch alone told her what he intended. He waited a heartbeat, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. Her face relaxed and she leaned into his palms. His hands claimed her cheeks. She let him caress her face, holding her breath as he touched her in the most intimate way he ever had. 

He took in every detail. She was supporting herself on her hands as she leaned over him, arms on either side of him, hands flat on the table. Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed in deeply. He ran a finger over a cheek bone, her skin velvety soft. He cradled the warm, softness in his hands, taking in her long eyelashes and then her lips. 

“Thank you.” He breathed out the two words.  

As it always did, the pain came suddenly and without any warning. The lurching burn of caustic rage blitzed through him, so alien compared to his current emotional state. He clenched his teeth together, moving back from Hermione. 

His eyes screwed shut as the pain burst into life. Hermione’s voice was immediately drowned out as he found himself tipping away from her and the Interview room. His senses was split between his consciousness and anothers. 

His scar felt like it was being rebranded into his skin and a pained cry made it past his lips. He couldn’t hear it. His ears were ringing with a loud, furious scream of complete rage. It diminished into silence and a voice made it through the pain.

“Harry, you need to close your mind. Focus on me.”

The air around him was charged with magic… and fear. He could feel the wand in his hand, slippery with sweat from the exertion of letting loose his carnal rage. Behind him, the powerful body of a large serpent scraped over the marble.

“ You have failed me for the last time, Lucius! ” His voice hissed out of him, low and dangerous compared to the intensity of his rage. “ You assured me none in the Ministry would be a threat but they have mobilised against your puppets. Sever their strings. They have spent their use.”

“ Y-yes, my lord. ”

“ The boy is a lot more resourceful than I could have anticipated. I have underestimated him once more, it seems. Bring me Rookwood. We need to move forward our plans. I must have it before confronting the boy… I will not suffer another failure… ” 

As the rage dwindled, so did the grasp of the vision. Harry found his hold on his own mind and he pulled out. Becoming aware of where he was, who he was, Harry tentatively opened his eyes. He was wrapped up in Hermione’s arms. 

“I… I’m alright.” He whispered to her. “He’s gone.”

She let out a breathy sob and nodded against his chest. He realised then that he was sat on the table. Hermione’s body was shielding him. She then looked up at him, fear plain on her face. 

“I couldn’t let them see you like that.” She said quietly.

“I know. Thank you.” He shakily dropped his head on her shoulder. His scar was still hurting, but it was nothing compared to earlier. “It was quick at least?”

“Only a few seconds.” She confirmed. “You managed to stop yourself from doing anything… out of your control.”

Fear trickled through him as it dawned on him properly what happened and why it had happened. He moaned against her chest, feeling very vulnerable. The restrictive bands around his wrists felt tighter and he struggled against them. His breathing shortened. 

“Breathe… calm down. He can’t hurt you.” 

“He’s angry, Hermione… and I heard him talking about… plans.” He tugged firmly against his cuffs. He looked around wildly. “The weapon… he must have been talking about it. He said he needs it before confronting me.”

Hermione held onto him, pulling him closer to her. “They’re taking your security seriously, Harry. He would have to launch a direct assault on the Ministry to reach you and if he did, Kingsley will take you somewhere safe.”

He understood what she was implying. They would take him to Grimmauld Place. Of course, the Order would if Voldemort attacked. There had to be a contingency. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, feeling a little ashamed for panicking. Hermione let out a worried hum and her arms shifted around him. Her embrace helped him feel safer. “I knew that fighting back would get his attention. It… just feels more real now. More… dangerous.”

The door then clicked and they both looked over, alarmed. Hermione’s arms dropped from around him and she stepped in front of Harry at once, protecting him. 

Kingsley entered, his red robes vibrant in the stark blandness of the room. He shut the door behind him at once and swept inside. Harry’s eyes were drawn to his hand at once, seeing his wand. He approached them at once, not hesitating, purposeful and composed. 

“Your heart rate spiked, Harry.” He said firmly, then glanced over their shoulders to the mirror. Harry understood at once. His episode had attracted his attention. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah. Just… feeling claustrophobic.” He swallowed, the pain in his scar starting to fade completely. He had to hold it together especially if they were watching him so closely. Kingsley nodded and approached, causing Hermione to let go of him. Harry could see the fear on her face, fear for him. He tried to give her a reassuring smile but it twitched uselessly at his lips before disappearing completely. 

“Here, there’s no need to keep these on.” Kingsley said, gesturing to the Inhibitors. “Not if the only person watching is me. I’ll let Rufus know I made the call that you’re no risk.”

He tapped the metal bands and they widened at once. Harry’s body sagged with relief as he tugged them loose over his hands. He rubbed at his wrists at once, wincing at the red welts. Hermione sucked in a breath when she saw that they had been digging into his skin. Her fear had gone, replaced with outrage. 

“Harry?” Kingsley’s voice was low with concern. “I assure you nothing will happen to you while you are under my guard. I heard the concerns you raised with Rufus. Like you, I can throw off the Imperius Curse. As can Amelia. No one is getting through that door without either of our permission. Do you understand?”

His calm, steady voice helped Harry to get his breathing back under control. 

“Yeah. I understand.”

“I know a lot of people have failed to protect you. Their mistakes were unforgivable… and yes, I count Albus among them. He should have kept you in his confidence and not isolate you as a way to shield you. I’m not alone with that opinion.” His voice dropped in volume. Harry caught the meaningful look the Auror gave him. “We have your back, alright?”

He let out a long breath and nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hang in there, okay?” Kingsley patted him on the shoulder. “Just… look forward to when I can give you the news that we’ve made an arrest at Hogwarts.” He tipped him a wink and then drew back, holding the inhibitors. “And… maybe finish where you left off?” He glanced over to Hermione and then grinned. 

Finish where I left off? Harry puzzled at his meaning, watching Kingsley’s departure. He rubbed at his wrists, looking over to Hermione when the door shut once again. He slid off the table, moving towards Hermione. His hands now freed, he went to bring her back to him. His hands rested on her shoulders, making her look at him. 

“I really mean it, Hermione.” He said, staring into her eyes. “I really can’t do this without you. I bring so much danger into your life and you’ve never, not once, complained. You’ve stayed with me since the very start. And I’m so… so grateful that you’re with me here. As much as knowing that I have an army of Aurors protecting me… having you here makes me feel much safer.”

Her face softened and tilted to the side.

“Oh, Harry…”

He brought his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace. She sighed and relaxed in his arms at once. Harry closed his eyes. Holding her in his arms felt like the greatest victory.

“Hermione?” After a moment of just holding each other, both lost in their own thoughts, he pulled himself out of his own head and moved his arms down. He stepped back, looking up at her. 

“Yes, Harry?”

“If they do have enough to arrest Umbridge for child abuse, we will have to testify in Court against her.” He said, voicing his thoughts out loud. “She’s not just looking at losing her job. She could go to Azkaban.”

Hermione stared at him, frowning, clearly puzzled that he’d only just worked that out. 

“Yes…?” 

“I… it’s just wild that something might actually go in our favour for once,” he said, slowly pacing over to the chairs. His legs felt suddenly wobbly. The emotional hour was draining him. Hermione, noticing that he wanted to sit down, moved to the chair at the side of his. “I’m just… not used to this feeling.” 

He put his hand over his heart as he sat down. Hermione joined him and looked at him with great concern. 

“What feeling?”

He wasn’t really sure how to explain it. He leaned back in his chair, looking at the mirror. 

“I suppose they really did a number on me. Making me feel so…” He searched for the word and his gaze went down to his wrists, grimacing when he saw a dark mark on his right wrist. A bruise. “Helpless.”

Hermione’s hand took his. He looked up at her. 

“I know what you mean.” She said softly. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“No… it doesn’t.” He sighed. “I half expect I’m about to wake up in my cell and find out that I’m due for trial and have no defence. I’ve just had this feeling of doom hovering over me for so long.” He blinked as his eyes started to sting. “I’m scared of hoping that this will work out.”

“You have to hope, Harry.” Hermione whispered. “I know it’s been… been really hard, but the worst is over now. When Umbridge goes down, Fudge will follow and he won’t be able to get away with discrediting you any longer. Not when it comes out that his own Undersecretary was torturing you into silence.”

He sighed, looking at their joined hands.

“Hang in there,” she urged him. He looked up and found her warm, beautiful eyes encouraging him to keep strong. He gripped her hand then like it was a life line. 

“You’re going to make it through this, Harry. I promise you.” She then whispered. She laid her hand on top of his and stared at him. “I’m right here and when I have to leave you… when they take you away from me again.” Her eyes started to sparkle with tears. “I’ll still be here. Right here. ” She leaned forwards and tapped his chest, over his heart. 

“You’re in the hearts and minds of so many people - not just me. There are those who know you and love you, but then there are those who honour you as the Boy Who Lived. Think of how many people are alive because of you and think about how many wizards and witches lost family members to Voldemort and his followers in the last war. I know you don’t like your legend, but for once, you need to use it - because there is only one Harry Potter.”

Harry winced at her using his name like a title. 

His shoulders slumped. “None of that matters when he’s questioning my mental state.”

“And? Harry, you told him yourself that he’s damned both ways. He can call your mental state into question, but he still has to answer why he allowed you to be mistreated and vilified. You have him blocked off in every direction he can take.” She smiled at him, her eyes lighting up with pride. “There’s just no way he can move against you without condemning himself.”

As she became more and more impassioned, Harry found himself drifting into a swell of warmth that had him drawing closer to her. When the silence hung between them, he suddenly knew with complete clarity what Kingsley had meant when he told him that he had something to finish off. 

The words fell out of him before his mind caught up and went to stop him. 

 “I want to kiss you.”

She stared at him for a moment, but then she realised what he just said. Her eyes blew wide, her mouth dropping open in surprise. 

“I… you…” Her voice was breathless as she was rendered speechless after her fierce tirade. His statement had completely thrown her off. 

“Y-you want to kiss me?” She then managed to get her voice back. 

“I… I do, yeah.” 

He suddenly felt a twang of regret. Had he misread the signals?

“I want to kiss you too.” Hermione then whispered.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He pulled towards her, his knees butting against hers. His hands moved up instinctively to either side of his face, opening up like wings once again. He leaned forwards to her and she moved closer to him. He searched her face, taking in every detail, marvelling in the wonder that was Hermione Granger. 

When he brought his lips to rest over hers, her response sent shivers through him. A soft moan expelled past her lips and they moulded against his. Soft and warm, they thrummed with life. She deepened the kiss, moving towards him. Her hands then came up to his face, the warm pressure of her palms cupping his cheeks as she tilted his head upwards to get a better angle. 

Of course, Hermione would be a perfectionist in all things - including kissing. 

Her lips moved in tandem, filling him with joy. It was thrilling him how amazing it felt to kiss her. Kissing Cho had been a weird, uncomfortable experience that left him confused and embarrassed. Kissing Hermione was a completely different experience. It was like the breathless joy of waking up on Christmas day, the excitement frazzling through his veins. 

When the kiss ended, Hermione then let out a long sigh and she pressed her forehead against his. She closed her eyes and he then did the same. He could feel it then, her heartbeat. He focused on the rhythm, the sound soothing him. He felt overwhelmed, his own heart fluttering as he saturated his very sense with the essence of Hermione Granger. The vanilla sweetness of the shampoo she used, the faint smell of ink and the warm smell of a human body that had no defining scent. If warmth had a smell, then that was it. He then brushed his cheek against hers, taking care to not stab the frame of his glasses into her face. 

“So that was what Kingsley wanted you to finish?” Hermione asked him. “Are suspects allowed to kiss civilians?”

He breathed out a laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m afforded some allowances.”

She sighed and then surprised him by bringing her lips back over to rest on top of his. Harry met her eyes as she kissed him again. It was a short kiss, a soft, gentle peck. She smiled contentedly and then moved back. She left one hand on his cheek, staring into his eyes. 

“I was right.” 

Harry’s brow furrowed. 

“I’d take the bait and ask ‘about what?’. But you’re always right.”

“Not always,” she said, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “But in this I was absolutely right. You… Harry Potter,” she edged over to him, leaving her chair to be close to him again. “You’re not bad at kissing… not at all.”

 

Chapter 7: The Fall Of The High Inquisitor

Summary:

Amelia Bones VS Dolores Umbridge

Being in Ministry custody, Hermione soon realised, meant a lot of waiting around. An hour passed, then another. She could at least spend the time waiting, speculating with her companion about what was going on outside the confines of the interview room. Talking helped with the boredom, pacing around the small space helped with the restlessness… and taking Harry’s hands in hers, having him hug her whenever her nerves and fears got the better of her, that helped more than anything. 

Hermione had to continuously pinch her leg. It felt like a fever dream. Like someone had slipped her some sort of potion to make her lose all her inhibitions. She couldn’t argue away that they had kissed as a way to relieve their stress, not when it felt so natural and right. The strength of her feelings weren’t symptoms of anxiety, forced out of her due to the intensity of the situation. She sat on one of the chairs facing the ominous two-way mirror having given up on pacing around the small space. Harry had taken over, his turn to be agitated as he moved around the confined space. He clutched his hands together behind his neck, appearing deep in thought as he walked aimlessly just to have something to do. 

“This is a lot longer than usual,” Harry eventually said, betraying nerves. 

“They have a lot of students to question at the school, Harry.” 

He turned sharply on his heel, his back to the mirror, facing her. She could see how exhausted he was. Of course, she couldn’t blame him for being mentally drained. The stress of being incarcerated would have been weighing on him, presenting him not just with the threat of being sentenced in a courtroom but of being completely at the mercy of his handlers. His life was in danger and they knew that his enemies were at large in the Ministry. Harry kept his fear contained at all times, the effort of which had to be taking its toll. 

“I gave a list of DA members who would be more willing to testify than most. There were seven names… it doesn’t take this long to question seven people.” He pointed out.

“The Aurors aren’t just there to ask questions about the DA.” She said softly, then lifted her left hand up, giving him a meaningful look. “We know a lot more students than just us were in detention with her. They are going to have to talk to all the students… and the professors too. It’s a really serious crime to cause grievous harm on a minor and there are likely multiple counts.

Harry looked at her thoughtfully. “If they find evidence that Umbridge really hasn’t been teaching a single Defensive spell, it does back up our motives for forming the DA.”

She nodded. “I’m telling you, Harry, if this is picked up by The Daily Prophet… Fudge is looking at seriously losing his majority of support. Posting Umbridge at the school endangered magical children… he’s going to cause an uproar that he won’t be able to recover from. It’ll appear as if he’s been holding the school hostage to control the public. It’s… well… something Voldemort would do.”

Harry’s hands dropped from his neck and then approached her, hand resting on the back of the seat next to her. He met her gaze. 

“There’s something else too. This whole thing doesn’t just involve Hogwarts.” He dragged the chair out and sat down opposite her. He swung his legs around so he was facing her head on. He lowered his voice. She couldn’t help but feel a little exhilarated by his focused, intense demeanour. His attitude was a far cry from the volatile hurricane of hormones he’d been over the past few months. The seriousness of the situation had forced him to keep a hold of his temper.

“There’s a file on me. A very classified folder that the Ministry keeps on me because I’m a ‘person of interest’. I’m guessing that they viewed me as worth keeping tabs on when I survived Voldemort’s attack on my family.” His voice was low and steady. Hermione listened closely, eyes widening as Harry bluntly brought up his tragic past. “Only three people in the Ministry have the clearance to access it.” He held up three fingers.” The Minister, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” He dropped a finger when he listed each. “Hermione, this folder… it’s supposed to contain everything the Ministry has on me. Reports on the mental things I’ve done at Hogwarts and outside it. There’s stuff on the hovering charm that I got accused of and obviously the Underaged magic breach in July. But nothing else. There’s nothing on what happened last year and nothing on the year before that-.”

“H-how can there be nothing ?” She asked over him, horrified with what he was saying. “You were nearly Kissed by all those dementors when…” She carefully held her tongue, aware that they were being watched. “There should be some report of you being involved! And what about your name being put in the Goblet of Fire? Someone was very obviously trying to get you killed.”

“There’s nothing at all, Hermione.” He brought his hands up to his face. “And what’s worse… is that they really did report that Cedric’s death was an accident. The whole thing was chalked up to the Triwizard Tournament being too dangerous and that Barty Crouch Junior was a nutjob. Everything he said under veritaserum to Dumbledore and then Fudge… there’s no record. There’s no record of an illegal portkey taking me and Cedric off the grounds. As far as the Ministry is concerned, none of what transpired during the Third Task ever took place.”

Hermione stared at him. “But there were hundreds of witnesses! You just appeared in the grounds holding what was very clearly a Portkey… and a body.”

“And Fudge was there representing the Ministry, Hermione. He was the one in charge and Bagman had done a runner, so there were no other Heads of Departments around. He made the call to bring in Magical Accidents and Catastrophes on the scene, not the Auror Office.”

Her hands balled into fists as she realised what he was saying. “Every time the truth is covered up, he’s been involved.” 

Harry nodded, anger burning in his green eyes. “Exactly. He has stepped in every time to make things seem less threatening. He’s been purposefully trying to hide anything that could threaten his whole ‘all is well’ image. Who knows what else he’s been covering up? We’re just talking about things I’m involved in.”

His quick mind set off sparks of pride in Hermione as he shared with her his findings. 

“This… this is…” She couldn’t think of what to say. “This is a real conspiracy.” Harry’s chin immediately dipped in response.

“Hermione… what if Fudge knew I’d grow up to be a threat to him? What if he’s been redacting my record on purpose, preparing to out me the moment I turned against him?”

She listened with growing horror.

“The whole bumbling, jolly, friendly old chum attitude he had when I first met him after I ran away from the Dursleys? It was all a cover to make me think he had my best interests at heart. But he never did.” He leaned forwards, his stare intensifying. “Hermione, when I did a runner from Privet Drive after I blew up Marge, he had the Magical Reversal Squad on the scene at once. They tracked me down in heartbeat, getting to The Leaky Cauldron before I even did. Where was that level of response when I was actually in danger? When dementors showed up for Merlin’s sake? I don’t want to sound paranoid, but… it does seem to me that my safety really isn’t a concern for him. At the time, I was merrily ignorant of the danger I was in and he wanted to keep it that way.”

Hermione’s fingernails dug into her face as he spoke. 

“Oh my God, you’re right. He was quick to turn against you… too quick. The moment you were threatening his vision of peace and prosperity, he outwardly showed that he cared very little about you. He didn’t even stop to contemplate that you were in your sound mind, just immediately asked Dumbledore if he trusted that your wits weren’t addled. Anyone with eyes could have seen that you were, sorry for being blunt here, traumatised.”

Harry wasn’t phased at her assessment. He nodded, agreeing. “At the time, I was suffering from Cruciatus curse exposure as well. Something that also never got reported. I was the target of all three Unforgivable Curses that night. Not a single one got picked up... well, only two hit home, obviously, but even so. I had a lot of Dark magic thrown my way. Surely something would have been detected?”

Her heart plummeted and the room felt as if it had dropped several degrees. 

“There were witnesses too. We were all there when he showed you not a hint of sympathy or remorse. He didn’t even speak to you - just gave you your winnings and left. Oh… oh my God… the signs were always there right in front of us. Harry…” She looked up at him. “What if the dementors that attacked you last summer were there on his orders? He has been doing a lot to silence you behind the scenes. Perhaps it was his attempt to make it permanent.”

Harry grimly nodded. “I’ve come to the same conclusion myself. I’ve escaped Voldemort four times now. If he is going to try to assassinate me, he isn’t going to pass the job off onto some dementors.”

Hermione sat back against her chair, her mind racing with what Harry was saying. The implications that the Minister had been conspiring against Harry, a boy , were monstrous, but she couldn’t deny that his theories made perfect sense. It all married up with the severity of Umbridge’s tenacity when it came to punishment. If Fudge had no reservations about condemning and targeting a boy who had already lost so much, he wasn’t likely to care much about some bleeding hands and bleeding hearts. 

A loud clatter at the door snapped their attention from each other. Harry’s reaction was a lot faster. He was on his feet in a blink, turning to face the door and moved to stand in front of her. Shielding her. Harry’s entire body was wired and tense, ready to fight even without a wand. Hermione was a moment behind him, using the mirror to see who had arrived. She didn’t recognise the woman at first, but from Harry’s visible relief when he saw who it was, she guessed that she was about to meet the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in person. 

Hermione took in her appearance. She was a severe-looking woman, stocky and with short grey hair. A monocle was fixed in her right eye and she wondered if it served a purpose similar to Moody’s magical eye. Was it charmed to look through enchantments? She swept inside, wearing handsome robes of deep green that denoted her position of importance within the Ministry. 

“Harry… and Miss Granger, we meet in person.” The woman approached them at once, no hesitation and all business. She nodded at Harry as she passed and he sunk down back to his seat, respectful. For Harry of all people to show respect, it meant that she’d earned his. She came up to Hermione and extended a hand her way. She took the offered hand. 

“I am Madame Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You have set off quite the chain reaction of events, Miss Granger.” She then let go of her hand and turned to Harry. “Everything has fallen into motion.”

Harry’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Have… you arrested her?”

Hermione dropped into her seat, her legs giving out. A shocked, choke of a laugh escaped her lips and her fingers flew to them to keep the sound from escaping. Harry looked over at her, his eyes wide. 

“Not yet. She is here under the guise that we need her statement recorded to use in evidence against you. Rufus has her in his office at the moment.” Amelia paced away, moving towards the two-way mirror. She then drew a wand out from her sleeve. Reaching the mirror swept her wand, tracing the outline of the window. The panel then thrummed to life, a soft glow emanating around the edge of the frame. Then suddenly the surface shifted, the image reflecting back at them changing to show them a perspective of an identical room 

“When he is finished, he will be bringing her to the adjoining interview room where she believes that I will review her statement against the evidence we have gathered. She will be led to believe that you will be brought in to answer questions about her statement. You, Harry, are the bait, I’m afraid, for us to spring the trap.”

Hermione glanced over at Harry, seeing that he was frowning. He then looked over to Hermione, meeting her gaze.

“Do you need me in there to… sell the ruse?”

“No, I am not risking moving you from this room, not even for a few feet.” She then looked over them both. “Are either of you in need of comfort spells?”

Hermione’s face flushed at once. 

“Um… we have been in here for a few hours,” Harry said in a thin voice, his answer a concealed ‘yes’. Madame Bones appeared regretful as she approached them with her wand raised.

“I will arrange for refreshments as well.”

With a sweep of her wand, Hermione gasped as she felt a sudden grip on her insides. Harry’s gasp next to her told her that he was feeling the same sensation. As suddenly as it came on, it was then gone and with it, the contents of her bladder and bowels. Her hands went on her stomach, feeling very strange and uncomfortable. 

“I strongly suspect that you will both find what happens in that room very satisfying after all that you have both gone through at that woman’s hands. Rest assured, I will not be going easy on her.” Amelia’s jaw set and she lifted her chin. “I will not be going easy on either of them.”

With that promise, she left them once again alone in the interview room. Hermione rose from her seat at once and picked it up.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked. She grinned over her shoulder at him. 

“If we’re going to witness Umbridge’s downfall,” she went to carry her chair over to the window, “I want a better view.”

She set her chair down right in front of the window. Straightening, she caught Harry’s movement as he went to copy her. As he joined her at the window, settling his chair down, she reached out for him. Her hand ended up moving to the back of his neck, finding soft, warm skin thrumming with life. Harry’s eyes met hers. 

His eyes then sharpened with intent and he stepped up to her, his body pressing against hers. He was inside her bubble and he was welcome there. He stared into her eyes for a moment, almost as if asking a question, then he kissed her lightly on the mouth. 

He drew back and stared at her. He then smiled.

“Then let's sit back and watch the show.”

 

---

 

Everything Amelia Bones needed to bring down Dolores Umbridge was assembled in front of her. The green folder set in pride of place in front of her held the testimonies that her Aurors had so diligently gathered from Hogwarts. There were hundreds of them, too many for her to go over. The important ones had been moved to the top of the pile, ones that had come from the names that Harry had given her. Her niece was among them. 

Gawain Robards delivered her the testimonies and also the evidence discovered during the search of Umbridge’s office. The evidence was secured in a locked case that she’d set aside for the moment. She had read the list of the articles within and knew that Robards had found more than enough for her to sink Umbridge faster than a ton weight dropped in the ocean. A plan of action was forming as she gathered the pieces. Her interview tactics were a little rusty as it had been a few years since she had interrogated a suspect herself. When she had worked in the Auror Office along with her brother, she had been the one put in front of suspects as she had a knack for finding pressure points. She knew how to trick a suspect into condemning themselves, how to find the holes in an supposed alibi, and how to dissect a lie and expose its weaknesses. 

The final touches would be what she would use to bring down Fudge and the house of cards he had built around himself. A scribe board, set up with a dictation quill and lots of parchment. It would record the whole interview which she would use as her basis for a vote of no confidence. 

Now all she had to do was wait. Wait for Rufus to bring in the woman who would be smiling smugly, confident that she had delivered a testimony that would send an innocent young man either to prison or to a secure ward in St Mungo’s. Either way, she would believe that she had effectively silenced Harry Potter for good. 

She’ll let her believe that for a little longer. 

Hearing the change in the processing room, Amelia lifted her head at the sound of approaching footsteps. She allowed herself one glance over to the mirror where she knew both Harry and Hermione would be watching. Then brought herself into complete focus, the plan laid out before her. First, she would have to dismantle Umbridge’s claim of a conspiracy and Hogwarts, then the rest would follow. 

A sharp tap at the door announced their arrival. The door swung open from where it was previously ajar. Amelia rose at once. Her gaze did not linger on Rufus’s face, keeping up the ruse that there was nothing for Umbridge to be suspicious about. Instead, she gave the woman she was about to destroy a polite smile and crossed the short distance towards her. Ignoring the swoop of intense hatred, she went to greet her.

“Dolores,” she said as if they were just bumping into each other in the Ministry corridor, “I appreciate the time you are taking to assist us with our investigations.”

Amelia kept her demeanour professional and unafflicted as she regarded the woman before her. Stabs of loathing made it a challenge, but she was a master at keeping her stony mask in check at all times. She impassively took in the self-satisfied expression on Umbridge’s face, the hungry glint in her eyes and the nasty smile that appeared to be stamped on her face as if victory was assured. The hunger, she noticed, intensified when Umbridge noticed the folders and case of evidence prepared on the table in front of her. 

“I assure you, Amelia, I will do all I can to help. Dumbledore’s corruption goes deep and I I see it as my duty to help weed it out where I can.” Umbridge’s smile broadened, her lip pulling back in a very unfaltering smile that was more like a snarl. “The sooner Potter’s lies are contained, the better.”

Amelia inclined her head, feeling a vicious thrill at how deeply Umbridge was entrenched in her beliefs, if she even truly believed them. It was going to make dismantling them all the more satisfying.

“Please, take a seat and I will begin reviewing the evidence with you.” Amelia said, gesturing at the seat opposite her. She then moved to Rufus, holding out a hand. He at once placed the scroll that contained the testimony that he had extracted from the woman. He met her stare briefly and Amelia’s caught the hardened edge to his gaze, his feelings seeping out of his mask of professionalism. 

“Thank you, Rufus,” she said, dismissing him. 

“Ma’am.” He left and noticeably didn’t look or say anything to Umbridge as he left. Amelia left him to it, keeping the ruse alive as he went to leave and lock them both in. The moment he shut the door, Umbridge was officially in her custody. The arrest warrant was ready in her inner robe pocket. 

Amelia busied herself with opening the scroll Rufus presented her while Umbridge took her seat, flicking her robes out as if airs and graces were necessary. 

“While I appreciate how seriously your department is handling matters, I must say your timing with dispatching Aurors to Hogwarts was unfortunate. Had they arrived earlier, they could have intercepted whom I believe to be a part of Dumbledore’s cabal.” Umbridge said sweetly from her seat, watching Amelia as she neared, now reading the scroll, her monocled eye zipping fast as she scanned the contents. 

“Indeed? And who do you suspect as a conspirator?” Amelia asked as she reached her chair. Her gaze shot towards Umbridge, expecting an answer.

“Augusta Longbottom,” Umbridge’s tone dropped its sweetness.

Amelia frowned a little as she sat opposite Umbridge. She heard the clunk of the door as the locks engaged. Umbridge was all hers now. 

She raised an eyebrow at Umbridge. “If the grounds for your suspicions are due to the Governors stepping in and doing their job, you forget that their purpose is to inspect the standards at the school. They have that authority and have for hundreds of years. It is not a conspiracy for them to take their role seriously.”

She didn’t wait for a response and went back down to reading the statement. It was just as slanderous as she was expecting. It didn’t take her long to read enough and she set the parchment aside. She found a red-faced Umbridge waiting for her, stung by her response towards her attempts to accuse anyone else of being a part of her fabricated conspiracy. 

Although, she was right in some ways. Madame Longbottom had been tipped off, only not by Dumbledore - by Amelia herself. 

“Commencing interview,” Amelia announced, triggering her dictation quill. It jerked up to attention on the board, nip balanced on the parchment. “Interviewer: Amelia Bones, Head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Interviewee: Dolores Umbridge, Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Senior Undersecretary to the Minister For Magic.”

Umbridge’s nostrils gave a little flare, something rankling her. Amelia assumed it was the sting of the position of Headmistress that had been revoked on order of the Board of Governors. 

“I will begin with reviewing the evidence about an illegal organisation of Hogwarts students that Madame Umbridge exposed following her own investigations into the group.” Without further ado, she reached for the purple file in front of her. Umbridge’s eyes gleamed with interest as she saw what she held in her hands. Harry Potter’s classified file. 

She opened the folder, all too aware of Umbridge’s spying eyes as she eagerly tried to see what secrets they uncovered. She thumbed through the tabs where she had labelled and annotated the documents within. She took out the insert file that she put together. With a snap, she closed the main folder and pushed it aside, seeing the hint of disappointment on Umbridge’s face. 

She drew out the members list of ‘ Dumbledore’s Army’ and set it to one side then the official notes drawn from Harry’s first interrogation when he took full responsibility for the group. 

“Before you organised raiding the unapproved gathering on the school grounds, the evidence that you gathered all suggested that Potter was the main culprit, correct?” Amelia pushed the list towards Umbridge. She checked what was being shown to her, then looked up.

“My sources informed me that Potter was the leader which was when I knew what we were dealing with. He has been in open revolt since the start of term, but posed no threat as just one voice amid many. I had to intervene when I learned he had enlisted other students to his agenda.”

“I understand that it was your duty to intervene, but what I am saying is that neither source named Dumbledore as the instigator. Even Miss Edgecombe, who had been attending these meetings since the beginning, did not mention the true purpose of the group. Do you not find that odd, Dolores?”

Umbridge gave her a long look before answering. “It matters not. Dumbledore confessed to it when we brought Potter to face the consequences for his actions.”

“He did so when he saw what Potter and his accomplices called themselves,” Amelia pointed out. “I have read the full transcript and have Potter’s own account of events.” Umbridge’s top lip drew back.

“Potter’s account of anything would be riddled with lies and deceit.”

Amelia lifted a finger warningly. “I would tread more carefully with your claims about the suspect’s honesty when you do not even know what he has said on the matter. You are only showing me that you have already made your hypothesis based on your opinion, not on the evidence.”

Umbridge scowled but said nothing in response. 

“My point, Dolores, is that Dumbledore only took the blame for the group when he saw the list. When we questioned Potter on this, he informed us that the reason was that Dumbledore was trying to protect him from being expelled. Considering the evidence, and the lack of any mention that Dumbledroe was behind this group, I am inclined to believe Potter’s account. I believe that he was the main culprit and that the name is just a name.”

“You believe that Dumbledore would risk arrest and losing his position over a single boy?” Umbridge scoffed. 

“Not just any boy,” Amelia pointed out. “Harry Potter, whether you believe him or not, is a target for very dangerous individuals currently at large. If he is expelled, he would be entirely at the mercy of Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwook…” Amelia counted them off her fingers. “Need I go on, Dolores?”

Judging from the guarded, defiant look she received, she assumed not. 

“You face a very real possibility that snapping Potter’s wand will be a death sentence for the boy. It is high time that you and Cornelius take this seriously. The boy’s parents were targets of You-know-who himself. Do you not think that his supporters would want to finish what he started? Or take revenge on the boy? But I digress.”

Amelia knew she had made her point. She reached for the green file where Gawain Robards had organised the student testimonies for her. 

“As part of our investigation into the organisation, we have taken it upon ourselves to question the other members of the apparent student militia. I have their statements here.” Amelia dropped the file on the table with a thud, one that made Umbridge jump. “You will be surprised to read that each one of the school children who signed up to the group did so not out of direct opposition of the Ministry. As you know from your inside source who witnessed the initial meeting, they had agreed to join so that Potter could teach them defensive magic.”

Umbridge wore a very ugly smile. “Defensive magic that is unapproved and unsanctioned for a reason. It is unsafe and dangerous for children to practise unsupervised such dangerous magic. Potter put each and every one of those students in harm’s way and, yes, that also includes your niece, Amelia.” She twisted her smile into a look of regret, sighing. “They naively assumed that they would be learning instructive magic, not knowing that they were unwillingly being recruited and manipulated into Potter’s schemes.”

Amelia studied her for a moment. 

“Do you have any evidence to support that Potter was endangering the students?”

Umbridge gave a sad nod. “I do not need evidence. Potter is not a qualified wizard and he was not instructing in a safe environment.”

“So you agree that the purposes of these meetings were for Potter to instruct? He was teaching?”

Umbridge betrayed a hint of hesitation before putting on her ugly smile again. “Oh, well of course, that was the cover he was giving-.”

“Ah, but you believe that he was secretly training them to act as his foot-soldiers?” Amelia said over her before Umbridge could reinforce her theory once more. She then flicked open the file with the DA members’ testimonies. She flicked past the names of the students she knew were closest to Harry and so Umbridge would have a ready made excuse to discount their testimony as lies out of loyalty to their friend. She inwardly smiled at her own niece’s statement before selecting one in particular. 

“For the record, I am presenting Madame Umbridge with-,” she quickly checked the label on the corner of the sheet, “Article H-A, sub-item 12. This is a transcript of the statement taken from Ernest Macmillan, a fifth-year student at Hogwarts, Hufflepuff prefect.”

She carefully handed the sheet over to Umbridge, whose eyes narrowed at the name, her protest towards the validity of the statement was frozen on her lips. The Macmillan family were firm supporters of Fudge and had been for years, 

“Mr Macmillan provides a very detailed account of all the spells and lessons that Potter ran in secret. You will of course know, Dolores, being the Defence professor yourself, that each of these spells are on the Hogwarts curriculum. The only spell that is highly advanced for a study group of their average ages is the Patronus Charm. I fail to see how a group of under a dozen students could seriously pose as a threat to the Ministry with this repertoire of defensive magic.”

She watched as Dolores read the statement, her face turning very sudden shocking pink. While the woman was distracted, she then reached for Harry’s folder, reaching for the notes of his first interview. 

“When we questioned Potter on the group and the purposes, he said this, and I quote-,” Umbridge’s eyes darted up at once, sharp and angry, “‘Since October, when we started, I’ve taught how to shield, stun, summon, repel. I taught basic duelling stances, how to move in combat… how to dodge.’” Amelia raised her head, peering through her monocle. “You will note, in Mr Macmillan’s statement, that he confirms this.” 

Umbridge dropped the offending statement from her fingers, her nostrils flaring. 

“And you will also note that Mr Macmillan admits that he had no prior knowledge of the spells Potter taught and it is only under his instruction that he is able to master them.”

Umbridge bared her teeth then as her smile turned almost-snarl like. 

“It is no secret that the subject’s instruction has been disrupted with a new professor taking the position every year.”

“A matter that your appointment was meant to resolve - at least, that was my understanding,” Amelia was quick to add. Umbridge’s eyes flashed then. 

“I was under the impression, Amelia, that it is Potter who is under scrutiny, not what goes on in my classroom.” Her voice turned dangerously sweet. “What relevance can this possibly have in this case? I daresay, your criticisms are most unprofessional.”

Amelia simply stared back at her, privately amused that Umbridge would call her unprofessional. The woman’s hypocrisy was just burying her. 

“What goes on in your classroom has absolute importance on this investigation, Dolores, because I am well aware that you have not been teaching your students practical magic since the beginning of your appointment. Under your educational reforms, all practical use of defensive spells are limited to the practical examinations at the end of the year.”

Amelia calmly looked away from Umbridge as she bristled at her words. She gazed back down to Harry’s recorded transcript. 

“Reading again from Potter’s interview, he asked Rufus this. ‘ As an Auror, do you think that it’s right that underage students are purposefully being kept from learning how to defend themselves?’” 

Studying Umbridge over her monocle, Amelia gave Umbridge a very direct look.

“I can tell you that as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcements, an ex-Auror myself, I do not think it is right in the slightest that underage students are incapable of defending themselves to a very basic degree.”

“We are doing what is right in the students’ best interest!” Umbridge then exclaimed, unable to contain her indignation. 

“Are you saying that preventing the students from learning magic that could save their lives is protecting them?” Amelia then snapped back, her tone losing the calm composure. “The reason why these students chose to learn magic in an unsupervised environment with Potter as their instructor was because they felt that you do not have their best interests at heart. And from what I see - I wholeheartedly agree with them.”

Umbridge then burst onto her feet, slamming her hands on the table. 

“How dare you! Criticising me is a criticism of the Minister.”

“Oh, I am aware,” Amelia said, then pointed down at the seat. “Which is why I suggest you consider the situation you find yourself in very carefully, Dolores.”

Amelia then hovered her hand over the chest next to her. 

“I’m yet to show you what other evidence I have and, allow me to be very clear, this is a Magical Law Enforcement investigation. If I uncover evidence that implicates the Minister, then I will implicate him. No wizard is above the law. Not Albus Dumbledore and not Cornelius Fudge. This isn’t about petty politics between two powerful figures. This is about the safety and well-being of the future generation of witches and wizards who are in your care.”

Amelia’s eyes hardened as she considered the file containing the testimonies of the DA that was still open between them

“One of which, which you reminded me earlier, is my own niece.”

When at long last, a flicker of fear entered Umbridge’s eyes, Amelia knew she had her. She contained her fear, eyes darting over to the door then to the mirror. All of a sudden, she realised that she wasn’t the one in control of the situation. Uncertainty had her stalling as she hovered above her seat, employing some quick thinking, her gaze then analysing the folders on the table, before settling on the chest. The flicker of fear returned and she met Amelia’s gaze.

“Potter has not been idle if he has managed to invent a story convincing enough for you to bring me into question. Whatever story his sickness has invented, it is not what it seems.”

Umbridge then sat down, her demeanour a lot more pensive in comparison to her earlier outburst.  

“I will not deny… the boy has quite the talent. It is indeed impressive that he convinced Albus Dumbledore and so many others to believe his innocence. Now he has convinced you… but I assure you, Harry Potter is no victim. He is dangerous. ”

Aware that the topic of the DA and Umbridge’s status as a less than competent teacher was exhausted for the moment, Amelia decided to humour Umbridge’s insistence on changing the subject. If she wished to target Harry, then she would fall deeper into the trap.

“How precisely is he dangerous?” Amelia asked. 

Umbridge’s nasty smile spread. “He is spreading lies. Dangerous lies that threaten the stability of our society and threaten to bring about a public panic.”

“What lies are these?” Amelia asked, making a show of opening Harry’s transcripts, searching for the evidence of his apparent falsehoods. 

“His claim that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned,” Umbridge spat as if it carried a vile taste. Amelia raised her eyebrow and continued to scan through the transcripts. Once flicked through, she filed them away, putting the insert back into his main folder. 

“I see. And any other lies?”

Umbridge’s lip curled. “I shared with Rufus some of the, frankly, disturbing claims Potter has made in my classroom and around the school.” She waved a hand towards the statement Amelia read before starting the interview. “He claims that Cedric Diggory was murdered and that he was a witness to it. There was no murder - only a tragic accident.”

“Hmm.” Amelia stared at Umbridge intently. “A fact that we know because we followed due process and carried out a full investigation into the poor boy’s death.”

There again was the flicker of fear. Umbridge’s composure faltered and she glanced over at the door again. 

“So therefore we have ample evidence to support that Mr Diggory’s death was a tragic accident so we have everything we need to catch Potter in his lie, correct?”

The fact that Umbridge had nothing to say was damning enough. It was the proof that Amelia was waiting for, a sign of guilt, that she had caught them at their game. Hiding the truth, cutting corners so they were all left ignorant of the dark crimes that had been left unresolved. 

“As for Mr Potter’s account of what happened that night. There is also evidence to prove that his witness statement is total fabrication, yes? For you to be so resolute in your convictions that he is lying… my… you must have quite the concrete evidence to prove he is wrong.”

The nasty smile was back and she gave a trill of a laugh.

“What other evidence do we need? All he and Dumbledore have are his accounts. The only witness to the impossible. Surely… Amelia… you cannot possibly believe that a wizard who has been confirmed dead for thirteen years orchestrated a kidnapping plot from beyond the grave so that his minions could resurrect him using the boy’s blood? It is the invention of a very sick mind and Dumbledore is using this to supplant Cornelius!”

Amelia glanced over to the dictation board, checking that it had recovered everything Umbridge just said. She’d confirmed that she knew the full details of what Harry had recounted during the interview with Rita Skeeter… if that was even the source. 

She then opened Harry’s folder once again. Letting out a breath through her nose, Amelia reached for the medical report. 

“You’re a smart woman, Dolores. You must know that accusations without evidence are empty. You tell me that what Potter claims is impossible, then I ask you - would you have believed it twenty years ago if you were told that a baby could survive Lord Voldemort’s Killing Curse and destroy him in the process?”

Umbridge, of course, flinched at the name. 

“You are so quick to denounce anything Potter says… and, frankly, it is tiresome. So, I will put an end to this charade.” She pulled out the results of the scan including the Healer’s notes. “For the record, I am presenting Article 5 - subitems 1-3. The results of a medical and magical diagnostic scan of one Harry James Potter.”

She turned the document around and placed it down in front of Umbridge. The other woman looked down at the document, her face noticeably slack. 

“Two days ago, I had our consultant from St Mungo’s carry out a very legal diagnostic scan. While in our custody, Potter’s health is my responsibility so it was well within my rights to order a scan. What you see before you are the results. Some of Potter’s medical history was redacted as his insistence, however you will see in the notes that the healer who carried out the scan was witness to the full results and has signed a waiver to confirm the redacted evidence has no bearing in our investigation.”

Satisfaction began to thrum inside Amelia, especially when she saw the hesitation when Umbridge pulled the document towards her. 

“I wish to bring attention to the injuries listed on 24th June 1995.” Amelia leaned forwards so she could read the record upside down. She reached forward, stabbing her finger down on the list in question, glossing over for the moment the extensive list that documented Umbridge’s abuse towards Harry. 

“I would like your opinion, Madame Umbridge, on how you believe Harry Potter ended up with Cruciatus Curse exposure and Imperius Curse exposure during the same night that Cedric Diggory lost his life because of a tragic accident.”

Amelia then reached inside her robe, her fingers curling over the scroll that she had prepared. She drew it out next and rested it on top of the chest. When she lifted her head, she risked a small smirk at the trembling in Umbridge’s lip. Her eyes were darting as she absorbed the damning evidence of her attempt to silence Harry Potter as each and every ‘cursed laceration’ that mounted up. 

“If you would next bring your attention to the Healer’s report about the curse… you will see that her hypothesis indicates that the wizard who cursed Potter was an adept at the Dark Arts, thus eliminating any of the other Triwizard champions as culprits. We also know that Barty Crouch Junior was not within the vicinity to curse Potter.”

A small sound escaped Umbridge as she turned the next page to where Healer Travers had reported Harry’s extensive torture with a blood quill. 

“Due to the undeniable evidence that Potter was a victim of two Unforgivable Curses, I have opened an investigation into the events that transpired that night as they are not the purview of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. So far our investigation has uncovered some glaring errors in the official report. Not only was the report not signed and not completed, it also revealed that no member of the Department had boots on the floor during the investigation.”

Amelia left Umbridge soaking in her fear for a moment longer.

“We have open ‘Missing Persons’ reports that haven’t been closed. Bertha Jorkins and Barty Crouch Senior were never found.” She continued. “Alastor Moody’s abduction and impersonation by Barty Crouch Junior was also never officially reported and investigated. And then there is the matter of Barty Crouch Junior - a wizard who had been believed dead for a great many years and as such he managed to accomplish much as a dead man. A pity we cannot learn precisely what he got up to and question him on his involvement. A number of these cases would have been closed if my Department had questioned him.”

Her hands rested on the arrest warrant in front of her. Umbridge finished reading the medical report, her face ashen, as she looked up at Amelia. 

“The prime suspect fell victim to a Dementor’s Kiss… and it is very suspicious that the prime witness very nearly suffered the same fate, do you not agree, Dolores? You were there during Potter’s Hearing. You know he was attacked, unprovoked, in the middle of a muggle town by dementors as well.”

“Dementors who were acting outside the Ministry’s approval,” Umbridge spoke for the first time in a while. 

“Quite.” Amelia offered a small smile in return. “Outside the Ministry’s official approval. Yet another act of incompetence to add to the staggering list. Either the lack of any accountability is down to a very poorly run operation or this… is the work of a greater conspiracy - of persons within the Ministry trying very hard to stop inquisitive eyes looking too closely. You hold in your hands the evidence of the worst transgression these people have committed. Someone has been working on what the dementors in Little Whinging failed to do. Someone has been silencing Harry Potter… with torture.”

Amelia then stood up, causing Umbridge to flinch violently. She turned in the direction of the door and raised a hand. The locks clicked open, the door swinging out to admit Kingsley, whose red robes swished as he entered. Umbridge’s eyes widened and the fear no longer hid behind her vile smiles and titters. 

“The Aurors dispatched to Hogwarts were not there to investigate Dumbledore and Potter. Under my authority, they carried out a search of the castle - including your office.” 

With this announcement, Amelia unsealed the arrest warrant in her hands and opened it slowly. She peered over it, her eyes hard and unforgiving as she then glared at Umbridge, dropping her professional, stern yet unmoved facade. 

“I extend to you one chance, as a respected figure within the Ministry, to come quietly and face the charges we have against you-.”

“W-what charges?” Umbridge was on her feet once again, her chair scraping loudly behind her as she took a scared step back. She then jabbed a shaky finger down at the medical report. “You cannot seriously… believe this boy over me? He is framing me! I have no idea where he possessed an object of such a nature but-”

“ Enough. ” Amelia didn’t raise her voice, but the effect was just as profound if she had. “You and Cornelius may believe that words alone warrant a conviction, but in my department, we use evidence. ” Her brows furrowed angrily as she stared at Umbridge. “I am well aware that relying on a single witness whom you have so colourfully painted as a liar would not be enough. Do you believe me and my department fools?” 

She gave Kingsley a nod and he approached, taking his inhibitors from his belt. Umbridge’s eyes bulged. 

“Cornelius will not stand for this!” She then shrieked. “You cannot arrest me!”

“I can and I am,” Amelia then dropped the arrest warrant down on the table. The parchment fluttered down to rest on the file that contained the witness statements. “How dignified you wish to make this fall from grace is up to you. Look around you, Dolores. You were never in this room to assist with my investigation into an illegal gathering of students. You were in here as a suspect of far more grievous crime, one that - if it was carried out on the orders of your superior - will be more than enough to ruin Cornelius Fudge’s career as Minister for Magic.”

Kingsley had reached the desk, holding the inhibitors, ready on the wings to action the arrest when his boss was ready. 

“Dolores Umbridge, you are under arrest for the physical torture of Harry Potter, the method used being the systematic, prolonged use of a blood quill which has left the victim with lasting physical and magical scarring. You are also under arrest for charges of unsanctioned corporal punishment using the same instrument of torture upon a list of twenty six students.”

Umbridge panicked then, especially when Amelia looked up at her, not containing the disgust and hatred. 

“As High Inquisitor, such methods were within my rights,” she gasped out as she looked between Amelia and Kingsley. “Bad behaviour warrants disciplinary act-.”

“With as much respect as I can give, Madame Umbridge,” Kingsley’s low voice spoke over her. “You have a right to be silent.”

Her lips curling at Kingsley’s words, Amelia gave him a curt nod again and he moved to make the arrest. 

“No! No… Cornelius! Help!”

“You are now in the custody of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement where you will be formally processed, detained and questioned. While in our custody, you have the right to legal counsel and representation. Anything you say or do will be used as evidence, either in support or against you. You must now surrender your wand and magic.”

Kingsley towered over the simpering witch who had backed against the wall, slowly seeing with her bulging eyes that the walls were closing in around her. 

“Your wand.” Amelia urged. “Hand it over, Dolores. If you cooperate, you will leave this with some dignity intact.”

Trembling, Umbridge reached inside her robes and handed over her stubby wand. Amelia took it, satisfied. With a click, she opened the chest containing the blood quill and the other victims’ testimonies. Umbridge’s face then crumpled as she saw clearly within the chest the damning blood quill. Amelia caught the look and smiled. 

“Yes, Dolores, this is what it looks like.” She said as she closed the chest with a firm snap. “This is justice being done for once as it should be and… I think you will find that Cornelius will choose to salvage what will be left of his reputation than to sully himself by saving you from the consequences of your depravity.” 

All the bluster and vitriol seeped out of Dolores Umbridge when Kingsley approached her. She simply stared out, blank. Kingsley put a hand under her elbow and drew her away from the wall. She stumbled then, colour bleaching from her face, as her eyes rolled back. With a flump, she collapsed on the floor in a dead faint. 

“So much for leaving with her dignity,” Amelia remarked. “Take her away, Kingsley.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said at once, drawing his wand to levitate the unconscious Dolores Umbridge from the room. 

“Put her in Room Two for now. She can stew in there when she wakes up.”

Waiting a moment to watch Kingsley remove the offending item from the room, Amelia gathered together all the documents, filing away Harry’s folder and securing its contents with her seal. A couple of trudging footsteps at the door was enough to tell her who was waiting. She glanced up. 

“Have this all brought to my office, Rufus… and source me a bottle of something strong.” She requested, leaving the folders and the evidence for him to deal with.

“I will handle it, Amelia, but what about Potter and Granger?” He asked, stopping her at the door. 

She turned, looking over her shoulder at the mirror. 

“Leave them with me.” 

Rufus nodded and swept off to clear away the table. Amelia kept her gaze fixed on the mirror for a moment, then exited the room to head into the adjoining one. 

Dealing with Cornelius Fudge would wait. For now, it was time to celebrate the fall of the High Inquisitor. Who better to share in the victory than the two young people who brought her the evidence of her crimes? Smiling, she opened the door to the interview room. 

The young pair moved apart as if they were yanked back by a sudden invisible force. Both quickly straightened their robes, both with wide eyes, shocked expressions and very pink cheeks. Amelia didn’t need to be an ex-Auror to know what she just interrupted. 

“I see you’re both enjoying the news,” she remarked, causing their faces to flush deeper shades of pink. She shut the door behind her, striding inside. A quick glance to their table confirmed that someone brought them something to eat and drink, seeing two empty cups and an empty platter sporting crumbs and a single crust. 

Turning her gaze back to the pair, she stalled in her strides when she looked at Harry. He tentatively took a step towards her, his brow furrowing. Then he let out a sharp breath, two tears making their way down his cheeks. He then emboldened himself, crossing the distance. Hermione followed him, watching with heavy concern and tenderness. 

“W-what happens next?” Harry asked her. “I know I can’t leave. Not until I’m cleared, but Hermione…” He looked over his shoulder. “She’s free to go?”

Hermione reached Harry, grabbing his arm protectively, her eyes beseeching as she gazed at Amelia directly - determined. 

“I fully intend for Gawain to escort Miss Granger back to the school the moment we have Umbridge secured and will have Aurors posted on the premises. I highly doubt Fudge would be so foolish as to make any threats now that we have him backed in a corner, but he is no danger… not without his bloodhound.” She turned her gaze back to Harry. “My concern lies with you. I have spoken with Alastor Moody and he is of the very strong opinion that you are in grave danger while within the Ministry’s walls.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look. 

“Mad-eye? H-he’s here?” Harry asked. His tone wasn’t one of surprise but of suspicion. 

Interesting.

“I have him posted in the Atrium. Out of retirement on his insistence. He also provided me with his own testimony about the months he spent in captivity. It appears he, too, is determined to make it public that Lord Voldemort is at large. He also is determined to catch more Death Eaters to add to his tally.”

Harry smirked at that, eyeing Hermione again. Amelia mused at their silent communication. It was very clear how close they were. 

“He has also confirmed to me that the Order of the Phoenix are operating in the Ministry.” It was almost comical how Harry’s smirk vanished. Amelia quickly raised a hand. “Don’t be alarmed. I am very aware of the organisation’s existence. My own brother was a member. He and Alastor were partners as Aurors and joined the group together. Rick… didn’t survive the war, nor did my parents.”

The sad look Harry gave her didn’t belong on the face of someone so young. He let out a breath through his nose. 

“Yes, I heard from Susan about the losses to your family. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said, offering him a smile when she saw his genuine sympathy. “I tell you this so you know that I’m aware that Dumbledore has his spies in the Ministry… and I also know that Voldemort has his. I know who they are and, I assure you, they will not be getting past our security. I will arrange for an emergency portkey to divert you to a safehouse if they dare an assault, but their only option is a siege if they wish to seize you.”

 Harry’s brow then furrowed and he rubbed at his forehead, his knuckle running over his famous scar. 

“If you’re talking to Moody, then you know that there’s something that they’re after in the Department of Mysteries.”

“ Harry! ” Hermione then gasped. He looked sharply over to her. 

“I agreed to cooperate,” he told her, “and we know that Voldemort desperately wants whatever’s here. Probably as much as he wants me dead.” He then gave Amelia an assessing look. “You believe that Voldemort will plan to kill two birds with one stone?”

She was aware that the saying was a muggle one, but she got the meaning clear enough. 

“I believe that it is possible which is why I’m pushing ahead on my plans to unseat Fudge and end this facade as soon as possible. You will be going before the Wizengamot tomorrow, Harry.”

His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“T-Tomorrow? But I’m not ready… I don’t have anything ready! No defence… or… a lawyer.” His face appeared to go a little green. 

“You will have me,” Amelia announced firmly. “I have openly moved against Fudge and this will cause a divide in the Ministry, but it is essential that we have your name cleared. I will move forwards on a vote of no confidence, dropping the charges on Dumbledore as well as yourself. I hope we can unify with the Order and begin opposing Voldemort’s regained influence.”

Harry studied her face, pale and anxious. His shoulders dropped and he nodded.

“However, this will take time. There is a lot of evidence to present in court. Our priority is first and foremost your safety. Tomorrow we do all we can to get the Wizengamot agree to let you wait for your trial at Hogwarts.”

Amelia took a step towards him, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Then you can go back to school and hopefully make up for the time you lost from your studies... though you may wish to continue with instructing your students in defensive magic… the OWL exams are not too far away.”

Harry looked up at her, his expression sceptical.

“But I'd still be under arrest."

"It'll be temporary. You will be acquitted unanimously and Fudge will lose his seat as Minister. The business of politics shouldn't be the concerns of a fifteen-year-old."

That would be believable if I was just a fifteen-year-old,” Harry said, “I'm involved no matter what I do.”

Amelia nodded gravely. Looking at the young man, she wished she could tell him otherwise, but she couldn’t. As much as she wanted to let him live his life after the dust settled, she knew she would need his help to piece the Ministry back together. Once his naysayers were dealt with, all eyes will be upon him again.

Her eyes would be upon him too. For Alastor Moody didn’t just tell her that Voldemort was after something within the Department of Mysteries. He also told her what was down there. 

War was upon them and it would be down to Harry Potter to lead the charge. He was destined for it. 

Chapter 8: The Ultimatum

Summary:

The truth behind the Ministry's control over Hogwarts goes public and Fudge's career is in jeopardy. Meanwhile, Harry has a visitor and learns a truth of his own.

The hour was indeed late when a very satisfied Professor McGonagall left Hermione at the Portrait of the Fat Lady. She had received Hermione in the office of the Headteacher of Hogwarts, arriving through the floo from Amelia Bones’s office. Released from protective custody, she had to return to the school, leaving Harry behind in the detention block of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She hadn’t been surprised to find McGonagall alert and very much awake so late, especially with her recently acquired position of Headmistress now that Umbridge was gone from the school. 

McGonagall told her to not stay up too late. Aware that she could be summoned to the Ministry at any time as a key witness, Hermione took the advice on board. She kept her summary of events that she relayed to a half-awake Ron brief, just giving him the key information that he’d stayed up for. 

Only he had stayed up, the others dropping off as the time got later and later. He listened to her report, the tiredness dropping from his face as she told him the news. 

“They arrested her?” Ron repeated, shocked. “You’re telling me the Aurors actually arrested her?” 

“I saw Kingsley hovering her out of the room to the cells myself,” Hermione said, driving home the point. “There’s every chance that she’s going to Azkaban.”

“Blimey…” Ron’s face was pale with shock. “Fudge can’t stop it?”

“No - not without implicating himself. They have all the evidence they need. When they searched her office, they found the quill and have testimonies from others who sat in detention, not just Harry.”

Ron laughed then, grasping Hermione by the arms. He started her by suddenly giving her a hug. 

“That’s fantastic!” He burst out, then dropped his arms, flushing as he realised he was hugging her. Hermione flushed too, thinking about a very different embrace she’d received from her other best friend. 

And the kissing…

“What about Harry? Surely that’s enough to prove that they’re targeting him and silencing him? They can’t possibly take Fudge’s charges seriously now?”

Hermione was startled at the mention of Harry, wondering if Ron could read her thoughts. Shock rushed through her as it only then dawned on her what had happened in that small interview room. The hours she’d spent alone with Harry in protective custody, talking, relaxing in each others’ company… enjoying each others’ company. A lot happened and not just in regards to the case. 

She had feelings for Harry Potter, deep, romantic feelings. Far stronger than she ever realised. He was the port in the storm for her, the light in the dark. How had she never realised before now? Did it really take Harry to fight his own battles for her to see him properly? She had come to help him with her testimony, serving as a witness against Umbridge, but she’d seen first hand that Harry had made strides on his own. He stood up for himself, not letting Fudge grind him down and give in to their demands. He took responsibility for the DA despite the consequences, didn’t take the easy way out, didn’t take any bargains to ensure his release. He had found allies, cooperated with them, had been smart and taken the initiative. Harry had been smart. 

“Fudge and Umbridge really underestimated Harry,” Hermione admitted. “He’s given them his testimony and evidence to prove it - enough for them to take his word seriously. In fact, he’s going before the Wizengamot tomorrow.”

Ron grinned. “Brilliant. They’ll get Fudge to step down then?”

“It does sound that way, yes, but… there’s something else.” Hermione said, knowing that she had one piece of important news to give before going to bed. “The Order are working with the DMLE as well now. It sounds a bit like… well… like they’ve allied with Amelia and I doubt Dumbledore approved it. Harry’s cooperating with them too. He told them about there being something important to Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries.”

Astonished, Ron took a step back. “Blimey, I didn’t see that coming but it makes sense.”

“They’re taking it very seriously that Voldemort will send his forces to infiltrate the Ministry and retrieve whatever he’s after… and get to Harry in the process. Even Moody’s at the Ministry, keeping watch for any potential Death Eaters. They’ve locked down the whole floor to keep Harry safe.”

“Bloody hell.” 

“That’s partly why Amelia is pushing for Harry to get released from custody. It’s too dangerous for him at the Ministry while he’s a key player in getting Voldemort’s return exposed. Once that’s made public, they can start to mobilise against him. I just hope this means that there will be a chance to have Sirius cleared as well.”

She wearily turned towards the staircases. “For now, though, I’m exhausted.”

Ron nodded, looking a little disappointed. 

“Right. I guess sleep is a good idea but I want to know about the look on Umbridge’s face when she realised that she’s toast.”

Hermione smiled at that. 

“Don’t worry. I had a front row seat to that and it was glorious.”

After bidding Ron goodnight, Hermione made her way to her dormitory. As tired as she was, she fully expected that it would take a while for her to fall asleep. Her mind was wired, turbulent emotions shooting through her, leaving her both frazzled and energised. She got herself ready, answering only a few questions that came her way from Lavender and Parvati. By the time she was settled in bed, her hangings drawn around her, she started to think about Harry. 

She couldn’t get his face out of her mind. She didn’t really want to. As anxious as she was about his safety, she knew that it would take an army to reach him. She lay, staring up at the darkened ceiling, wondering if he was laying awake as well in his cell. She wondered if he was thinking about her.

Hermione’s fingers brushed over her lips, her thoughts turning towards how it felt to have his lips upon hers. She felt foolish, thinking of being kissed at such a time when Harry’s freedom and life were on the line. But the memory brought her comfort and something else too, a warm glowing feeling that set off in her midriff. She had never felt such a feeling when she kissed Viktor Krum, nor had those kisses felt anything like what kissing Harry had felt like. 

She had no idea how good it could be. How dizzying it was to be suddenly the subject of his undivided attention, his hands on her face. Even if it was a mad act of passion, brought on through desperation and high stress, she didn’t care. He made it abundantly clear how grateful he was for her support and companionship… how he truly felt about her. 

How long had he felt such a way?

It didn’t really matter, not when she realised she felt equally as strongly. Part of her was desperate for him to be released from the Ministry so they could figure out what these new feelings meant for them. 

She wished she was with him now. Wished that she could hear the sound of his breathing, feel his steady presence at her side. It was only with him gone that she realised just how much she relied on his presence and how much she took it for granted. He made her feel… brave. Confident. 

It was with the memory of heady kisses stolen in secret that Hermione Granger fell asleep. 

The next morning began suspiciously quietly, a sedate mood descending over the castle as the early risers made their way down for breakfast. Talk had already swept through the castle after the Aurors left with Professor Umbridge to conclude their investigations at the Ministry. Talk continued late when the High Inquisitor was yet to return to the castle. More students than usual for a Saturday were up early, very noticeably alert to wait for the morning edition of the paper where they hoped to get some illumination on whatever was going on. First the Governors stepped in to overrule the Ministry’s rules in the school, then the Aurors arrived to question them about Dumbledore sowing discord against the Minister for Magic and Harry Potter’s role as his accomplice, working on his behalf. 

The Aurors had kept their true purpose as secret as they could. The students who Harry had selected to speak up in testimony against Umbridge were very aware that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement weren’t after evidence about Dumbledore and Harry at all. They kept their silence, nervously anticipating the news of whether the Aurors had found enough to get rid of Umbridge for good. 

 Suspiciously, the Heads of the Houses were all absent from the top table that morning. Umbridge was still absent. Rumours buzzed in the Great Hall as the students came up with their theories and speculations. Most of the speculations resulted in stares being thrown over in the direction of where most suspected the answers lay. Everyone knew that Hermione had been brought to the Ministry to be questioned as Harry Potter’s partner in crime. But what they wanted to know was why she had returned to the school and Dolores Umbridge had not. 

All too aware of the stares and whispers, Hermione ignored them, bleary eyed from too little sleep. Most of the Gryffindor house were in the Great Hall before the owls started to arrive. Voices buzzed in excitement the moment the first bird fluttered into the room. 

What followed could only be described as an unusually maddened frenzy for the news. Those that had subscriptions with The Daily Prophet ended up with small crowds amassed around them, everyone desperate to see the headline. Hermione’s copy dropped in front of her and she shared looks with Ron, Ginny and Neville. 

She quickly unrolled the paper and flattened it on the table in front of them. A small crowd of Gryffindors gathered around her, peering over her shoulder, some even moving to stand on the bench to get a look.

 

The Truth of the Ministry’s Reforms at Hogwarts: A School Or A Prison?

 

The sounds of shock rippled through the room, muting the frenzy for a moment. Until the laughter started and the cheers, then the applause and the sounds of celebration that rumbled in the Hall. 

Hermione ignored all that had assembled around her to read her paper. She needed to read the front page news herself. She shot them all pointed looks as she gathered the paper, going to read. Then she sighed and decided to read it aloud. 

 

“Following from the alarming events that transpired at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this week, the school has become under review from the Board of Governors. An emergency inspection was deemed necessary after Albus Dumbledore’s shocking removal from his position as Headmaster. Yesterday morning, the Governors were present at the school to review the curriculum and inspect the standards of education the students receive under Dumbledore’s management. These inspections brought to light the Ministerial Educational reforms that were put in place this year. 

It was a shock to discover that, rather than improve the conditions at the school, the Educational decrees have impeded the students’ education. In fact, their purpose has been solely to limit the students’ freedoms.

“One of the Educational Decrees forbade the Professors at the school from communicating with the students about anything outside of the lessons they were teaching. This in effect meant that the students were unable to ask for any help or support if they needed it.” Velma Bluebottle, one of many parents who sit on the Board of Governors, informed me when I reached out for more information. “I was utterly disgusted to learn that the students, who all live away from their families during the term time, were being isolated from their caregivers - a role that their Heads of House are in place to provide.”

It is one of many decrees that restrict the students’ rights. Students are forbidden from forming clubs and groups without approval from the Ministry’s appointed High Inquisitor to prevent them amassing in revolt. Certain publications have been banned, possession of which results in expulsion. Contact outside the school has been controlled and prohibited. Information they receive censored. Effectively, the Ministry has cut off Hogwarts and its students from anything outside their control - including from the children’s families. 

“We have launched an official inquiry into Professor Umbridge’s appointment at the school as the Ministry’s ‘High Inquisitor’” Mrs Bluebottle informed me when I asked who was responsible for the reforms and what measures were being taken to liberate the school from such tyrannical management. “It is without anyone’s doubt that any of the Educational Decrees she had authorised had the safety and welfare of the students in mind.” 

Needless-to-say, the Board of Governors have stepped in to make Hogwarts a safe and supportive environment for the students who call it home. We have heard that Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress, has assumed the position of Acting Headmistress until the Board approves an appointment, replacing the substitute choice that the Minister placed in Albus Dumbledore’s vacant position. 

With the Department of Magical Law Enforcement already having an interest in the the school due to their investigation into Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, it does make one question if they are the true culprits worth investigating. The conspiracy against Cornelius Fudge’s administration may have had a just cause if current scenes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are to go by. What this means for the charges of sedition Dumbledore and his teenaged accomplice, Harry Potter, are accused of, we can only wait for more news.

 

Looking around the table, Hermione could see many grins, but she couldn’t share in the joy around her. She felt… disappointed. Deflated. She had hoped to see the truth of Umbridge’s downfall exposed in huge black letters, splashed in print. 

She could see the political manoeuvring under the text, the finger pointing directed very obviously at the Minister. The defaming of the Ministry’s control over Hogwarts was career-ending, that much was certain. But it wasn’t enough.

“Bit rich of them to talk about censorship, don’t you think?” Ginny bitterly chewed out after Hermione finished reading the front page. A few angry sounds of agreement followed her remark. Hermione turned the page of the paper, carrying out her usual scouring of any bad news hidden under the political coverage.

The cacophony of conversations all suddenly dimmed as the door at the side of the teachers’ table threw back. Hermione’s head jerked up. Professor Snape entered first, his robes swishing around him, his expression impassive and unreadable. He glanced over to the Slytherin table, his eyes searching. Behind Snape followed Flitwick and Sprout. They looked more noticeably relieved and triumphant. 

Lastly, Professor McGonagall entered. She clapped her hands loudly, though it wasn’t necessary. She had everyone’s attention at once. She wasn’t openly pleased like Sprout or Flitwick. Her expression was dour and stern. 

“As I see that the paper has arrived, many of you will be informed of the situation. Having read what has been released ahead of being printed, I believe further clarity is necessary and, frankly, owed. We find ourselves without Professor Umbridge’s Educational Decrees restricting information and, as such, I am at liberty to disclose information that has not been released to the public regarding the situation here.”

Professor McGonagall then made her way to the lectern. Hermione suppressed a gasp at her taking the position that the Headmaster would have taken were he not currently on the run. It was deadly silent in the Hall, the only sound a few coughs here and there. 

“Last night, I was briefed in full by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement following their investigations yesterday into the… conspiracy that the Minister exposed and has accused Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter of being behind. I have gone through the statements they took when questioning you all - so I am… aware of a differing opinion within the school.”

Whispers started to hiss to life. Hermione looked around, her face tensing into a look of intense dislike. She glared across at the Slytherin table, fully expecting that a number of them had used the opportunity to discredit Dumbledore and Harry. 

“In addition to the investigation into the conspiracy, the Department had another purpose while in the school. It is this which I wish to share with you and… I have sent letters to your homes to also inform your families of the serious harm that has taken place in this school… and the person who was responsible for it.”

Professor McGonagall rested her hands on top of the lectern and she looked around the Hall at all the faces that were watching her. 

“The Aurors had a warrant to search Professor Umbridge’s office for evidence to support Mr Potter’s claims that she had been harming students during detentions with her. His accusations against her had valid grounds. Umbridge was using corporal punishment - that is to say - physical harm as a form of discipline.”

The whispers petered out and the gravity of what the new Headmistress announced settled down on them. 

“To those in this room who were victims of Dolores Umbridge… I owe you my most sincere apology on behalf of not just myself, but all the staff. We failed in our duty to protect you while in our care at the school. I only hope that it will help knowing that the woman who dared to inflict harm upon you will not be in a position to ever do so again.”

Her gaze then targeted out several faces in particular. Hermione noticed her attention resting on the Hufflepuff table, to where Susan Bones was sitting.

“And to those of you who were brave enough yesterday to come forward and speak to the Aurors, Hogwarts owes you a debt of gratitude. Your testimonies were instrumental in removing Umbridge from the school. Your word will be key in making sure that she, and any who were complicit in her crimes, will see justice.”

 A hand was suddenly thrust up in the air. Heads snapped around to see who was daring to interrupt such an important speech. 

“Mr Creevey? Do you have something to say?”

Colin shakily lowered his hand and licked nervously at his lips, looking up and down the Gryffindor table. 

“Professor, if Harry is making accusations and the Aurors are investigating them, does that mean they believe that he’s been saying the truth all along?”

Once again, the whispers hissed around the room, accompanied by gasps and a few derisive snorts from the Slytherin table. 

“I can share with you that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has reviewed the evidence that Mr Potter has presented in his defence and are indeed investigating his and Professor Dumbledore’s… accounts.” She then offered a rare, small smile. “That the Aurors were here to search Professor Umbridge’s office and interview the victims of her cruelty based on his testimony should be enough to assure you that Mr Potter is being taken very seriously.”

“Potter’s off his rocker.” Someone then burst out. The voice came from the Ravenclaw table. 

“Yeah. We’ve all heard that he says he has visions. He’s a nutter.” A sneering voice joined in. Ron started angrily at Hermione’s side, his hand going for his wand. 

“The Ministry’s taking him seriously? The same Ministry that’s been labelling him a liar for months. They just changed their minds?”

Professor McGonagall raised a hand, plunging the room back into silence. 

“I will not sway opinions one way or another.” Professor McGonagall said sternly. “If the Department of Magical Law Enforcement believes he is sane enough to take him at his word, then perhaps you ought to reconsider your… opinions before you voice them.” She then openly regarded the Slytherin table. “As such, ten points from Slytherin for slandering the character of another student when he is not present to defend himself.”

Professor Snape scowled over at the Slytherin who blurted out about Harry being mad but he didn’t question McGonagall’s choice to discipline.

“Now, over the coming days, a number of students who testified will be contacted with summons to stand as witnesses. You will know who you are. If you have concerns about testifying publicly, speak with your Head of House. We can make arrangements to keep your identities from going on record.”

Ron leaned towards Hermione then. “That’ll likely be the whole D.A.”

Hermione nodded in response. “And maybe others that had detention with Umbridge and spoke up.” 

Ron gave a grim look, looking down the table to where Fred and George were sat, heads bowed towards Lee Jordan, who looked apprehensive. 

“This will be a difficult time and there will be disturbances at the school as the investigations continue. We shall endeavour to limit the impact to your education. On that subject, we will be looking into having a replacement teacher to cover Defence Against The Dark Arts for the rest of the year.”

“Good luck,” someone called out. A few laughs tittered at that.

“When Harry’s back, he can teach,” Colin said, a little loudly. Murmurs of agreement sounded from the D.A. members in the Hall. Professor McGonagall smiled a little in response to his interruption. 

“Once it is cleared that Mr Potter was indeed teaching defensive magic illegally and not leading a student militia, we may entertain the possibility of a defence club like the one he was responsible for. With full approval - this time. And perhaps under a different name.” Professor McGonagall then said, causing murmurs to erupt again. Ron gaped at her in shock. 

“Did McGonagall just support the DA?” He choked out.

“Now - that is all.” Professor McGonagall then concluded. “I recommend that you enjoy the peace and quiet while we have it. The news of the Ministry’s tyranny at Hogwarts will not be calmly received.” 

Sweeping a grim look about the room, Professor McGonagall then stepped down from the lectern. Sound exploded back to life at once as everyone responded to the incredible news. 

“They arrested Umbridge?” Someone squeaked out. “She’s gone!”

Of course, the ‘peace and quiet’ McGonagall said to enjoy barely had a chance to exist. Ron and Hermione were mobbed at once as the DA descended on them. Everyone had questions about Harry. Hermione could barely think straight over the barrage of questions. 

“Did you see him when you were at the Ministry?” 

“Did you see Umbridge?”

“What happened? Did they question you about the DA?”

“Was Harry in handcuffs?” Ginny’s question took them all by surprise. The gathered throng looked at her, baffled. “What?”

“Yes I saw Harry. Yes I saw Umbridge.” Hermione said, starting to clear away her space, pushing the paper in her bag. She sharply answered each question. “I was questioned when I got there about the DA, but they were more interested in hearing about Umbridge not teaching the subject, how she victimised Harry and her use of corporal punishment.”

She got up, looking around at everyone. 

“Anything else, I’m not at liberty to discuss. I testified against Umbridge and Fudge so I’ll be heading to the Ministry later and… with hope… I’ll be coming back with Harry.”

Eyes were wide as she made to leave. Ron hurried from his seat, realising that she was going. 

“Let’s just say that this…” Hermione gestured at the general pandemonium around them. “This is just the beginning.”

 

---

 

On the other side of the country, a thick silence drenched Room Five in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement holding cells. Silence that was both magical and physical. At first when the silencing charms settled down on the room, Harry had been very grateful that he would get undisturbed rest. Needless-to-say, the person detained in the room two doors down was not keeping the peace. Not long after he was delivered back to his room after Hermione was returned to Hogwarts, Umbridge had stirred from her faint. She made her opinions about her situation very clear, her shrieks all too clear for Harry to hear in his cell. 

“I know you’re here, Potter! I know your poisoned lies are behind this! You WILL NOT GET AWAY WITH THIS!”

When her screaming appeared to not show any signs of stopping, Harry shouted back for the guards to shut her up. Instead, they cut his room off from the sounds outside with silencing charms.

It helped a little with him getting rest, until the silence meant he was alone with just his thoughts. 

When the hatch in his door banged open, Harry had physically gone airborne when he jumped in alarm. Having not heard the approaching footsteps on the other side, he had no warning. He barely heard what the guard had to say when he delivered his breakfast over the loud thumping of his heart. 

“Brought you my copy of the paper too. Give you a head's up that the public mood is going to be volatile today.” 

Hatch closed, his thoughts began to re-engage. With luck, this would be the last morning he had to spend in that room. Umbridge would get what she deserved, Fudge would be forced out of office and then there would be a Ministry that believed him. Authority figures who wanted him safe, who wished to protect him from the forces out there who wished him harm. There would be an Auror office dedicated to hunting down Voldemort and his supporters, not hamstringed by an incompetent leader who made decisions out of fear and paranoia. No more secrets in the shadows, no more serpents waiting in the dark to strike… the fight would be in the open and on their terms for once. 

He’d be able to live his life without Umbridge’s oppression. He’d be able to fly again, actually enjoy the wonders that magic had to offer without being punished and ridiculed. He could continue the DA and teach others how to defend themselves from the threats that they faced. 

And he could enjoy being with his friends again. Especially Hermione. 

He smiled to himself as he thought of the time he spent alone with Hermione. Despite the setting and being locked up in the interview room, it had been wonderful. Talking to her, being with her and finally seeing what had been in front of him for so long. His loyal friend, his true companion throughout all his trials… the one that mattered the most to him… the one he had real feelings for, not a passing infatuation. 

Kissing her had been an act of impulsivity. It wasn’t one he regretted, not at all. His main regret was wasting so much energy and time pining after Cho Chang. In a roundabout way, if it wasn’t for Cho, he wouldn’t be in a jail cell, his freedom on standby. It had been her friend who blabbed to Umbridge. If not for Cho, he would be at Hogwarts right now, likely in the boys dormitory being late for breakfast.

But nothing would have changed. Fudge would still be ignoring Voldemort’s return and Umbridge would still be lording over the school. It was only a matter of time before they found a way to get rid of Dumbledore… and me.

With that in mind, Harry went to retrieve his breakfast. Dressed only in his boxers, he lumbered tiredly across the short distance. He blinked down at the tray, seeing the rolled up newspaper that the guard gave him. Harry plucked it up, curiosity outwinning his hunger. 

The headline story had him stumbling back in shock to flump back down on the bed. He gripped the paper in his hands as he read. Waves of confusion, disbelief and amusement rushed through him as he twigged what the guard said about the paper giving him an idea about the public mood being volatile. The Daily Prophet had just exposed that Fudge had practically turned Hogwarts into a joyless prison for the children of wizarding Britain with Umbridge as his appointed prison warden. There were going to be a lot of angry people. 

He was confused why there was no mention of Umbridge’s arrest. Clearly the news hadn’t made it to the press, otherwise the front-page spread would be very different. That time would come soon enough. 

He flicked through the rest of the paper, not finding anything else about Umbridge. There was a report about the escaped convicts still being at large with a reminder to report any sightings to the DMLE. Harry scowled when he read Sirius and Dumbledore’s names among the wanted list. He hoped he could change that list once he was released… and add some new names to it. 

Casting the paper aside, Harry went to fetch his breakfast. Every sound he made was extra loud with the silencing charms cutting him off. He ate his porridge on his lap, perched on his bed. It was lightly sweetened which seemed a bit of a luxury considering he was in jail. 

He just finished eating when sound suddenly rushed back into his cell. He flinched, nearly dropping his tray and the contents all over the floor.  

“Potter, you have a visitor.” The voice that gruffly delivered the information belonged to Dawlish

“W-what?” Harry looked down at himself. He was still just in his pants. Harry set the tray down on his bed and hurried for the robe hanging off the back of his chair. “Just… a minute. Not… um… decent.” He shrugged it on as quickly as he could before he was found sitting around in just his underwear. 

There was a chuckle and a second voice. 

“I know it’s short notice.”

“Remus? ” Harry gasped. He snatched his trousers and hopped in them as quickly as he could. 

“Decent yet, Potter?” Dawlish asked. Harry detected a faint trace of amusement from the otherwise surly Auror. Harry straightened his glasses.

“Uh yeah.”

Clunks and scrapes on the door confirmed that Dawlish was opening the cell up. Harry spun around, grimacing at the state of his cell. He gathered up the tray, moving it over to join the mess on his desk. His damp towel was strewn on the floor in front of the shower. He went to fetch that too as his guests entered. 

“Er… sorry about the mess. I wasn’t exactly expecting anyone.” Harry turned, holding the towel in his hands, coming face-to-face with a bemused Remus Lupin. His former Professor looked about the small space, his brows lifting in surprise. His reaction reminded Harry of his own when he first was brought into the cell. 

“I’ll be outside.” Dawlish informed them both from the hallway. Without another word, he clanged the door shut. Harry and Lupin just stared at each other, both listening to the locks thudding as they were locked inside. Harry’s shoulders slumped at the sound, moving to hang the towel on the rail. Remus approached him at once. Harry turned as Remus rested his hand on his shoulder. 

Harry made no move to resist as the man pulled him into a hug. Emotion groaned in his chest as he was brought against the man, arms coming around him. The embrace felt protective. 

“How are you?” Remus’s voice was low with concern. 

“Tired but… I’m okay,” Harry said, then looked up at Remus. “I take it you know about the person staying down the hall?” 

Remus’s smile quirked up.

“I most certainly do. My head is a little sore this morning from perhaps one too many celebratory drinks last night,” he said. Harry huffed out a breath in amusement. “A little irresponsible, considering that I knew I’d be here early, but things got a little carried away.”

“I thought you were the responsible one,” Harry remarked. Remus beamed in response, his eyes creasing in the corner. He surprised Harry with a loud burst of laughter. 

“That is my role apparently according to Sirius as well.” 

Harry glanced over to the door behind Remus at the mention of his Godfather. Guilt spiked through him, along with a pang of longing. He shuffled out of Remus’s hold, cautiously eyeing the door where Dawlish was standing guard behind. He suspected that the man was on orders to not eavesdrop, 

“How is he?” Harry asked quietly. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you before. I… expect he’s not taking this very well.”

The mirth faded from Remus at the change of subject. He reached Harry, bringing a hand over his shoulder. He sighed and shook his head.

“He practically evicted Albus from Grimmauld,” Remus said slowly, keeping his voice down. “And destroyed the kitchen.”

Harry couldn’t help the wry laugh escaping him. He turned and dropped himself on the bed, perching on the edge. Remus came to join him, sitting a little tentatively at his side. Harry glanced up, not used to the other man being as unguarded and caring around him. The professional unbiased air that he had to maintain when teaching Harry was gone and instead, he was there as the best friend of his dad and his godfather. 

“We convinced him against doing anything rash,” he assured him, “the last thing he wants is to sabotage your chances of being vindicated.”

Harry let out a breath of relief. “Good… that’s good.”

Harry’s gaze lifted upwards again, meeting Remus’s. Harry rubbed the back of his right hand, running his fingers over the scars etched in his skin. 

“What do you think will happen?” Harry asked quietly. “I don’t just mean… politically. Voldemort… he’s not going to take this well… he-.”

Something suddenly sparked to life in Harry’s head. He knew how Voldemort had responded. Only yesterday, he’d seen it, felt it. He felt his anger as he punished Malfoy for failing. Harry gasped, shocked that he had dismissed such a vital insight. 

“What is it, Harry?” Remus asked at once. He shifted, facing him. Harry looked up at him, shock washing through him. Why had he not thought about what he’d seen since? He’d completely forgotten about it. 

Probably because you kissed Hermione.

Harry dismissed that thought. A lot else happened after that - Umbridge getting caught in her own web of corruption, for example. 

“Is it your… scar?” Remus’s voice was hushed with deep concern. His hands were on Harry’s shoulders, moving him gently so Remus could check him over. Harry blinked and shook his head. 

“No… it’s fine.” He didn’t want to question why Remus leapt straight to that. Of course, the man was filled in on Harry’s mental connection to Voldemort, it being a matter of importance to the Order - even if they never spoke to him about it in person, just behind his back. 

“Then what is it?”

“It’s not my scar right now but…” Harry leaned forwards, glancing over to the door. He lowered his voice. “Yesterday, I… saw something. I didn’t really have anyone to tell - not without raising any suspicions. It was while me and Hermione were in protective custody together.” 

Remus looked worried but he didn’t interrupt, only nodding for Harry to continue.

“I think Malfoy must have just reported to Voldemort that the Governors had removed the Ministry’s control over Hogwarts. He’s a Governor himself so… he would’ve been involved. Voldemort was… really angry and he said to Lucius something about his ‘puppets’... I can’t really remember exactly. The details go after a while like when you try to remember a dream.” Harry brought his hand up to rub at his scar as if it would help summon up the vision. “He then said something about moving forward his plans.”

A bolt of fear suddenly shot through him as he remembered. He lowered his hand, looking across at Remus.

“He mentioned me. Not by name, but… he said he had underestimated me and… asked to speak to someone. Ah… what was the name?” Harry rocked his head back, frustrated, then it hit him. “Rookwood. The Death Eater... he's one of the ones that escaped Azkaban.” 

“Any plans involving Rookwood are not good news,” Remus said at once. “He was an Unspeakable before he was outed as a Death Eater. This means… Voldemort intends to assault the Department of Mysteries… and I think you know why that’s important.”

Harry scowled. “No thanks to anyone in the Order, yeah I do.” He said bitterly. “Having dreams about it endlessly gave it away. I know whatever you’re afraid of Voldemort getting his hands on is down there… and that Mr Weasley was attacked guarding it.”

Remus grimaced and nodded.

“We have managed so far to keep him from it, but with Rookwood’s insight, I fear he will succeed if he makes a move.”

Fear shivered through Harry at the seriousness on Remus’s face. He couldn’t shake the irritation of being kept in the dark about what it was down there that was so important. He could tell from the look in Remus’s eyes alone that this was something very bad indeed.

“Please, Remus. If you aren’t telling me what it is because you don’t want to scare me, you know I can handle a lot more than most people my age. I’m not a child.” Harry snapped out the last words. “If it concerns me, surely I deserve to know?”

Remus slumped over suddenly, putting his hands over his face. He sighed into his hands. His reaction surprised him. Harry half-expected to be faced with a firm telling off that he wasn’t old enough to know and that they were just protecting him. Not this display of resignation. 

“In the Department of Mysteries, there is an… archive, one that houses… predictions. Prophecies.” Remus said quietly into his hands. “One such prophecy is of great interest to Voldemort and he desperately wishes to view the contents.” 

“Wait… it’s not a weapon?” Harry asked, surprised at the news. He tried going over what he’d been told during that meeting in Grimmauld Place, checking if he missed some vital clue. Sirius hadn’t specifically called it a weapon. That had been Harry’s assumption when Sirius spilled that what they were guarding was ‘something he didn’t have last time’. 

“Knowledge can be a weapon,” Remus said grimly, lowering his hands. He raised his head, his hazel eyes finding Harry’s. “This particular prophecy concerns Voldemort and… one other person. I haven’t heard the prophecy myself, Harry, but I’ve seen the names labelled on it. One is yours… the other his .”

Harry stared at Remus, numb shock washing over him.

What did that mean? 

Sudden rage blistered through Harry. He jumped to his feet, his chest suddenly heaving as he turned on Remus. 

“There is a prophecy about me and Voldemort and I’m only hearing about it now ?!” Harry shouted, clenching his fists at his side. “When was it made?” His anger dimmed a little at the guilt-ridden look upon Remus’s face. 

“I don’t know when exactly, but I do know that Voldemort was aware of its existence and that it’s… the reason why he targeted you.”

Harry took a step back, shaking his head. Remus came after him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Anger twisted Harry’s face and he shrugged his hand off. He backed away, but locked in his cell, he had nowhere to go. 

He knew that he had been the target. He’d known ever since hearing it from Voldemort when he first encountered him while trying to stop him recovering the Philosopher’s stone. He had even asked Dumbledore why Voldemort wanted to kill him when he was a baby. Dumbledore chose to not divulge the truth then, saying he was too young. Was that still his excuse to keep him in the dark? 

Too young, too impressionable… too reckless, too rash.

Too naive… too weak…

“I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.” Remus’s voice was brittle. “We wanted to tell you - that night when you came to Grimmauld, but you saw we were overruled.”

Harry shook his head again, closing his eyes. 

“You deserve to know… especially now. You need to know why you’re at risk and why it’s so imperative that we get you as far from the Department of Mysteries as possible.”

“Why?” The question was hoarse as it burst out of Harry. His eyes flew open, his hurt and anger on full display. “Why keep me in the dark? If my name is on it, don’t I deserve to know what caused… everything? ”

“I agree that you should have been told a long time ago why Voldemort targeted you specifically. To be very honest with you Harry, I didn’t know the truth myself. Not until I rejoined the Order.”

Harry took a step back, running out of space to put between him and Remus. 

“For my part in keeping this from you… I’m sorry, Harry.” Remus said, his voice breaking a little. “You’re right. You’re not a child and we had no right treating you as one… but you are in incredible danger. What you witnessed, Voldemort meeting with Rookwood, proves that he has a trap planned for you.” Remus insisted. “You see, only you or Voldemort can remove the prophecy. The safeguards in place mean that if anyone not named on the prophecy touches it, their minds… are destroyed. Voldemort was not aware that there was a loophole in the safeguards but, with Rookwood now at his side, he will know now.”

Harry’s back found the wall. He shook his head, not wanting to listen. 

“If he knows where it is and that he can take it himself without losing his mind, why hasn’t he gone for it himself?” Harry asked.

“He would reveal his return in the process and it is very much in his interests at present that he is unopposed. However, with Fudge losing his influence and control over truth, Voldemort will have nothing to lose if he attacked now. It’s the ideal window for opportunity. He could strike at his enemies before they become too much of a threat and use that as a distraction while he goes for the prophecy.”

A chill went down Harry’s spine. So what he had said to Amelia Bones the night before was a likelihood. 

“Wh-what does the prophecy say? Why does he want it so badly?” Harry dared to ask. 

“I honestly don’t know, Harry. What I do know is that Voldemort believes that it contains knowledge about how… to destroy you.” Remus’s face twisted and he looked away. Harry’s eyes widened. 

“What? Like it’s an instruction manual on how to-to kill me?” Harry was horrified. “But I... I'm just as easy to kill as anyone else. Now that I don't have my mum's protection... I'm just... me.”

He then stepped up to Harry, his hand finding his shoulder, looking intently in his eyes. His eyes beheld a warm, proud look as he took Harry in.

“You are special, Harry. Not just because of what happened to you when you were a baby, but because of everything you survived since. Voldemort could not kill you, Umbridge couldn’t silence you and Fudge… he can’t contain you. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Harry looked down, his cheeks burning at the open pride on Remus’s face. 

“That is why so many of the Order have chosen to follow your lead in this. This is where the war will start… out in the open… and it’s where we need to be. Not scrambling in the shadows as Albus would have us - as vigilantes. It didn’t work in the past and it hasn’t worked now.”

“Wait, you’ve gone against Dumbledore?” 

“The Order of the Phoenix has mostly disassembled.” Remus explained. “Kingsley, Mad-Eye and Tonks have fully chosen to work with Amelia and work on the right side of the Law. Sirius wants nothing to do with Dumbledore and… well… I can’t help but agree with him… especially after I saw your medical history report.” 

Remus’s eyes narrowed then, his voice turning more into a growl. 

“Dumbledore promised me long ago that he would protect you on behalf of James and Lily. Instead, you’ve been hurt many times while under his care at Hogwarts. I saw… Harry… I saw that you had a bloody heart attack when you were eleven. Eleven! You nearly died!”

It was Remus’s turn to control his temper. He moved back from Harry, wringing his hands for a moment, then let out a long sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, wearing a weary look as he took a moment to compose himself. 

It took Harry a moment to work out what Remus was referring to. He had been surprised to see it too when his medical scan revealed the ‘cardiac arrest’ he’d apparently had. It turned out that when he used his mother’s protection to stop Quirrell and Voldemort from getting the stone, the effort stopped his heart. 

Harry peered over at Remus, seeing the clear distress on his face at what harm Harry had faced. He was a little relieved that Remus didn’t see the litany of injuries he’d sustained while in the care of the Dursleys. He didn’t think he would be able to stand his reaction. 

Harry found himself moving towards Remus. He was angry and hurt that the truth about what the Order were guarding had been kept from him - more so that it was the reason why he and his parents had been targeted all those years ago. But he knew that Remus wasn’t deserving of any blame. No… that fell on Dumbledore. He should have told him. Keeping him in the dark about something so vital to his life wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his place to choose for him. Like so many decisions made without his consent, it had been the wrong one. The trust he had for Dumbledore was already damaged when he abandoned him to the Ministry’s machinations. Now it was in shambles.

“Thank you for telling me the truth,” Harry said carefully when he moved in front of Remus. He cautiously extended out a hand, resting it on his arm. Remus met his gaze, his expression softening. “About the prophecy. I… it’s not easy to hear but I needed to know the truth. I’ve known since… having that heart attack actually… that Voldemort had been after me and not my parents when he came to kill us. Now I know why.”

His shoulders dropped in a half-hearted shrug. Remus suddenly sprung forwards, pulling Harry into another hug. 

“No more secrets,” Remus said softly.

“No more secrets,” Harry agreed.

Expelling a long breath, feeling as if tension was seeping out of him as a result, Harry brought his arms up to return the embrace. He revelled in how warm it was to be hugged. How the closeness made him feel suddenly a lot safer. It wasn’t like the hugs Hermione gave, nor the one he received from Mrs Weasley when he was in the hospital wing. He felt as if Remus needed the comfort from him just as much as he did. As if Remus needed validation that he was there, alive and well, safe and sound. 

“So… um… with that out of the way,” Harry said after a moment of quiet passed between them, “why… are you here exactly?”

Remus chuckled warmly, breaking their embrace.

“True, I haven’t actually told you why I’m here. Seeing that I have visitation rights, I may as well use them. I rather thought you would appreciate some company before going before Wizengamot later.”

“Oh… right.” 

A knock on the door stirred them from their thoughts. Harry shared a look with Remus. His nerves engaged.

“Time to wrap it up.” Dawlish grunted from the other side of the door. “Potter’s presence is required in the Head’s office.” 

Remus was at the door before Harry.

“What? Why? I was assured that Harry’s staying put until the Wizengamot are ready for him?” Remus asked.

“I’m opening up.” The locks clunked loudly before the door swung open. “Lupin, I need you to move aside while I restrain Potter’s magic.”

“Not before you give me answers.” Remus snapped angrily as the dour Auror stepped into the cell. Harry rose from his bed, glaring at the inhibitors that were dangling off Dawlish’s finger as he approached. 

“It’s alright.” Harry whispered to Remus. “They can’t make allowances.” Dawlish jerked his head back in a gesture for Harry to go towards him. He slumped his shoulders, knowing that he had to comply. Remus moved to his side, his hand resting on Harry’s shoulder, fingers gripping him. 

“Tell us what is going on.” He demanded.

“I don't know anymore than you do - just that the Minister and the Head are in talks and they need to speak to the boy,” Dawlish said as Harry offered his wrists to Dawlish, noticing that the man couldn’t meet his eye as he slipped the bands of metal over his hands. Harry winced as they tightened, the cold metal digging in. The nauseating numbness shuddered up his arms, the cold seeping inside him, reaching deep to where his magic lingered within. 

“I’ve been ordered to return your wand, Lupin.” Dawlish reached in his robes once Harry was secured. He handed what was clearly Remus’s wand back to him. “You’re assigned to Potter’s security detail on request of Head Auror Scrimgeour.”

“Can he do that?” Harry asked Remus quietly as the man armed himself. 

“Apparently he can,” Remus said, appearing just as surprised. 

“Our numbers are spread thin - what with the gathering crowds in the Atrium that we need to control while maintaining a strong presence here. We need every wand we can get.” Dawlish took Harry’s arm, leading him out of the cell. Remus was close behind him, his presence reassuring. 

Harry let out a soft gasp of surprise, finding two more Aurors waiting in the corridor. One of which he recognised. Tonks. He had no time for any friendly reunion. Her normal mischievous smile was absent, wearing a rather uncharacteristic serious expression. She and the other Auror, who he didn’t recognise, moved at once to flank Harry on either side. He looked over his shoulder at Remus, his heart beginning to race. 

Dawlish took the lead, setting off. 

“Move out,” Dawlish ordered. Harry didn’t immediately react, causing Tonks to take his arm and encourage him to move. He started to walk, upping the pace when he saw that they were hurrying. 

“What’s our status?” Remus asked again, this time his question directed at Tonks. She glanced at him, eyeing Dawlish for a moment, then dropped her voice.

“It’s protestors only down there - civilians from what we can tell. They haven’t caused too much damage, but we’re not taking any chances when we have Harry in the building. He’s safer with Amelia where we can protect them both at least.”

“What about Level nine?” Remus murmured. 

“Mad-Eye has it covered.” Tonks assured him. 

Harry turned, meeting Remus’s gaze. He couldn’t quell the fear that stirred, hearing it confirmed that they were taking it very seriously that Voldemort may attack. As they trudged down the corridor, Harry then turned his attention to one of the other cell doors. One marked with a number 2. 

“What about Umbridge?” He asked, directing his question to Tonks just as Remus had done. He caught her smirk before she schooled her expression. 

“She was moved to Azkaban early this morning. If you think she was vocal last night…” She met Harry’s eye. 

“Azkaban?” He repeated.

“Minimum-security. There are no dementors in that part of the prison.” Tonks added, “if you weren’t… underage… that’s where you would have been held.”

“Oh, right.” Harry grimly looked away. “Lucky for me then.”

“Come on,” Dawlish grunted, shooting a look over his shoulder. “No time to waste.”

Before Harry could ask which way they were going, he was led towards the reception rather than cutting through the administration offices. He understood the reason at once when he arrived to find guards and Aurors both waiting to join their escort. They formed ranks around Harry, keeping him in the centre. Harry strained his head around, keeping pace while looking at his armed guard. All had their wands out. 

For a moment, the only sound was the marching feet of his escort. Harry felt both embarrassed at the level of security he was being given and, he hated to admit it, scared. The threat on his life wasn’t him being paranoid. It was real. 

Out in the main hallway, Harry expected to see more security at the lifts. To his surprise, the foyer was empty save for his own escort. 

“They’ve been shut down while we’re on high alert,” Tonks said, noticing his reaction to the lack of a security presence. “They’ll be up and running once we have you under Amelia’s wing. Best way to be certain no one can slip up here and make an attempt on you while you’re being moved.”

Harry was grateful for her explanation. It did make him feel better. Reaching the main hallway of the Department, he noted the guards and Aurors who were standing guard at the doors that led to the different offices on the floor. He curiously peered over to the Auror Office, seeing to his surprise that there were people at their desks, working. 

“I thought the floor was locked down.”

“That was yesterday,” Tonks said, “today we have the biggest upheaval the Ministry has known in recent times to deal with.”

As he was brought towards the door, he flinched violently when he was assaulted with a sudden attack of noise. Warnings screamed through his mind. Every sense was yelling at him to run. 

The sound wasn’t an attack. 

It was… applause. 

Harry came back to his senses, the initial panic fading. His mouth then hung open in astonishment as activity stirred at the entrance to the Auror Office. Not just security guards and Aurors, but normal Ministry workers in their usual robes, all came up to gather at the entrance. They didn’t step into the corridor, Aurors present in the hallway keeping them from getting close. Instead, they crowded in the doorway, gathering to witness Harry being brought through to the Head office.  

Realisation flushed through Harry, causing his face to heat up at once at the attention. They were applauding him. 

Harry twisted around to look at Remus, who was smiling as he took in the scene. Even Dawlish was smiling. Harry struggled with his feelings, swinging between desperately wishing he had his Invisibility cloak to being shocked at their support. Surely not all these people actually were on his side? 

His shock wearing off, he began to then make out what was being called out to him amid the cheers and applause. 

“Make them hear you, Harry Potter!” 

“Down with Fudge!”

“No more lies! ” 

The shouts continued even after they passed, but then more voices and claps joined in. Coming up to the Improper Use of Magic office, a crowd of Ministry workers were gathered there as well. Aurors and guards kept them from entering the hallway, but they still cheered from the doorway. Harry looked over and his eyes caught a very familiar face. His own smile then started to form. Arthur Weasley’s face was shining with pride.

“We’re behind you, Harry!” Mr Weasley’s voice made it through the cheering. Harry gave a small nod in response. 

He was truly dazed when they made it to Amelia Bones’s office. He barely noticed that Kingsley was waiting at the door. 

“All clear,” Dawlish reported to Kingsley, who gave Harry and Remus a subtle nod before turning to the door. He grasped the eagle knocked and wrapped it against the door. 

“State your business.”

“Harry Potter is here for you.” 

Harry remembered how Kingsley previously announced his arrival, referring to him as ‘ Inmate Potter’. The obvious dropping of that moniker did not go unnoticed. 

Kingsley then turned to address Harry. 

“Are you ready Harry?” 

Harry’s attention zoned back in, looking up at Kingsley. The Auror looked as if he’d not had any sleep in a while. His haggard appearance left Harry feeling guilty. It was his fault that Kingsley was working all hours of the day. Despite his fatigued appearance, Kingsley smiled.

“I… guess?” Harry replied. 

Remus then approached Kingsley and the pair gripped forearms in greeting. 

“I’m glad you got here early. The Atrium is a nightmare.” Kingsley reported. “The Ministry hasn’t seen this amount of chaos since… well…” His gaze travelled over to Harry. 

“Since Voldemort fell… I know,” Remus said quietly. 

Tonks then slyly edged towards their conversation, bringing Harry with her. Dawlish, he noticed, had moved off after handing him over to Kingsley. 

“Do you think Fudge can hear all this?” Tonks whispered to Kingsley, who to Harry’s surprise then grinned in response.

“I think he’s been hearing the sound of his career falling apart around him all morning,” Kingsley said as the door unlocked, swinging a little inward to accept them. 

Tonks then winked at Harry and Remus.

“Give Fudge hell.”

Kingsley took over as his escort then, his now familiar grasp on his arm guiding him through the door. Remus stayed close next to him. 

“Sorry Rem,” Tonks then whispered. Harry’s head twitched in response. Did Tonks just call him ‘Rem’? “You don’t have authorisation to go in. You’ll be guarding out here with us.”

Harry looked over his shoulder before he was taken inside. The applause rang in his ears before he stepped inside. His heart lurched at the thought of going in alone without Remus. 

“You’ll be fine. You have Amelia on your side.” Remus assured him, squeezing his shoulder before Harry was ushered inside. 

The atmosphere in the office was a far cry from the triumphant air in the rest of the Department. Harry was immediately aware that he had entered a very serious meeting. The round conference table that took up the meeting room was occupied, unlike the last time Harry visited the office. Anger and hate lurched into being when he dragged his gaze over where Fudge was sitting. He didn’t recognise the man with him.

Whatever discussions were taking place, they were on hold as Amelia rose from her seat. 

“Thank you, Kingsley. Sit Harry next to me, if you will.” She gestured towards the vacant seat. It was just as austere and high-backed as the other seats. Definitely not designed to be comfortable. Harry noted that his place was opposite Fudge, as far from him as possible. As Kingsley brought him over, Harry nodded a greeting at Rufus Scrimgeour who had the seat on Amelia’s other side. The Deputy Head nodded in return. 

Kingsley pulled the seat out for him. Harry murmured his thanks and settled down on the seat. He was acutely aware of the man sitting beside the Minister. He wore heavy, hooded robes, but the hood was down, revealing a balding man with a hooked nose. He unashamedly stared at Harry, assessing him as if he was incredibly fascinating. Harry squirmed on his seat. Amelia then took her place at his left.

“So, Cornelius, what was this… request… that you wish to ask of Mr Potter?” 

Amelia launched straight to business. Harry then brought his attention to the man directly opposite. Cornelius Fudge stared back, but he didn’t swell with outrage as he had done the last time they’d been face-to-face. He was without his lime-green bowler hat, his hands instead preoccupied with resting upon a purple folder that Harry was starting to become very familiar with. 

Fudge cleared his throat and he glanced between his companions, before settling his gaze on Harry directly.

“If Potter agrees to my request, I will drop the charges and put forward my approval push forward his acquittal.” 

Harry shifted back in his seat, foreboding aching in his bones as he considered the healer again.

“What request is that?” Harry asked before anyone could speak for him. Fudge licked at his dry lips and patted a hand on Harry’s folder.

“To say on record that I was not aware of the abuses that were taking place at Hogwarts. That Dolores was acting without my approval or authority, despite her claims to the contrary.” 

“Were you?” Harry asked at once, leaning forwards. He lifted his hands up and settled them on the stone table top with a clunk, the metal inhibitors striking the stone loudly. “Were you aware that your Undersecretary was making me write lines in my own blood?”

Fudge’s demeanour changed from the nervous and uncertain immediately as he snapped to an instictive, defensive mode. He bristled at Harry's accusation.

“I would never condone such a thing. Never against a child.” He denied at once. 

“Yet you didn’t even blink when you signed my arrest warrant. You didn’t care when I was restrained and taken away to be locked up against my will without even hearing me out.”

“You were caught leading a gang of rebels, Potter,” Fudge then snapped back, his face reddening. “It matters not what you were doing, you were directly opposing the Ministry and its authority.”

“Considering what Umbridge was doing under your authority, can anyone really blame me for taking a stand?” Harry retorted. 

“There were many ways in which you could have reported her abuses, many legal avenues, yet you chose instead to go against law and take it in your own hands.” Fudge countered sneeringly. Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. 

“Hark who’s talking,” Harry said at once through his mirthless laughter. “Had any prime suspects Kissed before they can give their testimonies lately? Or any murder victims buried without a post mortem?”

Fudge’s steam suddenly ran out. His mouth opened to counter, but he had nothing to say to that. 

“I think it goes without saying that I refuse your request,” Harry said coldly. He lifted his right hand, showing the scars on the back. Fudge’s eyes zoned on the words etched in his skin. “Thanks to Professor Umbridge, I did learn one valuable lesson. I must not tell lies. So no, Minister, I will not lie for you.”

Amelia Bones regarded Harry with a warm smile, then turned back to Fudge, her eyes hardening. 

“And I will no longer stand idly by while you endanger every member of our society with your denials, cowardice and corruption. We face a threat that thrives in the shadows and you, with your inability to do what is right, have aided our enemies with providing them with the perfect conditions with which they can amass their forces and influence. In your incompetence, Cornelius, with not taking seriously the threat we face, we now have ten extremely dangerous Death Eaters at large. One, I hasten to add, was responsible for the murders of my brother, mother and father.”

She pushed herself up to her feet. Fudge was shrinking as her tone went from calm and professional to sharp and dangerous.

“If you refuse to drop the charges against Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, so be it, but when Harry goes to trial, I will represent Harry as his defence.”

Silence shivered in the wake of her announcement. Harry couldn’t help but be in awe.  She then turned to Harry. 

“If, however, you wish to go through this with some modicum of your reputation intact. Drop the charges - now - and resign. If you do not, you will leave with your reputation in tatters. And that is if you do not face charges of your own. Your insidious attempts to silence the truth of Lord Voldemort’s return will end… one way or another.”

She slowly sat back down and laced her fingers together. 

“So… what will it be?”

Notes:

This was a bit of an ambitious chapter. Over 10K! I know it covers a lot of plot and it's all over the place. Necessary though to get us where we're going.

What do you think Fudge will do?

Chapter 9: Interlude: Live on the WWN

The atmosphere in the crowded Atrium of the heart of magical Britain had bordered on a frenzied hysteria. Protestors were launched out of the premises the moment they attempted to scramble inside from the visitors’ entrance. Civilians staggering out of the floo portals were swiftly turned around and sent back home. Within a couple of hours since The Daily Prophet announced the Ministry’s militant control of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the building was in a lockdown, golden grates slamming down over the many fireplaces lining up the sides of the east-wing. 

There had been a shared excitement between the journalists, correspondents and photographers eagerly clutching their assorted tools. Cameras were held at the ready, waiting to snap anything that moved from the elevators. Quills had stilled since the last wizard garbed in the purple robes of the Wizengamot disappeared. The last thing that happened that was relatively news-worthy was the guard shift change when the Aurors that had been stationed in the Atrium since the early morning were relieved and replaced. Sterner, face-freshed Aurors now avidly watched the reporters that managed to get security clearance. 

But they wouldn’t be the ones getting the exclusive news directly from the source. That privilege had been granted to the Wizarding Wireless Network who could broadcast live the official statements from the Ministry without any facts being censored. At the request of Madame Bones later in the day, a hastily assembled broadcast station sat in the foyer of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. From the desk, behind large trumpet-like receivers, were two wizards sporting matching moustaches, yawning away as they diverted the signal back to the station until something worth reporting unfolded in front of them. Another replay of the latest hit from The Weird Sisters graced the airways across magical Britain while the population of witches and wizards tuned in to the news. 

For the most listened to broadcast in recent history, it wasn’t very interesting. It challenged even the Lowell brothers, veteran WWN broadcasters who’d been urgently transferred to Britain that morning from New York to report that they were told would be history. Between songs, they reported no activity from the doors that led into the inner workings of the Department. No glimpse of the powerful and influential figures who were currently engaged in an emergency session in the Wizengamot Assembly Hall. 

Discussions passed between the brothers, ones that debated what was being so urgently addressed. Was Cornelius Fudge being made to answer for the conditions at Hogwarts? Were the Wizengamot carrying out their cross examination of one Harry Potter, who had been in Ministry custody for a number of days for charges of sedition? Or were they questioning Dolores Umbridge, who reportedly had not been seen since coming into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to give her testimonies against Albus Dumbledore?

The doors leading into the offices of the Department opened after five hours. Eustace Lowell, the senior brother of the pair, jerked from his stupor at the desk. His hand seized the handle of the receiver. The other brother, Basil, flicked the signal back to them, the belly of their broadcast equipment suddenly emanating a red light. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back to our broadcast live from the British Ministry of Magic, direct from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement…”

Around four hundred miles away from where they were broadcasting under Whitehall in London, the entire Gryffindor House were listening in and had been all afternoon. A rather battered Wireless stood in pride of place on one of the biggest tables surrounded by students - all previously very distracted and bored until an American voice cut over the music. 

Several wands shot sparks out to get everyone to shut up and listen. Hermione’s wand was one of them. Ron, next to her, shouted over the dwindling voices.

“Shut it everyone. Something’s happening!”

He, like everyone else, sat back, tense and listening to every word that came out of the Wireless that McGonagall brought up into the Common Room after declaring that classes were cancelled for the day. With everyone too distracted with the news (and with howlers arriving on the minute to pelt the professors), studying was out of the question. 

Hermione’s fingers went back to her face, finding the sore spots where they’d already been digging in as she anxiously waited for news about Harry. His name had come up often during the live programme as the broadcasters spoke about him without the disdain and ridicule that had been the theme with The Daily Prophet. The news broadcasters were far more interested in the facts than covering it up with claims that he was delusional. She strongly suspected that they’d been requested to make the coverage for their neutrality. Though listening to them talk openly about Harry’s life with no regard for his privacy had her digging her fingers deeper into her cheeks. 

“We’ve just been told Madame Bones will be here shortly to deliver a statement.”

“What does that mean?” Ron whispered. Hermione shook her head, eyes fixed on the Wireless. There were whispers all around, but it wasn’t loud enough to cut out the Wireless, not with the Sonorous charms Hermione laced on the old antique. 

“Other members of the press are now being passed through security so we’re to expect that the Ministry will be making their public address here, rather than down in the Atrium. It’s peculiar, don’t you think, Eustace?”

“Much of today’s proceedings can fall into that category, Basil.”

The brothers paused, allowing them to hear sounds of activity going on in the background. From the number of different voices, a lot was suddenly unfolding in the foyer. 

“Rufus Scrimgeour, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has made an appearance to oversee the proceedings here. Ah… they’re putting up a podium here. It appears that this statement is coming from the DMLE and not from the Minister’s office.”

Hermione glanced at Ron, catching his eye. Would they get news now? The background voices were louder, but inaudible. 

“Mr Scrimgeour has taken the podium.” One of the brothers said in a low voice just before an English accented voice took over.

“As a matter of security, I must ask you all to remain behind the barriers. No flashes please. We are on high alert and we do not wish to mistake a photograph for a curse.”

“The Aurors are putting up security charms between the press pen and the podium,” the broadcaster explained in a hushed voice. “Among them is Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody who it appears has come out of retirement to assist the security presence here today. These measures are quite extraordinary. We can only assume that this means we will witness them moving Harry Potter to where he’s been held in Ministry custody.”

Hermione jumped a little at the mention of his name, releasing a small squeak. Suddenly there was a burst of noise as voices called out. The atmosphere was tense in the Common Room, a mixture of apprehension, dread and excitement stirring together in the cauldron, with a sprinkle of anxiety and fear where Hermione and Ron worried for their best friend’s safety. 

“The Aurors are clearing a safe path for the full Wizengamot to take their leave. From what we can see, all forty five witches and warlocks were in attendance for this emergency session. They’re being escorted to the elevators… and down to level nine.” Whichever brother it was reported in a low, excited voice.

“To the Courtrooms.” The other brother added. 

“The general mood surrounding them is very tense. None are taking questions from our fellow members of the press. It does seem like they are gathering for a priority court case - whose court case we can only guess at this point.”

There was more background noise. Hermione strained her hearing to make out something that would tell them what was going on. Where was Harry? Was he being taken down to the Courtrooms as well? She felt her heart plummet. Surely they wouldn’t bring him so close to the Department of Mysteries?

The noise crescendoed again, pitching up out the speakers, coming out as a loud blast of sound. Everyone cringed, some flinched, others let out cries of alarm. Singular voices could be picked up once the initial explosion of excited voices died down. 

“It’s him!”

“Harry - over here!”

Hermione’s head flicked towards Ron so fast, her neck cricked. Ron’s eyes were wide, mouth agape. 

“There’s the money shot! ” The broadcaster who Hermione was sure to be the eldest exclaimed. “ Cornelius Fudge and Amelia Bones have just arrived, joined with none other than Harry Potter. Well - we didn’t expect this.”

“No, indeed not. Look at the face on Fudge, Eustace!”

They chuckled between themselves. “ The Minister is not a happy man - and with good reason if the Wizengamot have acted as we suspected in light of the scandal at Hogwarts. ”

“Madame Bones has taken Mr Potter to the side and they appear to be conferring in private. This is a very different scene to the ones released during his incarceration as a suspect to conspiracy.”

The whispering and murmurs in the Common Room increased in volume, but neither Ron or Hermione told them to quieten down. They were both grinning broadly. Had Harry actually done it? Had he convinced the Wizengamot to acquit him of all charges?

“Aurors are escorting the Minister to the elevators. I’m not certain why anyone is wasting their breath with questions. Fudge may as well have ‘unavailable to comment’ stamped on his forehead. ”

There were a few chuckles at the broadcaster’s observation. Hermione listened keenly, taking in the news. If Fudge was declining to comment, that had to be a good thing. Likely he was making a rapid departure to prepare his response to Umbridge’s arrest and the accusations he was facing himself for negligence and child endangerment.

The hubbub coming from the speaker started to die down. Hermione reacted, spraying sparks up into the air to get the noise back down in the Common Room as well. 

“Amelia Bones is making her way to the podium, ” the hushed commentary told them, “ Harry Potter is… wait, he’s joining her. This is what we’ve been waiting for - history in the making. Will this be the official announcement of the return-.”

He cut off abruptly and there was a feminine clearing of a throat. Hermione dropped her hands from her face and sought Ron’s hand, grabbing it rather violently. This was it. 

“ Over the past four days, myself and the Aurors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have been investigating a plot against the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Evidence found at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry implicated both Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter for sedition against the Ministry and as actively plotting a coup d’etat. As a result of the evidence found, and a confession taken from the scene, an attempt to arrest Dumbledore was made - only for him to evade arrest. Mr Potter, however, was arrested as his accomplice and has since been in Ministry custody. ” 

There was a purposeful pause, needed to allow the many listeners to process her words and for the charmed quills of the reporters to take down everything she said.

“Mr Potter has fully cooperated with my department, provided his testimony and assisted with procuring us evidence. As a result of his cooperation, we have built up a case that not only proves that Mr Potter was not part of a plot against the Ministry, but in fact a victim of abusive practices made against him and his person in an attempt to subjugate and silence him.”

Shouts burst from both the speaker and the Common Room. Ron hoarsely croaked something that sounded like an expletive. He wasn’t the only one. 

“What we are discovering is a cover up campaign spanning across a decade and, right in the centre, is Mr Potter. Those responsible for this campaign belong in the highest levels of authority in the Ministry - in the Minister’s own office. Chiefly among them is former Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge.”

All the heat and energy from the voices that had risen up in outrage drained away as all listened to what Amelia Bones was revealing to the public. 

“Madame Umbridge has been charged with multiple counts of child endangerment, child abuse and… torture. She has already been removed from her position as Headmistress and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts and is in custody, awaiting trial at Azkaban.”

Once again there was an explosion of voices. Hermione winced against the sound, seeing her discomfort shared around the room. It took a while for the crowd of reporters to settle down once it was clear none of their questions were answered. 

“ Details of her charges will be released as we form up our prosecution, but I will reveal that the evidence is conclusive. We have multiple testimonies from victims, however the main target of her abuse stands beside me. It is our belief that when her tortures failed to silence Mr Potter, she chose to have him detained. Whether or not she acted alone or at the Minister’s bidding, we are yet to ascertain. That she even was in the position to carry out such heinous acts on the charges she was there to protect is condemning enough.”

Another measured pause punctuated her statements. 

“Harry has provided his testimony against her. The actions that led to his arrest were in direct revolt of her authority imposed upon the school by this Ministry. However seditious as these actions are, we are yet to determine whether or not they are punishable by Law. ”

Hermione’s heart was racing, desperately wondering how Harry was coping, standing right there, listening to how he was being discussed as if he wasn’t even there. It couldn’t be easy, not when he had an audience. She expected every eye in that place was on him. 

“The Wizengamot has agreed to allow Mr Potter to be temporarily released pending his Trial. During that time, he will remain in protective custody. Details about which will be withheld - for obvious reasons. As for the Minister’s response to recent events, his office will arrange and release any further statements. Thank you.”

As expected, the reporters took up their cries, garbled questions erupting as a mess of noise. Hermione shook herself, blinking rapidly. 

“He’s being released.” Hermione whispered. Around her, sound around her seemed to mesh into a hum of voices, until a broad smile returned to her face. 

He’s coming home. 

Notes:

Mid point accomplished.

I'm so sorry for the hiatus. I'm putting this up even though I hate posting content sub 5k. Consider it an interval. I'll be on this properly soon. Harry POV will be on the way.

Chapter 10: Temporary Release

Summary:

Harry is allowed to leave Ministry custody and return to Hogwarts but on certain conditions - one of which means he now has a new guardian. But who is it?

Harry knew better than to trust and to hope in the promise that his sentence suggested. If his spell in jail taught him anything, it was cynicism and lots of it. His second experience standing before the Wizengamot set his nerves off just as much as it had done the first, only for different reasons. The eerie silence and ominous courtroom was nothing like the Assembly Hall. It was loud and chaotic, filled with angry voices shouting across the room as if all sense of decorum had been left at the door. When the arguments dried up, tempers fizzled out, cooler heads took over the proceedings. Hours later, all forty five Wizengamot members voted and just like that, Harry was going back to Hogwarts.

Temporarily. 

His stint in the ‘witness’ box in the Hall ended with him being released from the inhibitors around his wrists that secured him in place. To his embarrassment, he struggled to stand and Kingsley had to help him. His condition didn’t go unnoticed as he felt increasingly like he didn’t have full control over his body. His arms were lifted gently, sleeves pulled back. He looked down, seeing bruises on his pale skin. He recognised the feeling then, the disconnect. He hadn’t even noticed it happening until he was blinking quickly. He managed to pull himself together a little, relying on Kingsley’s support under his arms. 

“Easy now.” Kingsley said to him, helping him to step down from the box. 

The Wizengamot members were being ushered out of the Hall, the session adjourned. Harry caught sympathetic and even guilty looks flashing his way. He was walking himself without assistance by the time he reached the doors. Only Amelia Bones and Cornelius Fudge remained. Harry faltered a little when he noticed that they were both waiting for him. The show for the public was about to begin. 

The look on Fudge’s face confirmed that things hadn’t gone his way at all. His scowl and flushed cheeks communicated his indignation yet when Harry joined them at the door, Harry caught the faintest glimmer of regret. His eyes betrayed him, gaze flickering down to the stark marks around Harry’s wrists where he’d been forcibly restrained like a dangerous criminal. Harry understood that he’d been treated roughly to prove a point that every part of his incarceration was unfair and unjust. Yet he kept having misgivings about whether the political plays he was in the middle of were really for his benefit. He kept getting told that it was necessary. Just like how being placed under ‘house arrest’ was necessary. Each compromise felt like a setback and he started to wonder if his life would ever become his own. 

Learning about the prophecy told him that it never had been. 

He didn’t feel himself as he stepped out into the hallway, ears assaulted once again by a cacophony of human voices. Cheers and claps hounded him, all supportive, all positive, but he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate. He should be rejoicing. They were letting him go. 

Temporarily.

Kingsley let him walk without help. The first thing he did was pull his sleeves down as far as they could go to conceal his wrists and hands from sight. If they were going to parade him like a victim, he wouldn’t stand the humiliation of being seen as one. He walked a step behind Amelia and Fudge, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other. 

His senses were completely overloaded the moment they stepped out into the foyer. He heard his name shouted excitedly, so many people calling for him to look over. He didn’t. He kept focused on Amelia, using her as a central focus. Fudge continued, marching off without a word. Amelia’s hand went to Harry’s shoulder,

Harry shifted so he could speak directly in her ear while hiding his face from the cameras. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” He admitted, his hands shaking under his sleeves. 

“While I give my statement, you don’t have to smile or put on any performance. Just breathe and stand tall.” Her hand squeezed his shoulder. “It’s time to show that you have more spine and more integrity than Cornelius Fudge… and certainly more than any of these vultures.”

Breathing and standing still felt beyond Harry’s capabilities. By some miraculous summoning of will he didn’t know he had left, he made it through the publicity stunt. He had never felt more on display as he did in that moment. The way all lenses focused on him made him feel like a specimen trapped on one of the thin sheets of glass that were pinned in place under a microscope. Camera lenses and eyes alike zoned in on him when Amelia mentioned him by name, her hand lifting to gesture at him as if he needed any further signalling out. He stared at her hands as she continued through her statement, her firm, stern voice pulling him through the ordeal. All the while, his hands never stopped shaking where they were hidden. 

He barely registered that it was over until a hand gently rested on his back and guided him away from the calling of his name. It wasn’t until he was steered through into the reception of the detention block and the doors were pulled shut behind him and his entourage that he came fully back into himself. The closed doors cut out most of the din in the foyer but he could still hear his name shouted out. 

Very suddenly, he dropped onto one knee. Harry’s eyes were screwed shut, tears burning behind his eyelids. He was glad the doors had shut before he collapsed. He let his escort move in, bringing their hands under his arms to lift him back up to his feet. Harry opened his eyes, finding Remus and Kingsley on either side of him. Harry glanced around, finding his wall of Aurors moving to form ranks around him. 

“Nearly there, Harry. We’ll get you somewhere private.” Kingsley reassured him, his deep voice ever supportive. Harry just nodded along. He just wanted to sit down… he just wanted peace and quiet away from the noise and the stares. 

He faintly wondered if he’d blacked out as he couldn’t remember walking further. Kingsley and Remus were soon helping him down to sit in the stark white interview room where he’d spent far too many hours. He lifted his head to look up at the mirror opposite. 

His face was extremely pale. Too pale. His eyes were red-rimmed, scar stark under his fringe. He looked sharply away from his appearance, not wanting to think about how he looked in front of all those people. He felt pathetic. 

Then his scar gave a throb as if he needed something else to overwhelm him. He brought a hand up to it, the movement noticed at once.

“What is it?” Remus asked at once. Harry just shook his head, lowering his hand. As soon as the pain arrived, it was gone. It had come with a sudden rage that had his stomach clenching, the lingering anger smouldering inside him, alien and not his own. 

“He’s angry and I think we can guess why.” Harry said quietly, his voice sounding wispy and airy. He didn’t want to talk, not since he had to talk more than he was comfortable doing so on the stand in front of the Wizengamot. He didn’t want to talk any more in the room he was in.

He just wanted to go home. 

“Can you arrange for something for Harry to eat and drink?” Remus asked Kingsley.

“Of course.” 

Kingsley left, pulling the door shut. It didn’t lock. The quiet privacy helped as Harry calmed down enough to appreciate how he was alone with Remus. 

“I… I take it I’m not leaving through the Atrium.” Harry said once he’d pulled together some semblance of cognizance. 

“You’ll be taking a portkey straight to Minerva’s office.” Remus informed him. Harry lifted his gaze upwards as Remus went to sit himself on the table to Harry’s left, facing him. He laid his wand on his lap. 

“Oh… right.”

Harry swallowed, looking away as his eyes started to sting again. He wasn’t going back to the Gryffindor Common Room but was being sent to Professor McGonagall like a miscreant, isolated from the student populace. The terms of his house arrest made returning to things as they were impossible. Though thankfully, Amelia Bones had found a loophole to assure he could at least return to the school. He was no longer a ward of the Ministry. Now instead, he was Minerva McGonagall’s ward. A vast improvement but still, he wasn’t free. He’d been confined to his professor’s personal quarters until he was granted an acquittal. There would be no more being bound to a table, no more prison cells and no more humiliation. He’d get justice in the end but his safety came first. 

“Why couldn’t I stay… with you?” Harry asked quietly, being careful to not outrightly mention Grimmauld Place while potentially within earshot of eavesdroppers. 

Remus smiled sadly at him. “I would have to be your guardian for that to be allowed.” Harry frowned, searching his face. “Minerva is the best candidate right now and the most logical. When a certain person can get vindicated as you’ll soon be, your official guardian will have their status made legal.”

Harry’s brow smoothed, his eyes going wide. 

“I take it you don’t mean Dumbledore.”

Remus laughed softly. “Someone at least a hundred or so years younger.”

A laugh escaped Harry. Hope started to return. That was a future he could fight towards. A future where he could stay with Sirius and live with him as he’d promised years ago before fate tore their hope of rebuilding their lives apart.  

“You’ll get to see him soon… as well as Hermione and Ron. All your friends. I know this all seems like you’re taking two steps forward and one step back, but this is a good thing. I promise you, Harry.” 

Having it said to him like that, assuring him that he wasn’t alone anymore, did help him feel better. Harry smiled to himself, his face starting to feel warm at the thought of seeing Hermione very soon. He strongly suspected that he was due a very forceful hug.

And maybe a kiss. 

His stomach lurched as he very suddenly realised that he’d started a relationship with his best friend. Did that mean they were together? What did it even mean? He’d been so swept up with everything, he hadn’t taken any time to think that things may change because of his actions in the spur of the moment. 

One thing at a time. He told himself. His relationship problems would have to wait. 

Kingsley returned with a flask of pumpkin juice and a ham sandwich. He apologised at the humbleness of the fare but Harry was happy to have something to settle his stomach. He ate with gusto, listening to Kingsley and Remus as he did. 

“It’s a stroke of genius to have the WWN broadcast live as now any press release that comes from today is old news. Barnabus Cuffe can’t have his sensationalist front page headline on The Daily Prophet when the facts are already out there.” Kingsley was saying while Harry put in effort towards giving himself indigestion. “He’s going to have to make do with printing the truth for a change without any embellishments.”

“There were a lot more people than just reporters from that one paper though.” Harry said when he cleared his mouth. “Who were they all?”

“The magical press doesn’t just exist in Great Britain.” Remus said pointedly. Harry suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten so quickly, feeling rapidly queasy.

“Oh, great.”

“It’s a risky gamble to expose the Ministry’s failures in such a way though. It could backfire if the rest of the magical world sees that our leaders are corrupt and incompetent.” Remus then said, looking over to Kingsley. The Auror appeared at ease, leaning against the wall, but it was very clear that his presence in the room was for him to protect Harry with his life if threatened. It was why both men were there. 

“I am fairly sure we already give that impression which is why Voldemort is having as much success as he is with gathering support from abroad.” 

Harry listened with renewed interest. He knew that Voldemort was recruiting overseas from Hagrid’s exploits with the giants. 

“Don’t they have to believe he’s alive to join his cause though?” Harry asked. 

“Not at all. Even when he was at his most powerful, very few of Voldemort’s supporters had even seen him or spoken to him. They followed the idea of him more so than the man himself.” Kingsley told Harry. “Why do you think his very name inspires so much fear?”

Harry considered the question as he drank some more of his juice.

“There were many who didn’t even think he was real when he first started to come to power.” Remus went to explain further from where Kingsley left off. “A spectre who descended on families, leaving corpses and his Dark Mark over the homes he tore apart. When he gathered his first followers and they then descended on his behalf, the real fear began. It’s happening all over again and, in truth, it doesn’t matter if people believe he is alive, his name never truly died when he vanished after he tried to kill you.”

Harry shivered as he processed what Remus and Kingsley were saying. It wasn’t a perspective he thought of before - that Voldemort was more of an idea than he was a person. It made sense in a way he’d not put together. It made it sound like he was some sort of religious icon - which, Harry only then realised - he was. His Death Eaters weren’t his allies but his ‘followers’. The Dark Mark was their unholy symbol. He’d even witnessed with his own eyes how they knelt before him like he was a God. 

“I suppose I never thought of him like that before. I didn’t… want to, I guess. It makes this so real.” Harry said thoughtfully, his fingers crawling up to his forehead to touch where he had a very real connection to the Dark Lord. “If people see him like a God, then how do they see me?”

He lowered his hand, finding both Remus and Kingsley looking at him. 

“Do you want the honest answer?” Remus asked him quietly after a second passed them in silence. Harry swallowed, thinking about all the people that had clapped and applauded him. How his name sounded when called out so many times… called out to him in different voices in a way that started to make it belong to them and not him. He thought of how those he met for the first time looked at his scar before they looked him in the eye. 

He started to shake as he suddenly felt the immense weight of the world pressing down on him. 

“Say it.” Harry whispered.

“To them… you’re a name as well.”

Harry shakily lifted the flask of juice to his mouth and drained what was left. He needed to hear it. He nodded, letting the truth settle on him. 

“What am I to you?” He then asked, looking at both men in turn. 

“You’re an extraordinary young man who deserves better.” Kingsley answered at once, surprising Harry immensely. Remus nodded in agreement before he then looked back to Harry. 

“You’re the son of my best friend and I want you to live the life your parents wanted for you.” 

A lump rose in Harry’s throat and he looked down at his hands. He sighed, pulling his sleeves back to reveal the bruises that the inhibitors left on him. He looked over the scars on the back of his right hand, taking in the abuses done to him because his ‘name’ was a threat to the people in power. 

“I don’t think they wanted this life for me.” Harry said quietly. “If this life can even be called mine. It took for me to be locked in a prison to understand that I was already living in one.”

Remus edged along the table, taking Harry’s hands in his own. Harry looked up, his eyes wet from tears that he refused to let fall. 

“I know and we’re going to fight to free you from it. Whatever it takes, Harry. If we have to rally up the rest of the world to pay attention to the injustices done against you, we’ll do it. No more lies, remember.” His finger brushed over the scarring on the back of Harry’s hand. “I don’t want to see another mark on you but the reality is we’re at war. You’re old enough to choose to fight and you’ve proved time and time again that you’re good at it. We are on your side. Always.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, controlling himself. Kingsley moved over, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder to confirm Remus’s stance. 

A soft knock at the door interrupted the private moment. They all looked up at the same time, Kingsley drawing back as the clerk from the reception desk, Amanda, entered. Harry’s heart jumped at the sight of the box she was carrying, one he recognised with his name stamped on it. 

“Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen. I have some paperwork to get sorted before you can take Harry on his way back to Hogwarts.” She said kindly, smiling at the scene she witnessed. Remus drew back from Harry but moved to stand protectively at his side. Harry caught sight of his school robes and uniform neatly folded in the box. He definitely hadn’t folded them so tidily when he had to take them off. Set upon them was a long thin box that he knew to be a wand box, similar to the one his wand had been packed in when he first bought it from Ollivander. 

“You will need to sign for your belongings to be released to you. I have the form right here.”

She set a green file on the table that she had carried under her arm. Harry glanced up at Kingsley, needing a small confirmation that everything was happening as it should. 

“Just sign and print your name here.” Amanda said while she brought the forms in front of him. Harry scanned over, reading official lingo that brought the reality screaming back. Words like ‘custody’ and ‘provisional release’. She handed him a pre-inked quill which he took. He scribbled down his signature. 

“Wonderful.” Amanda took the form away. “Now we have your contract here but it needs the signature of your guardian so, Kingsley, you will need to fill all this out when you go with Harry to Hogwarts.”

“I am aware, Amanda. I’ll make sure your paperwork is done.” Kingsley sounded amused as he answered. She gave a curt nod and put the green file in the box along with everything else. 

The door then opened again. The room was quickly feeling crowded. Scrimgeour was next to enter, giving them all a nod in greeting. He carried a small leather case secured with clasps. 

“I have the portkey here.” He said as he sidled in and handed his delivery to Kingsley. Scrimgeour then turned his intense yellowy brown eyes to Harry. He gave a gruff sigh and approached him. 

To Harry’s surprise, he extended out his hand. 

“Amelia extends her apologies for not giving you a proper farewell but she will be in touch with you very soon.” He explained to Harry, then looked down at his hand. He cleared his throat. “And I would like to give my own apology for how I treated you when we met. I am glad I was wrong in my initial assumption about you.”

Stunned, Harry took his offered hand, shaking it. 

“Giving me the benefit of the doubt later made up for it.” Harry said to him once he let go. He then noticed that they were leaving. Harry got to his feet. “So… just like that? I… I’m leaving?”

“As soon as possible.” Scrimgeour said, his curt attitude back. “I need this room to interrogate Umbridge while Amelia presents the prosecution down in Courtroom ten.”

Remus picked up Harry’s box of belongings for him, confirming that he was leaving with Harry and Kingsley. Tension in Harry’s shoulders eased. He cautiously stepped up to Kingsley as he opened the case. Sat inside was a clothes peg. Harry let out a snort at the Ministry’s strange choice of object for the portkey. 

“Are you ready?” Kingsley asked Harry, holding the case out for him and Remus. “Just one finger on it will work.” 

Harry steadied himself, bringing his hand over the portkey. Remus’s hand brushed his in a reassuring way as he went to touch the peg. Harry tried to not think about how bizarre they looked in the reflection. Kingsley then applied his finger to the portkey as well. At his touch, the spell activated. 

With a familiar jerk behind his navel, Harry Potter disappeared from the Ministry of Magic, going home at last. 

Temporarily.

 

---

Professor McGonagall’s office was frustratingly far from the Common Room. While it was adjoined to the Transfiguration Classroom, which made perfect sense, being on the first floor while the Gryffindor tower was on the other side of the castle didn’t. But then, Hermione supposed that the position of Head of House didn’t default to the current transfiguration professor. She took off at a brisk walk at first but was soon running when she left the stairs, a grunting Ron close behind her, clearly disgruntled at being made to run. 

Reaching her office at last, Hermione pulled herself to a halt before crashing into one of the suits of armour. Ron staggered to a stop, his footfalls heavy. 

They made enough noise tearing down the corridor for McGonagall to be ready for them, opening the door so they could enter. McGonagall regarded them both with her arms crossed.

“Good evening. I see that you took my request to make your way here ‘post haste’ quite literally.” She said curtly. “Come on in and take a seat.”

Worry for Harry continued to rise when Hermione was faced with a disappointingly Harry-free office. What she did find was evidence that Professor McGonagall was very busy indeed and taking time out of her duties as Acting Headmistress to entreat with them. Stacks of parchment towered on her desk with three quills marking up notes upon three separate documents. The scratching of the quills along with the soft ticking of the clock in the office were the only sounds so it was no wonder Professor McGonagall had heard their less than subtle run to her office. 

Hermione shared a worried look with Ron as she went to do as instructed. It was obvious where she and Ron were supposed to sit at the other side of her desk. 

“Potter is here but before I let you see him, I want to brief you both on his situation so you don’t feel the need to question him when you see him.” McGonagall explained as she went to take her seat. With a wave of her wand, she dismissed the busy quills, clearing the space in front of her so she could rest her hands upon the desktop. She surveyed them sternly over her spectacles. As much as Hermione wished she could deny any plans to pester Harry with questions, she couldn’t. A burn of shame seared across her cheeks. It reminded her too strongly of when they’d been allowed to stay with Harry when he was in the Hospital Wing after his ordeal at Voldemort’s hands months ago. It had been from Dumbledore then, the request to give Harry some space. 

It made it seem as though confronting the Wizengamot was on par with going toe-to-toe with murderous dark wizards. Hermione supposed it was. In one battle, Harry had been fighting for his freedom and in the other, his life. 

“I do not know if you are both aware that part of the responsibility that the headmaster has at Hogwarts is to act as the magical guardian for muggleborn students and, as is the case for Harry, orphaned students. This responsibility became mine officially today… yet I am not moving my office quite yet.”

Hermione glanced over to Ron and then shifted forwards in her seat. 

“Um… congratulations, professor?” She posed it as a question, not sure what else to say. McGonagall’s stern demeanour cracked a little, her eyes softening. 

“It is a rather hollow victory considering the manner I have taken this post - usurped it, perhaps, you could argue. Regardless, Albus is not here and in his absence, he has allowed the enemies he believed to be harmless to cause a great deal of harm. In his neglect , he has also caused harm to the young man currently in my care as a result.”

A strong undercurrent of suppressed anger and deep sorrow lay under McGonagall’s measured words as she surveyed the two of them. 

“Umbridge may have been the abuser but Albus had a duty of care which he failed in doing. Now that duty of care is mine and I wish to see it done.” McGonagall interlaced her fingers together, her gaze moving over to Hermione. “While Harry has been released from Ministry custody, he still has strict rules to comply with under ‘House Arrest’. His movements are restricted as is his magic, though he has been allowed his wand. As he’s been charged with a capital offence, he is currently suspended from Hogwarts but he is still my ward so he will be staying in my private quarters. You understand what I am telling you both? Harry cannot leave my rooms under any circumstances unless for an emergency. Only his arresting officer can remove him from his boundaries.”

Hermione brought a hand up to her mouth, suddenly feeling dizzy. All euphoria from the verdict they heard on the wireless had drained out of her with every serious word that came out of McGonagall’s mouth. Harry hadn’t been ‘released’ at all. He’d just been moved from one prison into another. They just had him relocated for his safety. The threat of a criminal conviction still loomed over him. 

“But… on the wireless, they said he was being released?” Ron spoke, his hoarse voice making it clear that he was just as taken back as Hermione was. 

“Released into protective custody.” Hermione said quietly. “For him to be cleared, he still has to go to trial. He’s been legally charged, Ron. He has no choice but to follow the law.”

“Precisely, Miss Granger.” McGonagall said with an appraising nod. “The good news that we must take away from this is that when Harry does have his trial, he will be acquitted without any resistance. With that… woman behind bars and Fudge deposed, it will be a very short court session, I daresay.”

She then looked wary as she turned her attention over to her wall of many bookshelves, the bookcases crammed with tomes and other assorted curios. 

“I will allow you both to have access to where Harry is staying but only to the rooms he has access to. He knows which of my rooms are off limits. During your free time and as long as you aren’t disturbing the peace, you may visit him freely. However only you two have this freedom. Anyone else will have to Harry in my office and only with my permission. I will set up somewhere for Harry to study here and meet with his legal counsel. Until then, he will be spending his time in his room.” McGonagall then stood up, brushing down her emerald green robes. She gave them firm looks. “Follow me.”

Acutely aware that McGonagall was about to take them into rooms that was strictly prohibited, Hermione did her best to be as respectful as possible. Ron looked puzzled as he looked around the room for a door that led into the private sleeping quarters of their Head of House. McGonagall led them instead to her bookcase. To Hermione’s surprise as she came closer to the books McGonagall had in her office, hardly any of them were books on complex transfiguration or magic. In fact, as she caught sight of familiar titles, she realised that all of them were novels. Muggle novels. All beautiful editions, leather bound with golden embossments. 

Hermione smiled to herself. Professor McGonagall stopped in front of the bookcase and rested her finger on the spine of one book in particular. 

Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy.

She pushed the book inwards, activating the concealed entrance. A partition of the bookcase swung inwards. Ron gaped openly as McGonagall led them into a rather tight hallway. 

“This floor is for my rooms. Harry has the rooms down the spiral staircase, just down there and on the left.” McGonagall told them. “I will leave you to it but Harry must take his sleeping potion in an hour for a good amount of rest. You will have to leave before then.”

Sleeping potion. At the mention, Hermione’s heart gave a leap. The last time Harry had to take one of those, it had been the night when Voldemort returned. 

“We understand. Thank you, professor.” Hermione said quietly, glancing at Ron to stop him from blurting out something. He closed his mouth and nodded in agreement. McGonagall stepped back into her office, the secret door closing behind her. 

Ron blew out a breath, giving Hermione a pointed look. 

“This is a lot to take in, huh.” He remarked quietly. Hermione agreed.

“Let’s go and see Harry.” She whispered back, moving in the direction McGonagall indicated. The hallway was very tight and narrow, making them walk in single file. It was well lit at least with candle holders set in the wooden panels. They took a sharp turn left and followed the spiral staircase. It was awkward and a little precarious. 

As they made it out onto the small landing, they came upon two doors. Hermione studied the doors. She felt very away that she was trespassing on very private ground, even more so when she glimpsed something etched on the door that looked like 'Robbie's Room’. She approached the door and she knocked lightly. 

“It’s open.” 

That was unmistakably Harry’s voice. Hermione immediately pushed the door open, stepping through the narrow doorway to enter a rather breezy bedroom on the other side. She entered, moving so Ron could get inside as well. Her hair ruffled in a chilly draught as she looked about the space, finding the source over by a large window at the far wall. 

Harry was there, sitting on the ledge of the window sill, watching them enter. On his arm was a very familiar snowy owl who he’d been feeding treats to when they came inside. 

“That didn’t take you long.” Harry gave them a tired smile. “Just a moment. She’s being especially clingy.” He said of Hedwig as he scratched her under the beak and guided her onto the ledge next to him. “It's time to take flight, girl, for the both of us." 

Hedwig let out a trilling hoot, nipping Harry’s sleeve. She then took to the air, magnificent white wings spreading. Hermione witnessed the painful longing on Harry's face. He had to look away from Hedwig as he shut the window to face them instead. Hermione then took in Harry’s appearance properly. He sported a pair of boys’ issue pyjamas from the hospital wing, his feet bare. Harry then dropped from the sill to his feet. The floor was wooden, unusual in the castle where most rooms had cold stone floors. 

"It's... it's really good to see you." Harry said thickly as he looked at them both. He then lifted his arms up and spread them wide, looking between Hermione and Ron, his eyes then glimmering in the candlelight. Hermione’s breath hitched and she didn’t hesitate. Ron followed her, a little hesitant at first. When they both reached Harry, he stepped forward, bringing both of them in his hug. He gave a sharp gasp as he burrowed his head downwards into the safety of their joint embrace. Hermione inhaled a dusky fragrance coming off his hair that definitely wasn’t his usual choice of muggle shampoo. His pyjamas had the usual unmistakable scent of witch hazel that clung to the hospital wing and all the patients after a stint in Madame Pomfrey’s care. 

“Pomfrey’s seen to you then?” Ron commented on his attire. Harry let out a sniffly laugh, straightening. 

“Just a look over.” Harry said with a shrug as he put on a show of nonchalance. It didn’t disguise how red-rimmed his eyes were. “She also checked in case I’d been spiked with any potions while in custody but I’m clean. I’m just really tired and achey.” He rolled his shoulders, giving a wince. “Some bruising around my wrists but she fixed them up.” 

“Bruising?” Ron repeated, sounding alarmed. 

“Yeah. Auror inhibitors aren’t exactly designed with comfort in mind.” Harry said pointedly. He then gave a small shake of the head. “Thankfully I don’t have to wear them again. The Wizengamot passed a law right away to ease the rules around how suspects are handled in Ministry custody. Funnily enough they didn’t like seeing me coming away from their ‘care’ with more visible marks.”

Hermione inwardly winced that Harry had to go through the humiliation in the first place for them to grasp that having a fifteen-year-old restrained in public was bad press. 

“So, uh, any news about when you have to… go to trial?” Ron haltingly asked. Hermione stared at him, aghast. “What?” He asked, baffled at her reaction but then his ears went red as he remembered why McGonagall had talked to them before they saw Harry. They were supposed to avoid bombarding Harry with questions. Harry frowned at them both, their behaviour confusing him, but he shook it off and went to head over to his bed. 

“No but they don’t want to drag it out.” Harry said heavily, dropping down on the bed as if his legs just gave out. He pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his tired eyes. Harry lowered his hands to either side of him. “I have loads to tell you both but… if I get into it, I might pass out or something half-way through.” He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh then looked down at his knees despondently. 

An instinct Hermione never knew she had pulled her towards Harry, just knowing that in that moment, he needed a language that wasn’t words. She settled next to him on the bed, causing him to wearily lift his head to look at her. She carefully took his glasses from his hand, watching his face for signs of discomfort. He didn't resist, just watching tiredly. Her focus was so narrowed onto him, everything else shrank back. Placing his glasses on the pillow of his bed, she moved back to turn towards him, moving his hand onto her lap. 

“You don’t have to say anything at all.” She found herself saying. Her fingers brushed over his, his digits still cool. She looked down at his hand, seeing how his fingers were still, his nails bitten down as they always were. He had rough callouses along the pads of his palm, his hands unusually rough for a wizard his age. She always liked his hands and how dextrous they were, quick and moving as if they had a mind of their own. 

A dark shape moving in her periphery distracted her and she looked up. Ron edged towards them. When she looked up at his face, she saw… confusion. His eyes were fixed on her hand cradling Harry’s. His blue eyes lifted to meet hers. The confusion faded back but its place was a cut. Something happened between them at that moment, something severed. 

Then that moment was gone as Ron turned from her, his attention back on Harry where he went to sit next to him. Harry gave Ron a smile but his fingers moved against Hermione’s, interlacing so they were holding hands. 

His hand then squeezed hers. 

Hermione did her best to hold back the tears, because sometimes, words weren’t needed at all. Yet as they sat together quietly, Ron soon resting a hand on Harry’s back, the three of them knew without talking that something changed in their dynamic. They were too overwhelmed, too tired and too generally awkward to vocalise it. So they just took comfort in the closeness. Ron soon shuffled a bit closer, throwing an arm around both Harry and Hermione. They scooted together, Harry in the middle, enveloped within the comfort he needed.

Harry’s head startled to loll as he struggled to stay away. He then managed to rest his head on her shoulder and… remained there. Hermione felt his breathing change as he fell asleep. 

“He’s sleeping.” Hermione whispered to Ron. “I… what do I do?”

Ron met her gaze, a meaningful look entering his eyes. 

“Let him sleep?” 

“If I move, he might wake up…”

Ron sighed, moving to help. Between them, they pulled Harry up the bed so he was lying on top of the quilt. It was a testament to how tired he was as he didn’t stir. Between her and Ron, they pulled the quilt down and then brought it over Harry so he was comfortable. He remained sleeping, eyes shut, breathing softly. Ron shook his head, baffled. 

“I’ve shared a room with Harry for five years and… I’ve never seen him fall asleep that quickly. “ Ron said then he sighed, looking directly at her. He then pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

Hermione gazed down at Harry, sighing as well. 

“We made him feel safe enough to sleep.” She said quietly. Ron gave a snort, making her look up at him. 

“You made him feel safe enough.”

She stared at him, not sure what to say and too tired to piece together any sensible thoughts. Ron rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, we leave this conversation for the moment but… tomorrow…” Ron flicked his hand back at Harry. “We’re talking.”

Hermione met Ron’s eyes and agreed.

“Until tomorrow.”

Notes:

I knoooow. It's a short chapter but I didn't want to make this longer than it had to be. I want to move the plot and not bog down too much so I'm sorry if things read more staccato than usual. We get some cosiness soon.

Chapter 11: The Guardians

Summary:

The people now looking after Harry take his care seriously while Ron and Hermione have an awkward conversation in a disused classroom.

Despite how McGonagall had been there when Harry was dragged up in front of Dumbledore and Fudge to get expelled and his wand snapped, she didn't appear angry at him. She was all too aware that he’d been caught red-handed breaking serious school rules and the law along with it. Yet he received no word of a reprimand. She made no comment when the conditions of his ‘house arrest’ were set out plainly, not saying if she believed them unfair or too lenient. Any opportunity she had to make his situation worse or add to his humiliation, she didn’t use. Something he was very grateful for. 

He blushed in silence, fiddling with his sleeves and jostling his legs. His gaze remained riveted to the floor when she mapped out the limits of his confinement, following her as she cast the spells that trapped him once again. All that he had as physical proof that he was tethered on a leash was a thin, almost invisible band of faint light around his right ankle. It was easily concealed from view and kept it hidden when Ron and Hermione finally reunited with him later. 

After he and McGonagall signed the contract and sealed the spells, officially releasing him from the Ministry’s wardship, Remus and Kingsley made their exit through her fireplace, giving their farewells and assurances that Harry would have a weekend reprieve. He hugged Remus goodbye and even received a one-armed hug from Kingsley. 

Once alone with McGonagall, she then added her own stipulations to his very strict list of terms he had to follow. Harry was left confused as she did on too many occasions. When he most expected her to punish him, she didn’t, once again.

“I’m allowed guests?” Harry said back in surprise. McGonagall smiled faintly in response as she made them both tea. 

“I am not your prison warden,” said McGonagall, then she pursed her lips as she stirred his tea. “I am not even your Professor at present while you are suspended. You’re my ward and I’m your guardian. My job is to be responsible for you and that includes your care. I will not have you isolated from your friends.”

She passed him his teacup and saucer, a ginger newt biscuit accompanying them. 

“I can already tell you are… not unscathed.” Her nostrils flared a little, looking down at Harry’s wrists which he kept hidden under his sleeves. “I’ll have Poppy see you before I give your friends permission to visit.” 

He fell quiet as he drank his tea and nibbled at the biscuit. 

“You aren’t my first guest. My brother, Robert, used to stay here when he had business in Hogsmeade.” She shared with him, baffling him further. For some reason, the idea that she had family outside her job as a professor was as weird as when he saw her at Headquarters in general muggle attire. Seeing her as a person, as his guardian, was something he had to come terms with quickly, especially when she’d given him a particular rule that he was struggling to wrap his head around. 

She wanted him to call her ‘Minerva’ and, in return, she would use his first name. 

The other rules or perhaps they weren’t rules… more like conditions, he reasoned as he went back over them in his contemplative silence. He’d be allowed to use her office to study as long as he wasn’t disruptive. If she was out, he was welcome to use the space as he saw fit. She allowed him to have Hedwig with him in his room as long as he cleared up any mess. He’d also be allowed to write as much as he wanted, though his post was being screened by the DMLE for his protection.

There were restrictions. Leaving out her office door or even out any window was strictly forbidden. If he tried to get out, the spell around his ankle would activate and put him in a body-bind until Aurors showed up to arrest him again. Trying to leave would be considered as him trying to escape the law and he’d be duly punished for it - severely. 

For that reason, he couldn’t meet with anyone outside the rooms - including Ron and Hermione. He also had to have his meals in his room. He was spared the embarrassment of sharing a bathroom with his professor, having his own toilet and facilities next to his room. 

“I saw the sign on the door.” Harry thought it best to admit that he’d clearly noticed the room that he’d been given had a previous occupant. Now he knew that ‘Robbie’ was Robert McGonagall. 

“I never had the heart to take it down.” She admitted then, her eyes meeting Harry’s. “He made himself a target very early on in He Who Must Not Be Named’s campaign of terror… and he was murdered for his strong opinions against pureblood mania.”

Harry set his cup down.

“I’m sorry.”

“He would approve of you staying in his room… if that helps you feel more at ease.” She then smiled faintly again. “Robert often did business with your grandfather. He knew your family well.”

His exhaustion after a long day caught up to him very quickly. He soon got himself sent to Robbie’s room with Poppy Pomfrey soon making an appearance, making him dress in pyjamas and lay still on his new bed while she tutted over the state of him. He did his best to hold his tongue, doing his best to not think about how it was her fault he never received any specialist healing treatment after his ordeal at Voldemort’s hands in June. She cared about bruises on his wrists from metal restraints but not when his nervous system was shot from the Cruciatus curse. 

By the time Ron and Hermione arrived, he was dead beat. So much so he actually fell asleep, missing them leaving. He was confused, waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom, until he remembered where he was. Embarrassment flushed through him as he realised he must have slept on Hermione while she was trying to comfort him. 

He groaned, hoping that he didn’t do anything too mortifying. Ron was used to him mumbling in his sleep, sometimes shouting and even, on occasion, screaming, but not Hermione. Rolling to one side, he checked the time on the clock beside his bed. He noticed then that he’d been tucked under the quilt. He didn’t need to guess who had been responsible for making sure he was comfortable. He drank a little water then took the Dreamless sleep potion even though he was fairly sure he was tired enough to not need it. The reprieve from any nightmares was more his concern. 

The following morning he woke from a comfortable deep sleep. He’d slept so well he hadn’t noticed his trunk arriving. He soon busied himself with checking that everything was as he left it, kneeling on the floor in borrowed pyjamas. A folded piece of parchment sat on top of his usual mess of his belongings. He frowned, reading his name written in Ron’s impatient hand scribbled on the front. He unfolded it, finding a note for him.

 

Before you panic, I’ve got the map and Hermione’s got your cloak. We were worried that they’d make up some excuse to seize them so we removed them before they got the chance. Thankfully the aurors didn’t get a chance to search your things when they were here anyway. 

Hope you slept well. Don’t worry. You didn’t drool on Hermione (much).

Ron

 

Harry’s face flushed again. He knew Ron was teasing but for him to make note of how Harry had slept on Hermione’s shoulder said a lot. Of course, Ron was bound to notice how Harry held onto Hermione’s hand like a life-line. Harry was painfully awkward about body contact at the best of times and he’d openly sought it out when they reunited. He hesitantly put the note on his bed, thinking of how he practically melted against Hermione. He hadn’t been very subtle about how her presence made him feel. Ron could be as observant as a block of wood at times but he wasn’t stupid. 

Shaking his head, Harry tried to put it out of his mind. He wasn’t even sure what he felt nor what was even going on between him and Hermione. They needed to talk about it, that much was clear, but how? It wasn’t really a discussion they could have with an audience and how the hell could he ask to speak to Hermione alone without it being bloody obvious. 

Hermione will think of something . He hoped. She was far more ahead than he was in the realm of feelings and relationships. His instincts told him that how he felt was natural. He felt a lot more comfortable alone with Hermione than he did when Cho cornered him under the mistletoe. And then there was that date in Hogsmeade. He shuddered. No, he was certain that his feelings were genuine. He just needed to know if Hermione felt the same and… if she did, then what? He froze again. What would it mean if they dated? If they were more than friends? Hermione got real harassment when Rita Skeeter printed about her last year, what would happen if she truly was his girlfriend? 

He ran a hand through his hair. There was the whole issue with him being the front-page news again. Not just in his home country but all over the world. It was hard enough to wrap his own head around it. Could he really throw all that onto Hermione’s shoulders too? 

His thoughts were all over the place as he navigated his new accommodations in a confused haze. Breakfast had been left in his room along with his trunk so he munched on some toast at his small, rickety desk. He soon got dressed then sorted himself out in the bathroom. Once done and relatively presentable. He apprehensively stuck his wand in his jeans pocket and went up to see whether Professor McGonagall was in her office. He nervously paused outside the doors that led into her own bedroom and bathroom before sneaking carefully to the back of the secret door that led into McGonagall’s room. He swung a small cutout aside, revealing a peephole. 

Peering into the office, he saw McGonagall sitting at her desk and she wasn’t alone. Harry blinked in surprise then a huge smile bloomed on his face. His heart lurched in a fierce racing beat of excitement and dizzying joy. Urgently, he drummed his knuckles on the back of the door in the pattern McGonagall told him to use as a signal. She looked over in his direction at once and gave him the much needed permission to enter. He slapped his hand on the release, activating the mechanism that opened the door. The spell kicked into life, the bookcase swinging inwards. Harry rushed into the office, not hesitating, not caring for any display of patience on his behalf. Any rational thought of questioning why on earth Sirius Black was lounging in Professor McGonagall’s office with his feet on her desk was completely absent. He just needed to get to his godfather. 

Sirius wasn’t lounging for very long. He kicked his chair over in his haste to reach Harry as he ran at him. Their reunion wasn’t a gentle one as their bodies slammed into each other. Both were fuelled with a powerful desperation to reconnect. 

He never expected Sirius to wrap his arms around him and lift him upwards. Nor did he expect to be almost crushed in a grip that rivalled Hagrid’s. His cheek became squashed against the velvety lapels of the robes Sirius wore. Fingers pushed into Harry’s hair in a way that would normally have him panicking and blanking at the confusing touch, instead he sank into the welcoming embrace. 

“Si-Sirius…” Harry breathed his name out, practically vibrating with emotion. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

“Yeah, I’m right here.” Sirius gruffly said as dropped his arms from Harry, his hands remaining on his arms as he drew back. Harry had seen Sirius worried, he’d seen him angry - murderous even, he’d even seen him on the brink of tears and also manically happy. He wore a new emotion as he stared intently into Harry’s eyes. His greyish blue eyes were wide as he looked at Harry as if he was the most momentous spectacle he’d ever seen, wonderment shining out of his eyes. The madness that gleamed in those eyes once had gone, as was the glassy hollowness of hopelessness and the bitterness of a man who lost all control over his life. 

“It’s so good to see you, Harry.” His voice, a little hoarse, gusted out. He brushed his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone before he straightened. He adjusted his robes, shifting to place his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He turned to where Minerva McGonagall was surveying their reunion with a soft look on her face behind her mountain of paperwork. “I came here with Remus though I expect Minerva would like the honour of telling you the good news of why he’s pretty preoccupied right now.”

He steered Harry over to McGonagall’s desk where a second chair sprung up next to the one Sirius had toppled. His chair pulled itself upright at McGonagall’s sweep of her wand. She indicated for them to sit. Harry gripped the back of his chair, steadying himself. 

“Where is he?” Harry asked.

“Your exploits left Hogwarts without a Defence teacher, Harry.” Minerva said but didn’t appear reproachful in the slightest. “As the new Headmistress, it falls to me to fill the vacancy and I could think of no one better suited. Remus will be taking over classes next week and he has a lot of catching up to do.” 

Harry gaped, gobsmacked. “But… Snape exposed his… er… problem. He’s registered as a werewolf now.”

“I have cleared it up with the Governors already.” McGonagall assured him. “I vouched for him. His excellent track record with the OWL and NEWT results for the year he taught here made them come around quickly to my point of view.”

“Wow…” Harry pulled out his chair, dropping down hard. It was a lot to take in. 

“So that’s where he’s gone. He’s rushed off to do ‘Professor Lupin ’ business.” Sirius said as he went to sit next to him, crossing his legs over, looking relaxed once again. “Maybe the two of you could tag-team. Professor Potter has a nice ring to it, after all.”

Harry’s face grew hot at the light teasing. He swallowed and turned in his chair to look at his godfather properly. He looked well but Harry could see the stress in the tightness in his eyes and the tension in his jaw. His happiness was genuine but the gravity of their reality wasn’t ignored. 

“While Remus re-acquaints himself, I thought this would be a good time for us to talk.” Professor McGonagall then said, waving her wand to clear the stacks of parchment from her desk. They floated off to be stored elsewhere. Her tea set clattered as she brought it over. “I have taken it upon myself to inform your friends that you will be busy until midday as… I feel this is a conversation that is best between just the three of us. You are of course at liberty to share with them what we talk about later. I believe it best that this is held at your discretion for now. Your privacy has been abused enough as it is.”

Sirius made a low sound, agreeing. Harry went still, alarm screeching his thoughts to a halt. Whatever Sirius and McGonagall agreed to have discussed in private didn’t bode well. 

Minerva filled the teapot with a stream of boiling water from her wand and then settled back while it went to brew. Sirius sighed and turned in his chair to look at Harry.

“I know that vile hag had the fires and the post monitored - I nearly got caught myself talking to you - but you must have known what she was doing was some Dark shi- er stuff. Why didn’t you speak up?” 

Sirius reached across to take Harry’s right hand. His roughened fingers carefully brushed over the scars. Harry pulled his hand back from Sirius, his heart giving a warning flutter, chest tightening.

“It’s not that I didn’t think you would have helped or tried to at least.” Harry said quickly, tucking his hand self-consciously under his arm. He fluttered his glance over to McGonagall. He shifted on the seat, his gaze going over to the teapot that was steaming out the spout. 

“Ron and Hermione... they didn’t really understand why I didn’t ever tell you or Dumbledore. I knew what Umbridge’s game was. I could see through it. She wanted me to run off and complain to the person I thought would have any chance of stopping her. She was waiting for me to lead her to her opposition - to run to Dumbledore and get him to do something. I didn’t want to be the reason for any of you falling into whatever trap she had planned so I just took the punishment.”

He took a deep breath. He rested his hands on his legs, stopping them from where his knees began to bounce with nervous energy. 

“But you could have told me.” Sirius said with a bite of anger. Harry let off a bitter laugh, turning his head away. He very much didn’t want this discussion. 

“What good would that have done? You were under house arrest, though not as literal as me.” He then pulled up his right jeans’ leg, showing Sirius the pale band of light just visible around his ankle. Sirius looked down, letting out a growl when he saw the grounding spell. “But I didn’t want you to storm Hogwarts or… do something that would risk getting you caught.” Sirius frowned but didn’t say anything to counter his words. Minerva also said nothing as she added milk to their tea. 

“I wanted to tell you though.” Harry added softly. Sirius met his gaze and his eyes softened, mouth downturning. 

“Dolores greatly underestimated your resilience.” Minerva then chimed into the conversation as she passed them both their cups of tea. Her china set was very in character with a vibrant red tartan pattern with gold inlay. “She listened to the wrong opinions and came away with a rather unflattering and untrue image of your character.” 

Harry softly snorted. “Let me guess, she listened to Snape?”

Minerva, for once, didn’t correct him with a sharp ‘Professor Snape, Potter’.

“She was interested only in negative opinions so yes. Your more vocal critics were more than eager to help get a view of her potential ‘troublesome’ students. Believing that you were spoiled and weak-willed was ultimately her downfall.” She said with a wry tilt to her lips. “She never faced off against a Potter in a battle of wills before. Woe betide any fool who tries.”

Her accent made an appearance as well as a fierce glint in her eyes that burned whenever she spoke of one of her lions with pride. 

“However, I did not ask Sirius to stay here to discuss that woman.” Her mouth twisted with disgust around the word. “As Sirius is your official guardian, I have asked him to be present while we talk about how we prepare you for your trial. As we’re going to be addressing personal topics, I believed it best that we have this conversation alone.”

Harry looked between Sirius and Minerva, alarmed that they would talk about his legal issues so soon. He had a horrible feeling that he knew where the conversation was about to go. 

“As much as we need to prepare your defence, you also need to be mentally prepared.” Minerva continued. “You have a lot on your shoulders and it’s about time you share your burdens. There is no reason for you to bear them on your own. You may have a safe space with your friends but I believe I am right in saying that you haven’t shared everything with them.”

Harry swallowed. “No, I haven’t,” he whispered.

“I am not expecting you to share with us either but I do want you to talk to someone.” Minerva insisted without her curtness, her voice almost gentle. “I was given the name of the healer who carried out your diagnosis at the Ministry. I think you would benefit from speaking with someone who has dealt with other trauma victims.”

Harry immediately went rigid in his seat. Of course, he remembered who Minerva was talking about. Celia Travers. She had even offered to help Harry after she witnessed his darkest, deepest secrets getting exposed one injury at a time. His skin prickled at Minerva’s words. He really couldn’t deny that he was a trauma victim. How could anyone go through what he had and not come away with mental scars as well as physical? The nightmares he suffered during the summer were evidence enough. When he wasn’t forced to endure Voldemort’s obsession with the Department of Mysteries, his dreams were never pleasant. 

“It’s a good idea,” Sirius said calmly at Harry’s side. “I know how it sounds, Harry, but really… talking will help. I know it’s helped me and I just talk to Remus… and sometimes Buckbeak.” 

Harry didn’t smile at Sirius’s attempt at self-deprecating humour. He looked stiffly at Sirius. 

“What I’ve been through pales a bit in comparison against Azkaban.”

“Staring at the same four walls for twelve years with dementors for company did a number on me, sure, but…” Sirius rubbed at his face, his discomfort obvious yet he kept talking. “To be honest, I don’t really remember much about it. It’s like my mind just blanked out what I couldn’t bear to handle as a way to keep me going.”

“Disassociation.” Minerva said quietly. “Some never recover… like Alice and Frank Longbottom.” 

Harry felt sick then. His hands shook a little.

“What’s to stop the healers from putting me in the same ward as them?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Aside from the fact that you weren’t tortured into insanity?”

“But… if I talk to that healer and the stuff about my scar comes up… what then?” Harry voiced his main concern quietly. He peered over to Minerva. “Whatever confidentiality vows healers take, I doubt it’s going to make them just ignore that I have a direct link to Voldemort’s mind.”

Minerva’s eyes moved over to Sirius for a moment before returning to settle on Harry. Sirius sighed and he downed all his tea in three gulps. He turned in his chair to face Harry fully again. 

“That’s why it’s best that you take yourself to a healer before they force an examination on your mental state. Whatever happened to you… whatever’s going on with your scar… it’s not going away any time soon and, one way or another, it is going to come up. The last thing you want is for it to come up in a courtroom when you have no defence ready to explain that you aren’t mad and you’re definitely not turning into a mini Dark Lord.”

Harry shivered at the seriousness in his godfather’s tone. 

“You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I have to beat them to it before it’s used against me.”

“That’s right.” Sirius then glanced up at Minerva. “We have some time before your legal stuff starts properly. The Ministry has their hands full at the moment so we can get your defence water-tight before you go before the Wizengamot. And you need to have your head as clear as possible when that happens. Talking to a healer will help with that too, alright?”

Harry nodded. Everything Sirius said made perfect, logical sense. 

“The truth is that we don’t fully understand what exactly connects you to… to Voldemort.” Minerva visibly winced as she made herself say the name. “Albus had his theories, of course, but Cornelius and whoever he drags up as his legal team will poke holes in them. We need answers and, more than that, we need a solution. Occlumency was one option and I think we can safely say that placing you in a room alone with Severus was a disaster.”

Sirius gave a derisive sound. “Surprise, surprise.”

Harry considered what Minerva was saying, bringing his hand up to rub his scar as they talked about it. It wasn’t hurting him at that current moment, at least. 

“But where exactly are we going to get those answers if Dumbledore only had theories?” Harry asked, convinced that if Dumbledore had little clue then they didn’t stand much of a chance. He was the most brilliant wizard of the age, the only one Voldemort feared. 

“We find a second opinion.” Minerva said firmly. “And I know just who to consult. I believe you know who Nicolas Flamel is, Harry?”

He blinked at the name. It wasn’t exactly one he could forget after spending weeks researching for any mention of the name during his first year at Hogwarts. 

“I… well… yeah, I do, but…” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “I thought he passed away.” 

“No, he is very frail but he still lives. Though sadly, he is not long for this world.” Minerva said solemnly. “As a wizard who achieved the impossible during his life, he will have a far greater insight into such a unique magical phenomenon. If you consent, I will write to him and ask for a meeting between you two.”

Harry frowned, consulting the patch of floor again. The thought of having someone examining him like an exotic curio left him deeply uncomfortable but he knew it was necessary. After all, he wanted answers himself. He hated living with a constant reminder of the man who murdered his parents and ruined his life. 

“Harry?” Sirius gently prodded him for an answer. Harry looked up, meeting Minerva’s gaze and he nodded his assent. She smiled fondly at him, picking up her tea cup. 

“I will write to him later today and shall I also write to Ms Travers?” 

Harry caught Sirius frowning. “Travers?” He repeated the name. Minerva raised a brow at him. 

“I do hope you aren’t judging someone based on their relatives, Sirius.” 

To Harry’s surprise, Sirius actually flushed. He cleared his throat.

“No, not at all.” He said carefully then considered Harry, his expression softening. “It’ll be good for you, truly, and it’s about time someone looked into your well-being properly for once instead of just your safety.”

Deciding to accept that maybe in this instance, the adults knew best, Harry dipped his chin again in a nod of assent. Sirius rewarded him with a ruffling of his hair. 

“Very well then. It’s decided.” Minerva’s eyes lit up with that proud glint again, smiling at Harry over her tea. “Now drink up, both of you. I’m afraid I have appointments all day and I daresay, we need to avoid getting Harry in any more trouble. I do not want to risk having ‘aiding and abetting a known criminal’ added to his charges.”

Harry froze as he went to reach for his tea, his heart dropping. Sirius grimaced at the reminder of his wanted status. He picked up his tea, now sullen. 

“But… will we be able to talk?” Harry said, bracing himself for disappointment. “Maybe with the floo?”

Sirius considered him cautiously for a moment. Minerva wore a similar look, frowning at him. Harry looked between them, not expecting the reaction. “W-what?”

“Do you not have the mirror I gave you?” Sirius asked him, his brow furrowing. “Was that why you used the floo before?”

Now confused, Harry stared at him. “Mirror?”

“I…” Sirius glanced over at Minerva, hesitant for a moment before his shoulders dropped. “The two-way mirror. James’s mirror.”

Harry remembered the package in his trunk, the one that Sirius had passed to him the last time they spoke. He’d pointedly cast it aside, scared that whatever the gift was, it would lure Sirius out of safety to help him. He’d completely forgotten all about it. 

“I…” His face burned once again. “I didn’t open it. I’m sorry… I was worried at the time you’d let your hate for Snape go to your head and then I just… forgot.”

Sirius gave a bark of a laugh. “Huh, well, that’s a relief. I thought maybe you accidentally smashed it or got it confiscated.”

“No, I… what is it?” Harry then asked, relieved that Sirius wasn’t upset with him. 

“It’s just a mirror to anyone else but if you say my name into it, you’ll be able to see out of the paired one that belongs to me. James came up with them when we kept getting put into separate detentions. Until-.”

“Until I caught you.” Minerva interrupted wryly. Harry looked over at her, seeing her smile. “I returned them to Sirius at Christmas and I assumed you both had been in touch. I see I was mistaken.” She met Harry’s gaze. “I trust you to be careful with it? Only use it when you are in your room?”

“Yes, of course.” Harry said at once. 

“Good, then finish your tea. I daresay you’ll have guests here shortly now that we are done.” She said, checking the clock behind her. 

Doing as he was told, Harry took his teacup and drank it quickly. He had to admit, Professor McGonagall knew how to make a very good cup of tea. Too soon, though, he was on his feet, walking with Sirius to Minerva’s fireplace. He was pulled into another hug, closing his eyes as he relished the embrace, feeling much closer than he ever had in that moment. 

“We’re getting there, alright?” Sirius gruffly said as he checked Harry’s face over as if double-checking that Harry truly was right in front of him. “Both of us. We’ll get our names cleared then we’ll get some good old-fashioned revenge.”

Minerva McGonagall appeared to decide at that moment to have momentary deafness as she made no remark on his words. She had returned to busying herself with matters at hand, quill scratching as she made to start on the letters to Nicolas Flamel and Celia Travers. 

“Revenge?”

“I’m not Dumbledore, Harry. I’m not going to preach about being the ‘better man’.” 

The fire in Sirius’s eye might have once alarmed Harry but instead, he felt his own anger flame up in response. His jaw tensed. 

“I want them to pay.” Harry said in a low voice though he knew Minerva was listening to every word. “All of them.” 

Sirius gripped his shoulder in response. Minerva cleared her throat pointedly. Sirius took a handful of floo powder from the box on her mantlepiece, casting it into the grate. 

“Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

Emerald flames shot upwards at once, illuminating them as their eyes burned both with green fire and fierce determination. 

“You ever need to talk, I’m listening. No judgement. Not from me - never from me.” Sirius let go of his shoulder. “My childhood was shitty too.”

Harry didn’t bluster at Sirius’s implications. He met his gaze. 

“I’ll speak soon.” He said softly, his heart suddenly feeling as warm as the floo. “I promise.”

“That’s all I ask… .”

Then Sirius Black was gone, leaving Harry with his love. 

 

---

 

Remus Lupin’s surprise reinstatement as the Defence Against The Dark Arts professor had come as momentous news. When his appearance at the head table set tongues waggling, the news served as a good distraction. While the Gryffindor table was suddenly preoccupied with discussing his arrival, it gave Ron and Hermione an opening to escape. All morning, from the Common Room to the tables in the Great Hall, they’d been harrassed for information about Harry. Hermione’s patience was stretched thin. Ron had already bent a fork in frustration. 

Slipping out, they made haste to find somewhere they could talk alone. Making use of Harry’s cloak with Ron clutching the Marauder’s Map, they bundled away into one of the disused classrooms before their absence was noticed. Hermione didn’t put it past Ginny to check the Room of Requirement for them and their dormitories weren’t actually a sensible choice when shared. 

With their privacy restored, the awkwardness returned. It hung over them, unspoken, while they had both snapped at gossipers to leave them alone and mind their own business. In the dusty silence of the forgotten classroom, desks and chairs stacked in an abandoned heap at the back wall, they waited for the other to start the conversation. Hermione rubbed at her arm, chasing down feelings of guilt, while she watched Ron checking the map.

“Is he-?” Hermione went to start.

“See for yourself.” Ron cut over before she could finish her question. Hermione was taken back by his curt tone as he thrust the Map at her. She took it, searching for the first floor at once to where Harry was staying with his new guardian. Her eyes widened when she saw the names in McGonagall’s office. 

Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter and Sirius Black. 

That explained why they’d been told upon leaving the office last night to delay seeing Harry until the afternoon. He was likely having a very personal conversation with the parental figures in his life. 

Hermione handed the map back to Ron. 

“I bet Sirius wants to know why Harry didn’t tell him.” Ron said after he cleared the map, hiding the condemning evidence from view. “McGonagall too. He did try to hide it from us too.” Ron crossed his arms. “Does that never bother you? How he hides things from us?”

Indignance flashed through Hermione on Harry’s behalf but then guilt rose up to combat it. 

“No,” she said promptly.

“Come off it.” He scoffed, moving to lean against the wall. “We’re his best friends and he doesn’t talk to us about… well… much.” He seemed to deflate as he tried to express himself, floundering as he did. Hermione sighed at his efforts, guilt mounting up more and more. 

“You know full well why he doesn’t open up to us.”

Ron looked confused.

“I do?”

“Do you not remember how Harry reacted when we practically forced him to talk to us?” She said sharply, her heart twisting as she brought it up. A vivid image of Harry’s face flushed with anger came to her mind. “When we had that brilliant idea to convince him to teach Defensive skills to us in the first place?” 

When she saw Ron’s face falter, she knew he remembered just as vividly as she did. 

“I very clearly remember him telling us ‘you don’t know what it’s like’.” 

She could feel her eyes growing warm. She then sat down on the dusty floor, bringing her knees up to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees, staring into space. 

“The truth is we just expected him to be onboard and open up - tell us everything he knows. We never… well, I never… stopped to think that maybe it’s too painful for him to talk about.” She looked sharply over to Ron. “And you acting like he’s an alien whenever he lets his guard down doesn’t help either.”

Ron’s ears grew pink. He scowled down at the floor but then his expression turned thoughtful. His mouth then downturned and he looked away, his shoulders dropping.

“I guess…”

Hermione then made herself look at Ron directly.

“I sat through one detention, one, and Harry went through a dozen of them - more even - and he never complained. Not once.” She said firmly. “And what did we do? What did I do? I just nagged at him to tell someone, not thinking that maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t stop to think that maybe being tortured potentially on the orders of the Minister for Magic was getting to him more than he let on. Then that night when he blew up at us. We were completely out of order to push his buttons when he was in pain.” She shook her head. “So… no, Ron, I don’t blame him for hiding things from us because I don’t think we’ve ever given him reason to think we can handle the sort of things he’s been through. We don't show him half as much empathy as we should and we can’t do that to him anymore.”

She quickly wiped at her face. Ron's blue eyes found hers at once. She licked at her lips, then sighed. She knew she just had to outwardly say it, confess that her feelings for Harry had developed quite significantly.

“The thing… the thing is, Ron. I’ve started to. When we were together in the Ministry, he opened up to me more than he’s ever done before.” She quietly confessed, looking up at him, waiting for his reaction. “And I could truly see how deeply he feels about everything. We spent hours locked in a room together under strict guard but… it didn’t matter that we were being watched. So we talked… about a lot of things, and then he told me about… how he felt about me.” 

A strange look dawned on Ron’s face as she fumbled her way through her words. 

“You don’t need to say anything else.” His cheeks had flushed, clearly working out where their conversation had led to eventually while locked up in the interview room together. “I might not be the most observant bloke in the world, but I’ve spent enough time around Ginny to know the effect Harry’s name can have on a girl. You’ve been blushing at his name for a few days now, before you even went to the Ministry.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. Of all the reactions she expected, she never thought Ron would be unsurprised. Then she felt rather foolish. Had she been blushing that much? 

“I saw how Harry latched onto you last night. He normally shies from the slight touch but he was practically curled up on your lap like Crookshanks.” Ron’s eyes gleamed when Hermione felt her face warm up. “Ah, there it is.” His smile then turned a little cold, his gaze turning inwards. He sighed. 

“I guess I’m second to Harry Potter again.”

“Ron-.”

“No. Don’t bother.” He flashed a hand up, his face twitching. “I’m not… look. I’m not mad at him. Yeah, it sucks to be left in his dust all the time. He’s annoyingly natural at everything he does, except for potions but then I’m hardly good at that either. I might be able to flatten his arse flat each time we play chess, but that’s really the only thing I have him squarely beat in. Even being made prefect felt like I was being pitied. And I know, you’re going to tell me that not everything has to be a competition, but it kinda does when you’re from a family as big as mine.”

Hermione went quiet, eyes wide as she listened to Ron’s honest spiel. 

“But I know, deep down, no matter how jealous I might get, Harry has it so much worse than me. Sure, he’s famous, but it makes him a target. Maybe he has money but that money doesn’t buy him his family back, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” She agreed softly. 

“After last night when I saw Harry like that, all guards down, absolutely knackered, I realised something pretty sad about him that I never really thought about before.” Ron looked down, his fingers going to his pocket, pulling out the folded Marauder’s Map. “It should have been his mum and dad comforting him, not us.”

Her gaze went down to the map and she rested her forehead on her knees. 

“I know,” she said, “and he didn’t even know what he wanted from us until we were there. He just needed someone to make him feel safe.”

“Yeah so… if you can be the person that makes him feel like that, then… fine.” He shrugged again. Ron then took out his wand, tapping the parchment lightly. “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good”, he mumbled.

Hermione watched him carefully, her keen eye looking for any hint that Ron was more upset than he was letting on. He did appear sad but in a resigned way. A thought dawned on her then. Was he sad because he had feelings for her? If he did think of her in that way, he had a strange way of showing it. She’d been curious about his explosive reaction to Viktor, at first believing that he felt threatened, but he’d never made any signs of wanting to fight for her attention. She wondered then if he was simply jealous that she had someone who liked her enough to want to date her, airing out his own insecurities. 

“Ron, you don’t…” She started, not sure how she could phrase the question sensitively. “You don’t think of me in that way as well, do you?”

He jerked his head to the side, working his lip between his teeth for a moment, before he then shrugged.

“I don’t really know.” Ron rubbed the back of his neck, his face getting increasingly redder. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I have thought about it since everything with the Yule Ball and I do know that you’re a girl and stuff.” He met her gaze. “Then when Harry had that mess of a date with Cho, and I thought about us doing something like that, it just didn’t feel right in my head.”

Hermione suddenly remembered that Cho Chang existed. 

“Oh… I completely forgot about Cho.”

“Sounds like Harry has too.” Ron pointed out. “Besides, the fact that her best friend sold Harry out to Umbridge put the nail in the coffin there, I think.” He chewed on his lip as he consulted the map. “Ah, Harry’s in his room now. I guess Sirius couldn’t exactly hang around.”

Hermione unfolded herself from the floor, coming over to join Ron. She glanced at him cautiously, seeing the tension in the corners of his eyes and the telltale red flush of his ears. 

“You, ah, probably should see him.” 

“I… well…” She wrung her hands together for a moment. “This doesn’t have to be awkward. We can talk about it together.”

“Right, well… no offence but I’d rather get some flying practice than be a gooseberry around my best friends. Team practice is in an hour anyway.” 

Definitely more upset than he’s letting on. She thought to herself, feeling guilty. 

“Ron… you know that no matter what, we’re… we’re still friends.” She breathed out quietly, watching him closely. “That’s not changing.”

He sighed, nodding. “I know.” He handed her the map again. “Take this back to Harry. He should have it back.” 

“Okay,” she said quietly. “You’ll come later though. I know he’ll want to see you too.”

Ron met her gaze, his eyes wet with tears until he blinked quickly. He smiled a crooking, slap-dash smile that he threw over the evidence of emotion that threatened to betray his true feelings. 

“Probably not as much as he wants to see you but yeah, I’ll be there.” He then moved to leave. He hesitated a step away from Hermione, turning to half face her again. “See you later.”

The way that he clearly wanted to get away from Hermione hurt her more than the glimpse of tears she caught in his eyes. She let out a shaky breath, gripping the map in her fingers as Ron slipped out of the classroom, ears the brightest red they could go. Hurting Ron hadn’t been something she ever set out to do, despite how often they found themselves bickering. She tucked the map in her pocket, fetching the Invisibility Cloak off the floor where she’d left it. Sweeping away the remnants of the tears that escaped her, she then sent off on her own to seek out Harry. 

Chapter 12: The Calm Before The Storm

Summary:

Harry and Hermione spend some time alone before the trio properly reunite and adjust to their new dynamic.

A nervous restlessness plagued Harry the moment he entered his room, confronted with the unusually homely space that served as his personal space for the foreseeable future. He remained still, frozen in indecision as he stared out the window where he could see the tops of the Quidditch pitch stands. Sickening longing panged through him. His life-long ban from Quidditch might no longer apply, but he had no way of knowing when he’d be able to fly again.

Or when he’d be free again.

“Stop it!” He suddenly snapped at himself the moment his thoughts started to cycle. 

Forcing himself into action, he headed over to his trunk to find some way to pass the time before Ron and Hermione showed up. His thoughts went onto the package that Sirius slipped to him after Christmas, filled with purpose. He dropped down onto his knees, unclasping his trunk lid and plunged his head into the mess of his belongings. He managed to unearth the poorly wrapped gift when he heard movement outside his room. Straightening, he listened to the sound of footsteps coming down the creaky spiral staircase. He dropped the package back on top of his things in his trunk. The mirror would have to wait. 

“Come in.” He called out before they had an opportunity to knock. He turned, face feeling warm as he considered his unmade bed. He went to neaten the quilt and prop the pillows up as the door opened. 

“It’s just me.” Hermione greeted as she entered. Harry’s hands stilled at her voice, not turning as she shut the door and walked inside. Her shoes padded loudly on the wooden floorboards until she paused and went to remove them at the door. Harry straightened, watching her strange behaviour as she treated his bedroom like it was actually someone’s home. Which, he reasoned, it was - for the moment. He looked down at his own feet, wearing the socks Dobby made for him. He hadn’t put on shoes. There was no need to when he couldn’t go anywhere. 

“Where’s Ron at?” Harry asked when he stopped staring at his own feet. Hermione didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to come straight towards him. He lifted his chin, taking in her appearance properly. Of course, as it was a Saturday, she wasn’t wearing her uniform. Her casual attire was neat as usual, much more so than his own hastily repaired and resized hand-me-downs. 

“He’s…” Hermione started, hesitating. Harry frowned at her before seeing her awkward flush on her cheeks. Her gaze flittered over to his window briefly. “He’s gone flying.”

Harry looked over to the window, frown still in place. 

“Quidditch practice isn’t until two on Saturdays.” He said hollowly before looking back at Hermione, catching her chewing on her lip. Suddenly, he understood. “Oh, you talked then?” 

Hermione huffed out a sigh through her nose, stepping up to him. Her hand rested on his arm. 

“I had to. Last night… well, it was rather obvious.” 

He met her gaze, face heating. 

“Oh, right. Um… sorry for conking out on you like that.”

“Don’t apologise.” Her smile was warm, eyes soft and kind. Her gentle touch on his arm was enough, communicating through the smallest contact. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment. The warmth of her presence felt like a blanket tucked around him. “I’m just glad you got some rest.”

He hummed in response, staring into her comforting gaze. He looked down at her hand, smiling.

“I’m not sure what we are right now but… I just know that it feels… nice. Right, even.” He peered across at her thoughtfully. “Seeing that you’re not acting like I scared you off, you… feel the same way?”

Her smile changed, a glint sharpening in her expressive brown eyes. All traces of nervousness dwindled from her as she reached for his other arm, turning him so they were facing. Without further ado, she inched herself onto tiptoes and placed her lips over his own. 

He couldn’t argue with that answer. 

Her lips trembled a little. Harry’s hands found her waist, moving her closer to him so he could deepen the kiss. It felt just as incredible as the first time, though without stress and fear warring inside him. Bliss consumed him, uninterrupted, as he chased each sensation with renewed passion. His hands tightened around Hermione’s waist, revelling how her body responded to his. 

Their lips parted. Harry stared at Hermione, his heart soaring in with joy that was so utterly different to the empty hopelessness that left him feeling like a shadow of himself. He had no right to be so happy, not while his life was still being held hostage. Hermione’s hands then lifted from his shoulders, her eyes taking on a soft quality that felt so familiar and so yet so new. Her fingers touched his face and he jolted a little. Her eyes widened but Harry didn’t pull away. 

“Um… can we sit on the bed? I promise I won’t sleep on you this time.”

Harry’s words came out haltingly. He dropped his hands from Hermione’s waist, drawing back from her to climb onto the bed. He gave her an expectant look, shifting so he sat in the middle of the mattress, bringing his legs up as well. 

“I’m a bit surprised they didn’t shrink the bed down.” She remarked. It was twice as big as the four poster beds in the dormitories. “I take it this room was intended for family guests.” 

“The last occupant was Min- um Professor McGonagall’s brother,” Harry confirmed. Hermione’s eyes went round when he corrected himself. “He didn’t make it through the last war though. It sounds like he used to stay here when he had business in the village.”

“That’s who Robbie is then.” Hermione then said quietly, referencing the sign on the door. He nodded. “I’ve always wondered if Professor McGonagall had any family but it’s not really something you ask your teacher - especially when there’s a strong likelihood of happening accidentally on family tragedy.”

She then decided to join him, sitting a little cautiously on the edge of the bed. Harry understood her reluctance then and why she brought up Professor McGonagall in the first place. 

“She isn’t going to keep checking on me all the time.” Harry assured her. “She said that she’s not my prison warden and will respect my privacy when I’m in here. Though there are a load of rules for me to follow, she’s not treating me like a naughty child. She’s even calling me ‘Harry’ as long as I call her ‘Minerva’. It’s… really weird.”

Hermione then scooted back on the bed, bringing her feet up so her knees were up to her chest. She considered Harry thoughtfully, resting her chin on her knees. 

“It’s not weird. She’s always had a soft spot for you - or do you not remember how you got on a broom and performed a really dangerous stunt without supervision yet she rewarded you by making you the Gryffindor seeker and bought you a new broom?”

Hermione had a point there. He chuckled.

“Huh, fair enough.”

He then lay back on the bed, folding his arms behind his back and stared up at the panelled ceiling. He brought his knees up, turning his head so he was looking at Hermione. She smiled down at him. He then recalled why it was just them both and why Ron had chosen to go flying instead of seeing him. Guilt squirmed back to life.

“So um… how did Ron take it?” He asked. Hermione sighed, glancing over her shoulder to the window where the pitch was just visible. 

“Better than I expected actually.”

Surprised, Harry sat up. “Really?”

Nodding, Hermione shifted to face him. “I was surprised too. I think he’s a lot more hurt than he was letting on but I don’t think he’s angry at us. He knows that in the grand scheme of things, us having feelings for each other isn’t the end of the world. He just, I don’t know, maybe had some expectation that there would be something between him and me.” 

Harry met her gaze, lifting his chin, frowning. “Hmm… maybe. He is weirdly fixed on the thing you have with Krum - even though he’s just like your pen-pal.” He frowned, giving a small shrug. It was more of a twitch. “I always thought he was more upset about being left out than he was with you picking another guy over him.”

Hermione gaped at him. 

“What?” He asked, worried.

“That’s really perceptive.” 

He snorted softly, smiling. “It’s known to happen.”

The mattress creaked as Hermione then shifted back to join him, her legs knocking against his as she did. She then lay back, using her arm to cushion her head as she went to curl on her side. Harry smiled, mirroring her to face her. Their knees touched as they stared at each other for a moment. Her attention made him feel strange but it wasn’t unpleasant. 

“What else do you think?” 

“Hmm?” Harry searched her face, very aware of how close they were to each other. Her eyes roved around, taking in every detail before settling on his eyes.

“About Ron.”

His brow furrowed.

“Um… why?”

“Because isn’t this what we’re meant to do? Gossip?”

He then smiled. “I never took you for a gossip, Hermione Granger.”

She rolled her eyes. “You forget who I share a dormitory with. Gossip isn’t something I’m often involved with voluntarily.”

He laughed softly, trying to picture what it was like in her dormitory with Lavender and Parvati fiercely gossiping about every living creature within their vicinity. Then he sobered when he remembered how he snapped at her early in the year when she told him how they had been talking about him. Hermione had defended him in that instance. He felt a little savage satisfaction. Everyone else had no problem talking about him behind his back. 

“Honestly?” He went to double check that Hermione was serious about hearing his thoughts. She kept her intense stare and nodded. “I think Ron needs to think for himself a bit more. I get that it must be frustrating to contend with his brothers all the time, but he keeps confusing that competition with me and… well…it’s annoying. He’s grown out of it a bit now that he’s starting to see that the attention I get is mostly negative. But he doesn’t… I don’t know… find ways to break the mould.” 

Hermione hummed in agreement, watching him closely. 

“I get that he feels overshadowed at times. By his brothers, by me and by you too. But sometimes I can’t tell if he’s happy where he is or wants to do something about his lot in life. I mean… look at Fred and George for example. They’re fed up with not having a lot of money so they’re doing something about it. Sure, maybe you don’t completely approve and I know Mrs Weasley doesn’t… but I really admire them for at least doing something. That’s kinda why I gave them that money. They’re trying to change things… give people a laugh and some light while things are so… dark.”

Harry felt uneasy talking about the Weasleys in such a way but he had suspicions that during the summers while he was at the Dursleys, they discussed him at length too. 

“Not everyone has that kind of courage to fork out their own path.” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Look at Sirius, for example. He’s rather unique in how completely broke away from his family and thought for himself.”

“I think that’s a pretty extreme example. You’ve seen what Sirius’s mum was like.” Harry pointed out.

“Yet his brother didn’t rebel like Sirius did. He joined the Death Eaters, didn’t he?”

Harry frowned. He didn’t know a lot about Sirius’s brother. “I expect it was different for them both. Sirius was pretty unique right? Being in Gryffindor with my dad and Remus…” He winced, as he glossed over the fourth Marauder. “He would have been around people who had a different perspective to what he was used to. He rebelled against them, against everything his family stood for.” He let out a breath. “Yeah… I see what you mean. That courage is pretty rare.”

Hermione nodded. “For what it’s worth, I do agree with you. Ron can complain about being second-best but if he wants that to change, he needs to work on finding his calling in life and fighting for it. He can’t keep expecting success to fall in his lap. Sometimes you have to apply yourself to succeed.” 

Harry gave her a wry smile. “I know full well that I don’t exactly ‘apply’ myself.”

“You do where it matters.” Hermione said firmly but then smiled back. “Though you could benefit from trying harder when it comes to school work.”

“Hmm… I’ll make it my priority though being suspended from class makes it a bit difficult.” 

Hermione sighed. “Well, we did well to keep that topic coming up for as long as we did.” She said sadly. Harry grimaced. 

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I…” Hermione peered across at him. “It’s nice to talk to you. It feels like… for a moment we could have just been any two teenagers talking about their friends and their opinions. Gossiping - like you said. It felt normal.”

Her hand came up to Harry’s face, moving slowly and considerately. As light and gentle as the touch of a feather, her fingers traced down his cheek. He stilled as she touched him, communicating with him now skin-to-skin. Harry stared at her, speechless and enrapt as her fingers sketched over to his chin. His lips parted, gasping in a breath. He went still, unable to do anything other than breathe as she then moved her fingers down from his jaw to his neck, brushing over his throat. Harry shivered as she touched him somewhere new. He licked at his lip, eyes moving to her mouth. 

“Hermione…” 

Her finger then came up to rest on his lips to silence him. Harry could feel his body responding where his mind was still catching up. Her eyes were on his lips, intense with a hard, hot look that he’d never seen her wear before. Her forefinger ran over his bottom lip.

“This feels normal too.” She whispered a little breathlessly. “How I feel about you. How I just want to savour everything about you, how you think, how you feel… how your lips feel.”

His hands moved as if they had minds of their own. Arm moving from where it cushioned his head, he went to touch Hermione, pulled in on her spell. He pushed his fingers into the pillow of curls under her head, her lips then parting as he cupped her cheek. Her skin was so soft. 

“If you want, we can… make out. Properly, I mean.” Harry found himself suggesting, his heart thrumming with excitement when he said the words. Hermione stared at him and nodded, excitement entering her own eyes. 

Harry took off his glasses, shuffling over the bed to reach the bedside table where he placed them. He didn’t want them in the way. He then sat on the edge of the bed and he then removed his jumper, casting it onto his trunk with a flump. He then drew his wand out from the waistband of his jeans, placing that on his bedside table too. His breathing was fast, his heart thudding in his chest while blood surged downwards to the part of him that had never felt so stimulated. Harry wasn’t ignorant. He knew what he was in the throes of experiencing properly for the first time. Every part of him was desperate for more - his stiffening manhood in particular.

Almost shyly, he looked side-along at Hermione. She then reached up and removed her cardigan. They were silent as she dropped her garment on top of his jumper. Her arms were bare, wearing a purple camisole. Harry’s gaze travelled over her shoulders to where he could see the straps of her bra as well as her vest top. Then he looked down, face burning as he made himself look at her properly, taking in her breasts and the slope of her waist. 

“Harry?” 

She said his name like an invitation. Her hand extended towards him. Not thinking twice, he took it and then both moved in tandem. Harry shuffled back towards the headboard of the bed while he led Hermione back with him. She climbed onto the bed, moving onto her knees. The mattress dipped under them both. His head and shoulders pressed against the pillows, pushing them back against the headboard. Hermione followed him and then she went to sit astride him. When her buttocks rested on his lap, they turned their backs on their childhood innocence completely. 

He leaned forwards suddenly, his hands grasping Hermione’s shoulders and he pressed his mouth against hers. A new energy pulsed through him as he kissed her. His body sparking with new signals, hormones dancing in his blood stream along with the magic that swirled in his veins. Hermione shifted on his lap, her arms wrapping around his waist as she pulled them both together. Harry’s hands roamed down her arms, brushing down the soft skin. They were nearly panting between kisses, losing themselves in the intoxicating throbs of their awakened sexual desire. 

Hermione’s lips left his. Harry opened his eyes, worried that he’d gone too far, but then her head bowed down, her hair brushing over his face as she went to kiss his neck. Harry rocked his head back, eyes going wide as pleasure set his toes curling. He shuddered, the touch of her lips making his hands twitch on her arms as his mind seemingly short-circuited. An actual moan escaped him. He felt Hermione smiling against his skin, pleased at the sound she just extracted from him. 

“I want to touch you,” Hermione whispered against his neck, “but only if you’re okay with it.” 

“Mmmhmm…”

Harry couldn’t say anything close to coherent but Hermione understood his assent. Her hands then travelled down his back. Harry’s head came to rest on her shoulder as he heaved in gasps, looking up at her flushed face. She caressed his body in a way he never experienced in his life. She was feeling him through the fabric of his shirt, her hands putting pressure as she felt the lean muscles in his back and the flat plain of his abdomen. Her breaths came out in half-pants as she touched his stomach. 

It took Harry too long for him to understand what she was doing. She was admiring his body. He never thought before that she might find his physique attractive, even though he knew girls liked boys with muscles - especially abdominal ones like he had thanks to the upper body strength he needed for flying. Then Hermione’s hands were on his own, dragging them over to her body where she placed them on her waist. Harry gasped as she guided his hands upwards. He closed his eyes, taking in every contour of her body. Her figure was soft where he was lean. She was all curves while he was angles, slender where he was slim. 

Her lips pressed against his once again. Harry didn’t protest, wanting as much as she would give him. After spending so much of his life starved of any affectionate touches, experiencing intimate ones was flooding him with joy. 

His hands left her body, moving to cup her face instead as he kissed her. He tried to communicate how he felt, how touched he was that she saw him for more than just a name and a legend. She saw him. Every part of him, his physical body, his heart and mind. The new signals in his mind guided him towards wanting to give pleasure to the one who mattered so much. He brushed his fingers as gently as he could around her face, stroked her hair and then her shoulders. Whatever he was doing, it sent Hermione squirming on his lap. She then shifted closer to him, sitting on his stiffening penis and pulsing balls. 

“Sh-shit…” Harry gasped out as her weight pressed where he was currently extremely sensitive. Hermione pulled away from him at once, alarmed. 

“Are you okay?” She asked at once. He nodded, blood rushing to his face.

“I’m… I’m fantastic… too good, in fact.” He then rested his hands on her bare shoulders. “But… but I think we should slow down for a moment.” Hermione’s pupils were completely blown and she nodded in agreement. Harry looked down at her mouth, seeing their joint saliva slick around her lips. She brought her arm up to wipe at her face. 

“I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was amazing. I think… we grew up a lot in those few minutes.”

Harry swallowed, deciding to confront himself with the state he was in, particularly the discomfort in his nether regions. Sure enough, he was bulging against his jeans, sporting a very noticeable erection. Hermione’s gaze went down, her eyes widening even further. 

“Something’s grown all right.” Harry remarked in a weird voice that didn’t sound like his own. Hermione stared at him for a moment. 

Then she burst out laughing. Not the dry giggle that she gave on occasion to something Ron would quip about. Full, blown laughter - including snorts. The bed rocked with the force of her mirth, her hands slamming onto the mattress as she laughed and climbed off Harry. It was infectious as Harry soon found himself laughing too.

“I think… when I was given permission to have visitors, this isn’t what McGonagall had in mind.” Harry managed to say between laughs. 

“Don’t you mean ‘Minerva’?”

Harry laughed again, watching Hermione as she went to sit next to him. She reached up, pulling a strap from her camisole up where one of Harry’s eager hands had accidentally dislodged it. Harry took in her dishevelled appearance, feeling a weird sense of satisfaction that he’d been the cause. As Hermione took in the state he was in, he caught a similar glint of satisfaction in her eyes. He smiled at her look. 

Heart rate starting to return back to normal, Harry settled back against the pillows. Hermione joined him, hesitating for a brief moment before edging closer, her leg resting against his. She then lowered her head onto his chest, laying against him in a similar way as he did the night before. Her hair provided a natural pillow against him, soft and lightly fragrant from her shampoo. Harry stared down at her, half in awe that she would choose to cuddle up to him. He brought his arm around her, hand resting on her bare skin, feeling the steady rise-and-fall of her calm, serene breathing. It was captivating, helping him, in turn, to relax himself. After so much stress, the moment of peace felt truly glorious.

“I think this may be what people tend to call the calm before the storm.” Hermione whispered softly against him. Harry closed his eyes, dipping his own head down to press his forehead against her hair.

“All the more reason to enjoy this while it lasts.”

 

---

 

That they were given as much space and time alone as they had surprised both Harry and Hermione. In fact, it was suspicious how much privacy they’d been given, leading Hermione to believe that Professor McGonagall had a hand in it. She knew full well that the school was in a spin about Harry’s return and where he was being held ended up as a poorly held secret. She half-expected Harry to be pelted with letters like he’d been after the Quibbler interview went public. 

Instead, the only interruption came in the form of food arriving spontaneously at the rickety desk. Harry sheepishly explained to her that he was getting meals delivered straight to his room while he couldn’t physically leave to eat with the rest of the school. Hermione begrudgingly accepted the news, her opinions about the catering system at Hogwarts a sticky subject. Though she knew full well that one particular house-elf was likely behind the helpings of treacle tart that showed up with lunch. 

They did hear from Ron eventually when Pigwidgeon showed up outside the window, twittering away. Harry let the small bird in so it could deliver a tiny folded note that he’d carried in his talons. Hermione came to read the message with him at the window. 

 

Is it clear if I come over at 7? Don’t want to walk in on anything happening.

 

Ron

 

Hermione winced and felt her face heat. She sat on the ledge of the window while Harry went to grab a quill to write a response. Soon enough, he’d written an equally short and to-the-point reply on the back of the note before sending the small owl out to deliver it. 

They had some time alone still left so spent it on Harry’s double bed, laying over the quilt while they played with each other’s fingers idly. Harry shared a few things with her while relaxed enough to speak. Hermione listened on, keeping hold of his hand to assure them both that he was definitely there and hadn’t been taken away. His experience of being in the Wizengamot Assembly Hall sounded galling and much worse than what he went through for his Hearing for underage magic. Hermione mused over the similarities between how the Wizarding government managed itself and the muggle House of Commons. It seemed like throwing the head of the government off their elected seat at the first opportunity was a shared theme in politics no matter if in robes or a suit. 

“The stupid thing is after all that, I still don’t know what they believe about Voldemort.” Harry bleakly said in a weary tone, staring distantly upwards at the wooden panels above the bed. “I mean, I’m really relieved that Umbridge is exposed and everything. Fudge making everyone live in a false sense of security is dangerous but getting rid of him doesn’t get us any closer to getting rid of Voldemort.”

Hermione hummed in agreement, understanding his frustrations.

“It’s easy for us to be critical about their lack of action but what exactly can they do against a threat like Voldemort? From how things sound like they were the last time, the Ministry were equally as clueless and it was only Dumbledore who really took a stand.”

Harry considered her words thoughtfully, then sighed.

“I guess unmasking the spies puts them in a better position than last time. With the Order working with the Aurors too, you’ve got the veterans who won’t be a pushover in a real fight working with the Ministry.”

“And there’s you.” Hermione said softly, turning to look at him. His jaw tensed in response. “Don’t look like that. You’ve done a lot to make people realise that the wizard they all fear so much they can't speak his name is also just a man who failed to kill an inexperienced, underaged wizard.”

“If they even believe that much.” Harry pointed out. “The Wizengamot were more upset about me getting hurt by Umbridge than anything I’ve done against Voldemort. Apparently it’s a huge taboo to abuse young magical children… which is news to me.” He added under his breath. “It’s why everyone’s flipped out about Fudge and Umbridge messing about in Hogwarts more than the bloody murderers out there.”

“That’s because it’s much more alarming when the people trusted to protect and safeguard children are actually a threat against them.”

Harry then surprised her by looking away, not before a flash of pain diminished the righteous fire from his eyes. 

“I guess.” He said quietly. “I suppose I just didn’t like them seeing me as a victim.”

There really wasn’t much she could say in answer to that. She continued to thread her fingers through his, grounding him with her touch. Her thoughts dwelled on their hands, her right hand woven with his left. His right hand rested on his stomach, the scars littered across the skin visible. Once again, she was confronted with just how strong Harry was. He went through hours and hours of torture without ever dropping his guard. She only had to endure one detention and one session of Umbridge’s sadistic form of corporal punishment. 

Hermione let go of his hand, rolling over to then lean over him. The mattress creaked under them as she moved, her hair swinging down almost as if to give them a privacy screen. She gathered Harry’s face in both her hands and, without any words to say, she decided to let her kiss do the talking.

His mouth opened, exhaling a soft sigh, his lips moving to press against hers. The special, intimate sounds that only kisses appeared to make covered the silence between them. She kept up the kiss until sure Harry had fully relaxed. He sighed out his nose before pulling away. Hermione looked directly into his eyes. His gaze dragged around her face, thoughtfulness sparking in the green depths of his stunning eyes. For they were stunning, always had been. Hermione just never allowed herself to think of her best friend in such a way before. Whatever he was thinking, it pleased him, his lips curled in a gentle, content smile. 

“I think I like your way of telling me to change the subject.” 

He leaned in, taking the initiative as he went to plant a kiss on her lips. He then moved, sitting up, his hands going to her shoulders. He pulled back, taking in a deep breath. 

“How long do we have?” He asked. Hermione checked her watch, sighing. 

“Half an hour.”

“We best get this out of our system then.” Harry said with a mournful edge to his tone. He then glanced down to his crotch. “Well, I need to get it out of my system. I don’t think Ron’s going to find it amusing if it’s obvious what we’ve been up to.”

Hermione followed Harry’s gaze, seeing that he was bulging in his jeans again. He pulled at his lip, appearing sheepish. 

“Are you… okay?” Hermione couldn’t finish whatever she was about to say about his predicament so ended her question lamely.

“Er… at the moment, yeah.” Harry flushed. “We won’t get in trouble if I… sort it out in the bathroom.”

“In trouble?” Hermione repeated, worried then. Harry laughed faintly. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve managed to forget a pretty big rule. You know, about conduct between witches and wizards?” He tilted his head to one side.  Understanding shot through her, followed by a wave of mortification. How she managed to forget such a rule when she was a prefect, she didn’t know. ‘Fooling around’ warranted a strict punishment when caught in the act.

“But… you never said if kissing was against your arrest rules!”

“It’s not but this?” He gestured at his crotch. “This is pushing it. Stupid bloody thing needs to behave itself.”

Hermione bit on her lip as she realised exactly what Harry was saying. 

“You’ve really got my head in a spin. It never crossed my mind that we would be breaking rules.”

Harry then laughed, dropping down onto the bed, gazing up at her. 

“Hmm… I’ve always been a bad influence, haven’t I?” He said with a light snort. 

Hermione smiled, enjoying the gleam in Harry's eyes. 

“Perhaps I have a thing for rebellion after all."

The gleam in Harry’s eyes intensified, the look he levelled her way reigniting the tight heat in her midriff. He then performed a strange shuffle on his back as he scrambled to get off the bed. Hermione sat, mystified by his behaviour until he rocked himself onto his feet, hands covering his crotch.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. Did you have to say that…?” Harry moaned. 

“What?”

“It was very hot, okay!” Harry flew over his shoulder, his tone exasperated. Hermione then realised what had happened and she laughed, astonished. “I need to deal with this before you say something… else.” Harry explained before he had to look away from her. Once he left the room, Hermione was reeling. 

She knew what he was doing. Her parents had made sure she was fully clued up, not trusting the school to fully educate her on human biology and the changes puberty brought about. They had been right to step in. She never once wondered if Harry received such a talk. It made her feel suddenly very bad for lecturing him the way she did after his disaster date with Cho. It wasn’t exactly his fault that he was so clueless. Who was there in his life to talk to him about girls and relationships? Though, she did then wonder how he’d been so inept around Cho yet confident with her. She got up from the bed causing the springs to creak. She ended up at the window, looking out at the darkening sky. Her fingers traced over her lips, the skin sensitive. 

She heard the running water of the shower as Harry went to ‘deal’ with his problem. It caused Hermione’s thoughts to end up imagining being in a shower with him. She had to work very hard to get her head straight, checking her watch to remind herself that Ron would be showing up. She glanced over to the bed and to where, at Harry’s trunk at the foot, she’d given Harry back his Invisibility Cloak and Marauder’s Map. She could follow Ron with the Map but she dismissed the idea, settling instead for sitting on the window ledge and watching the sun set behind the mountains. 

Harry returned without much time to spare, towelling his hair dry as he did. He flashed Hermione a sheepish smile. 

“How are we looking for time?” Harry asked her.

“Five to.”

“Oh. Let’s go up to the office then. No one will be around to let him in otherwise.” 

He made sure to grab his jumper and his wand. Hermione risked a glance to just confirm that he had dealt with the ‘problem’. Harry softly chuckled, spotting her look. He nudged her arm.

“Eyes up, Miss Granger.” 

She gave him a push in return. Harry laughed properly, the sound music to her ears. He passed her cardigan over. She pulled it on, even going to put her shoes back on. The less they showed how intimate they’d been together without Ron, the better. 

Up in Professor McGonagall’s office, the atmosphere turned tense. They waited, pacing around at first but Hermione soon perched on one of the chairs at the desk. 

Ron was five minutes late.

Awkwardness punctuated his arrival. Hermione had to open the door to let him in. The complex spells keeping Harry a prisoner in the chambers prevented him from touching the door. When she looked at Ron, her guilt renewed. He just gave her a smile, one that wasn’t all the way there but enough of the way to assure her that they were all still friends. 

“Hey.” Harry greeted. “You wouldn’t have been allowed in unless someone let you in so… er… let’s go right down to my room, huh? Weird talking in here...”

Both boys were tense. Hermione didn’t speak, just watching them both and keeping an eye on them. Harry opened the secret door, leading them down, not looking back once. They’d tidied his room to conceal what they’d been doing on his bed. Hermione caught Harry’s eye briefly before he moved around them to shut the door behind Ron. 

They all then noticed that Harry’s desk was laden with food. 

“Oh.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck. “I guess Dobby knows I have more than one guest. He’s even sent butterbeers.”

Harry busied himself with getting them the drinks sent along with the assortment of food. 

“You’re getting food sent to your room?” Ron asked, surprised.

“How else am I going to get food?” Ron raised a brow at him, making Harry huff a breath out his nostrils. He stepped up to Ron, pulling his right trouser leg up. They all looked down. Hermione gasped aloud, seeing the band around Harry’s ankle. It was a thin, soft white, translucent line of light.

“Th-that’s the real thing? A grounding spell?"

“Yeah. I try to leave the boundary, I get paralysed and then sent back to jail so… just so you know.” Harry let go of his trouser leg. “I really can’t leave these rooms.”

Harry went off to the desk, snatching himself a butterbeer. His expression was guarded. He’d put his walls back up now that Ron was with them. Harry took up the other two beers, briefly looking at Hermione before he approached Ron, giving him one. Hermione drew towards them, accepting the third. They stood together, positioned like the points of a triangle. 

“Sorry about last night.” Harry said, his gaze flickering upwards to Ron. “I just… well…” His face reddened. “I was very tired.”

Ron flushed as well, sipping out of his bottle.

“Don’t be sorry.” Ron said after he wiped at his mouth. “You’ve had a hard time.” 

Hermione’s gaze remained on Harry, watching as his jaw tensed and untensed, his gaze flickering around. 

“Yeah, I have.” Harry suddenly said, his eyes fixed on Ron. “But that’s not really the issue at the moment.” He drew in a deep breath. “I… guessed you wanted to talk about this, about us?” Harry flicked his hand to gesture at himself and Hermione. “Because I suppose I should tell you straight up that… I kind of kissed Hermione when we were in the Ministry together.”

Ron glanced between them both, his brows coming together. 

“Fine. I sort of guessed that must have happened.” Ron said in a low voice. “I just don’t… get why you kept it from me.” 

“I… what?” Harry was genuinely confused. “Kept it from you? Ron, I’ve been locked up. How could I have told you?”

“I know that.” Ron snapped, bristling. “But before. Before all this.”

“Before?”

“Ron, there wasn’t a ‘before’.” Hermione jumped to Harry’s aid. Harry looked at her as he caught up, turning to face Ron again. 

“It’s true.” Harry told his best friend. He put his bottle down on the edge of the desk, bringing his hands over his face. “I don’t know how else to explain but we just talked and it happened.”

Ron’s arms dropped down to his sides, his face flushed, ears bright red. 

“Oh.”

“This wasn’t exactly expected.” Harry said as he lowered his hands, his face just as red as Ron’s. “But it doesn’t make it less welcome.” He cleared his throat softly, looking over to Hermione. He edged over and Hermione felt his fingers brushing over her free hand. She met his look, seeing a question waiting for her in his stunning green eyes. She threaded her fingers through his while Ron watched them both. 

Ron brought the bottle of butterbeer to his lips and gulped a few mouthfuls. He then sighed. 

“I guess this was bound to happen sooner or later. No girl was ever really going to get close to you when you’re both friends.” He backed up from them a little, moving to lean on the chair set at the desk. “Didn’t your date with Cho blow up because you were meeting up afterwards?” 

Hermione quelled the instant instinct to jump to Harry’s defence. 

“I guess when you put it like that…” Harry said with a smile though it didn't reach his eyes.

“Did you even end things with Cho?” Ron then threw at Harry, his eyes flashing. Harry’s smile turned dangerous and he let go of Hermione’s hand. In a blink, the dynamic between the two boys changed. Hermione moved to interfere but Harry flicked his hand up at her direction, giving her a look. He could defend himself. The two of them needed to air things out.

“I think things ended themselves.” Harry said in a measured way, his hand tensing around the neck of his beer bottle. “I don’t exactly see Cho coming to my defence. I know who testified for me and who didn't. I had to hear it all when the evidence against Umbridge was said in front of the Wizengamot. I know I got more support from Ernie Bloody McMillian than Cho. Probably because it was her friend that she dragged along who grassed me to Umbridge in the first place.”

Ron’s mouth pressed together in an obstinate line for a moment. He glanced over to Hermione before looking back at Harry. 

“I know how it looks and I can’t say it looks good. Yeah, maybe I was pining after one girl and now I’m kissing another. I’ve got nothing to say other than… well… I guess I didn’t really feel anything for Cho after all. All I do know is that… this is real. I’m not messing around. I’d never do that.” Harry’s voice turned curt and cold. “I know I can say and do things carelessly sometimes, but I’d never purposefully hurt someone. Not someone I care about at least.”

Harry punctuated his point by having a drink, his eyes fixed on Ron, the challenge set between them. Hermione couldn’t help but be impressed. Harry’s brief term in Ministry custody had changed him, made him much better with his words. When he’d been left with just his voice to defend himself, he’d learned to not hesitate and not hold back. He’d found Ron’s arguments, laid them out and addressed them so there was nothing that could be said against him. Hermione couldn’t have done any better herself. 

It worked. Ron’s stance ended and his shoulders slumped, tension leaving him. Harry won the brief exchange. Hermione took Harry’s hand again, giving it a squeeze to show that she knew and was proud of him for standing up for himself. 

Boys never ceased to amaze Hermione with how they could resolve things so quickly - especially her boys. They could be a blink away from a fight, then in an instant, back to being the best of friends. She felt Harry relax, settling down. Before long, they ended up sitting on the floor, plates of food set about as they had a strange picnic in the middle of the room. Using a blanket Harry rustled up from the old dresser in the room, they sat together, sinking back into their familiar pattern of friendship. 

Between the three of them, they all knew that the moment would become rare. Unspoken, it drifted in the odd silences when conversation ended. The reality was they had a battle waiting for them on the horizon. The storm wasn’t over, still there to tear at their lives and threaten everything they had. But for the moment, they were together. 

Hermione’s hand found Harry’s, threading her fingers through his. 

There were still fights to wage, still enemies to confront, but right then and there, they had peace. Much needed peace for it reminded them, each of them, what they were fighting for.

Chapter 13: The Olive Branch

Summary:

How do you solve a problem like a pesky prophecy? Sirius Black has the answer.

Solitude was no stranger to Sirius Black. It didn’t mean that he sought it out, not after he lost years of his life to loneliness and despair. Before Azkaban, he’d been the picture of gregariousness. Every effort his family made to stifle him, control him, just made him louder and bolder. He loved the company of others, especially his friends. Life was all the more enjoyable when its splendours were shared and experienced alongside kindred spirits. Without that, there was silence, an absence of frivolity that made life stale and meaningless. Solitude reminded Sirius too much of being a prisoner within his own mind.

The nights at Grimmauld Place were undoubtedly the worst. Silence warped in the darkness, corners quaking where they concealed the demons of the house’s dark past. Even the whispers of threatening madness diminished, denied even their company. Sirius took to retreating into the room that once was the master bedroom where his abominable parents pretended to share a bed and maintain appearances. Buckbeak had already turned the beds into kindling, rat bones littering the floor along with general debris. Leaving the room in a state left him with savage satisfaction. One of few positive feelings he could muster up. 

The weekend began hopeful, his visit to Hogwarts his first escape from the house in months. Seeing Harry lifted his spirits higher than they’d been in a while, yet the reunion had been bittersweet. What freedom they both enjoyed had been an illusion. He was still a wanted man and Harry had criminal charges hanging over him. Returning to Grimmauld Place alone left him hollow, feeling the loneliness creeping in as if dementors lurked in the house along with all the other dark delights his family left him. 

Genuine joy for Remus fizzled out. Relief for Harry then dwindled next. By the time Monday dawned on the Black family house, bleakness made its home there. Sirius curled next to Buckbeak, a dog nap a good way to escape the grip of his dark mood. 

He dreamt of Harry calling to him. Just repeating his name, voice getting increasingly exasperated. Sirius shifted in his sleep before the thought of why Harry was calling to him interrupted his slumber. Harry’s voice followed him into wakefulness. 

“Ugh. How do I even turn this thing off?” Harry frustratedly asked, his voice clear and close. Sirius dragged himself into his human form, magic stretching and bending him into his natural body. His transformation was seamless from many years of passing between his forms. He rose to his feet to search for the source of Harry’s voice. 

The mirror was exactly where he left it, propped against the ruins of a dressing table. When he approached, his breath caught in his throat and for a split second. Memories chimed into life. Memories of stowing the mirror in his school robes and sneakily peaking in his pocket to speak to James as he shared his plans for their next heist into Hogsmeade in mid-detention. He clearly remembered using the mirror in that very house, though not in that room. Two floors up in his own bedroom where they both howled with laughter where they revisited their exploits together. James did his best to make Sirius feel less alone in his personal, private hell. 

He dropped down to his knees, gathering the blessed mirror, a true smile blooming on his face. Happiness returned, nostalgia burning brightly through the bleakness of his tormented mind. The face waiting for him to help ease his loneliness wasn’t James Potter but the presence of his son was no less welcome. 

“Finally!” Harry croaked out. 

Sirius could tell from the angle that Harry had put the mirror on his bed, supported against the headrest. Harry’s brow furrowed a little, concentrating as he adjusted his mirror, angling it so Sirius had a good view of him. It was a view that Sirius desperately needed as he hastily arranged himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. 

“You figured out how to use it then?” Sirius felt slightly light-headed. The fact that he hadn’t eaten since Sunday morning likely was the cause as well as his sudden mood change. 

“Yeah, wow… this is amazing. Can you hear me okay?” 

Harry’s awe stirred more glowing emotions in Sirius. His hands came away, the mirror now steady and not moving. 

“Loud and clear.” Sirius said hoarsely, a lump threatening to rise up in his throat. “I take it you’re on your own if you’re speaking to me.”

“Hmmhm. Just me.” Harry shifted around, his fidgeting making Sirius’s perspective lurch around nauseatingly. “Sorry about… you know… not using this before.”

“Don’t worry about it. All that matters is that you’re using it now. What’s the news with you?”

Harry just stared, his mouth hanging open for a moment, the wide look in his eyes so innocent and normal, it made Sirius’s heart give a shudder. His smile remained, pulling upwards in the corner. Sirius focused on the dimple, stunned. Lily had a dimple just like it. Drove James wild. He thought, amused before he reminded himself that he was thinking about Harry’s parents while Harry started to talk. He focused back on the living. 

“It’s looking more and more likely that Fudge will resign. I’m not sure if you’ve seen the paper, but he’s lost the public’s opinion pretty drastically. No one is willing to believe that he was completely unaware about what Umbridge was up to at Hogwarts. They’ve accused him of using a school as his ‘political playground’.”

Sirius rested his chin on his hands, watching Harry and listening.

“I heard from the Wizengamot this morning. I’ve… um… been formally summoned to stand as the key witness to testify against Umbridge. I have no choice but to go.”

His bubbling joy was immediately under threat. Sirius clenched his hands in his lap, gritting his teeth. 

“When do you have to go?”

“Wednesday morning. I’m the first to be called forward and it’s going to be super private. No press or public allowed. Then all the other witnesses will be after me. I’m getting smuggled in with a portkey directly to the courtroom then back out again but… I’m still going to be there along with all the others.”

Sirius nodded, trying very hard to not let his stress show. Harry had little choice about returning back to the Ministry where he was at risk. He noticed Harry watching him nervously. 

“Sirius…” Harry shifted forwards, leaning over so his face was so close to the mirror, his hair nearly brushed against the glass. “I can’t shake this feeling that he isn’t going to sit back and watch the Ministry’s drama without doing something. I know I’ll be safe with my platoon of guards but I know I’m not the real target at the moment.” He whispered, his voice still coming through the connection clearly as if he was right there with Sirius in the room. 

“I know. I feel it too, Harry.” Sirius said honestly. “We all do. It’s just like last time where we start to dread these quiet moments just as much as when we’re having curses raining down on us. All we can do is prepare as best we can. You’ve done well on that front - getting the Ministry on high alert. They would be pretending that there’s no threat if not for you.”

Harry grimaced but looked resigned at his point. He nodded, appearing a little more relaxed. 

“Have you heard about seeing that Healer yet?” Sirius asked. 

“Yes actually. She’s coming tonight.”

“Good. I know it’s not an easy thing to talk about but it’s good to get it out of your system before you go to court on Wednesday. I don’t just mean talking about what Umbridge did during those detentions.”

Harry’s eyes flickered between his, his brow furrowed. 

“You want me to talk to her about my scar? This soon?”

Sirius hesitated when he saw the flash of fear on Harry’s face. He had to be very careful with what he said next. 

“I think it’s best that you face Umbridge with official proof that you aren’t suffering from delusions or have any signs of schizophrenia. That’s what she and Fudge are trying to claim, correct? Not that they even know much about the condition to even make a diagnosis.” 

He caught a slight hint of recognition in Harry’s eyes at the medical term. Sirius knew that mental conditions weren’t openly labelled among wizards but Harry had been around enough muggles to have much more of an open mind. Sirius only knew of such terms because of Harry’s own mum who had an interest in the subject.  

“I’m not sure that they think I have a split personality but I guess they are trying to make out that I’m nuts.”

“They don’t know a thing about psychology. If you go in with proof that you don’t have any brain damage, they won’t be able to question your sanity with what little evidence they have. I know it’s a lot to expect you to talk with a stranger about this, but if it puts all arguments about your state of mind to rest, it’s worth it, don’t you think?”

Harry let out a long breath. “I already planned to have a healer take a closer look at my scar. I just… didn’t expect to have to talk about it all so soon.” He met Sirius’s eyes. “I’m not quite sure how to explain to someone about how I have some of Voldemort’s magic lodged in my head.”

Sirius felt his stomach twist at Harry’s blunt description of his scar. He had always suspected that there was a lot more to it than just magic but then, he had insights into dark magic that not many on their side of the conflict had. He’d witnessed his own family taking part in dark rites, sacrifices and all sorts of illegal practices. He knew how possible it was that Harry could have taken on part of Voldemort’s lifeforce. Potentially even a part of his soul. 

“Once we have a better understanding about what is actually going on rather than Dumbledore’s theories, we can think about actual ways to remove the problem rather than just expecting you to live with it. I know, you’ll argue that it’s useful…” Sirius cut into his own argument when he saw Harry open his mouth to protest. “But it’s not doing you any good. Anything that hurts you as much as it does can’t be any good.”

Harry frowned then. “I can take a bit of pain if it helps us save lives.” He said firmly. 

“This isn’t you having premonitions that give us an edge in battle, Harry. This is you seeing real, traumatising events that you have no control over stopping. What if there isn’t a way for you to help or save who you see getting hurt? What then?”

Sirius inwardly winced at his harsh approach. Harry’s frown was gone, as was his defiance. 

“I didn’t think of it that way.” Harry said after a moment of thinking it through. 

“No, because no one ever took the time to actually talk to you about it properly with a hint of empathy. Instead, you were passed over to a man who quite literally has none. As if Snape would help you out of the kindness of his heart…” He shook his head angrily but did his best to not think about the greasy git. “If we ever needed a second opinion, now is the time.”

Harry nodded then, rubbing his hand over his scar. 

“I’ll talk to her about it tonight.”

“Good man.” Sirius said, a relieved grin crawling to life over his face. “You don’t have to go about it all on your own. I must admit, I was surprised at how protective Minerva is of you. I suspect she’s been waiting for the excuse to take over your care. You should know, during the meetings in the Order when we argued about leaving you with the muggles over the summer, she was the most against it out of us all.”

Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Really?”

“Yes - it turns out that she’s been arguing with Dumbledore since you were left there in the first place. With her now as your guardian, I suspect she’ll overturn where you stay during the summer for good.”

Harry had gone still. His eyes round, almost bulging. It took Sirius too much time to notice that Harry was shocked. 

“Oh… I never really thought that far ahead.” Harry said faintly, then he grinned. “If this all works out, I don’t have to go back there ever again.”

Sirius smiled, wishing he could reach through the mirror and ruffle Harry’s hair. 

“No, Harry. If this works out, I can finally make do on that promise I made to you the first time we met. You can move in with me.”

Harry’s expression softened, appearing unguarded for a moment. It was a look that he wore more and more often. It showed a vulnerability that Harry only allowed around him. No one else. It set off strong protective feelings as well as a fierce need to drag Harry into his arms.

“I want that. You know I do.” Harry said softly. He then reached out, his fingers pressing against the glass between them. Sirius sighed, bringing his hand over, his fingers coming to rest over Harry’s It was the closest thing to contact that they could manage. 

“I’ll try to see you in person again.” Sirius promised. Harry nodded, emotion causing him to tense his jaw and swallow. The vulnerable look remained though he said nothing else. His look conveyed enough.

He then sat up a little, looking upwards. 

“That was the bell. Hermione will be here soon.”

The soft look in Harry’s eyes then shifted into something different as his gaze tracked around as if he was looking through the walls, following something unseen. Fresh nostalgia bloomed into life at the look on Harry’s face, the unconstrained excitement and happiness. His smile was growing, whatever thoughts on his mind clearly were lifting his mood. 

“Just Hermione? What about Ron?”

Harry’s face then flushed. He pinched at his lip, pulling it, glancing between Sirius and whatever caught his attention earlier. 

“I suppose I should tell you. I’m… sort of… um… I don't know what I’m actually doing. I know I’m not doing this the proper way. I should be doing things differently and it kinda just happened when we were alone together in the Ministry… but Hermione… she, er… isn’t coming to visit me for very long. Just… enough to….”

Sirius barked out a laugh. 

“I know exactly what you’re both planning to do if you’re getting this flustered.”

Harry let out a choking sound, his blush extending to his neck. He even actually went to fuss with his collar, looking very hot. 

“It’s about bloody time!” Sirius exclaimed. “Remus will be over the moon… ah, probably not the best phrase.” He added, distractedly. Then he grinned. “He kept suggesting for me to give you a push in the right direction. I was quietly confident you’d figure it out for yourself.”

Harry was distracted, barely listening with his thoughts clearly elsewhere, until he registered what Sirius said. His eyes zipped back to Sirius.

“Wait, what? You both talked about me and Hermione?” He croaked out. 

“Of course. We have a healthy interest in your life, Harry. I’m your godfather and Remus is sort of your mentor.” Harry still looked mortified. “We were actually planning on giving you a talk but never got around it. Before Molly got her hands on you, that is. She was going to sit you down before I stepped in and told her that we’d handle teaching you the ins and outs of dating and relationships.”

Harry slapped his hands over his face. “Oh thanks for sparing me of that experience.” 

“I should leave you to it so you can fix your hair before she gets there… brush your teeth too…” Harry moaned again in his hands. “I’m just teasing. I’m happy for you, really happy. I’m a bit biassed, considering that she broke the laws of time for me, but she’s a special witch.”

“It’s not really come at the best time. I’m stuck here and… I just want to spend time with her.”

“Then spend time with her. It doesn’t matter that you’re not taking her on walks around the Black Lake or finding a nice cosy broom cupboard.” Sirius chuckled when Harry let out a dismayed moan again at the teasing. “I can trust you won’t do anything to jeopardise things with your house arrest. Hermione’s the most sensible person I’ve ever met. She’ll keep you in line.”

Harry lowered his hands, a crooked smile in place. Mischief danced in his eyes. 

“She has her moments of irresponsibility.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it.” 

Harry reached forwards, taking his mirror up from the bed. Sirius smiled warmly at his godson. 

“I’ll call before Wednesday. Tomorrow at the same time?” Harry asked. Sirius nodded. “How do I actually turn this off?”

“Just cover the glass to end the spell.” 

“Ah.” Harry nodded, smiling back. “Thanks for… well, everything really. I’ll tell Hermione you said hi.”

“Make sure you do before you get too tongue tied.” 

Harry flushed again. 

“Bye, Sirius.”

“Talk tomorrow.”

With a ripple, the view in the mirror distorted and shifted. In a second, Sirius was no longer looking out into Hogwarts but back at himself. The abrupt cut off always left him disorientated and it felt no different years on from the last time he used it. He found himself looking at the mirror but not truly looking, his reflection staring off into some space that he’d found mildly interesting while his mind went over the brief and illuminating conversation. Everything processed, he returned back to his full senses. He gathered the mirror up from the floor, tucking it under his arm before he ended up looking at himself. He didn’t want his tired, pale and prematurely aged face to ruin his mood.

He found himself heading upstairs and wasn’t even aware that he had a destination in mind until he slid into his own bedroom. Sunlight streamed through a gap in his curtains, dust motes swirling in the space. Even though he was living in the room, it still carried a disused air as if the room knew he was only staying there with half his heart invested. 

As he stepped into the room, he was suddenly assaulted with a memory that had nothing to do with Harry or with anything he’d just been discussing with him. He suddenly remembered the first time he returned to Grimmauld Place after he’d been disowned. It had been the last time he’d seen his brother alive, their argument ending with Sirius in St Mungo’s for the night to recover from their duel. It had taken a lot to convince James to not go after Regulus. The next time he braved returning to the house, it had been after he received the news that he had inherited it along with the full Black fortune from his brother who died in service to Voldemort. Regulus had made it his wish in his Will that Sirius be restored as the heir at his death. He showed up to the house with James, Remus and Peter in tow. They’d been drinking. They had staggered into the hallway, drunkenly exchanging insults with his mother’s portrait, but then all the mirth drained out of him. Sirius never knew what happened after then, just that he woke up back at the Potters with a crippling hangover.

Sirius blinked, returning to the present where he stood alone in his bedroom. His shadow cast a dark silhouette on the wooden floor, dust swirling around him. He took in the decorations, smirking at how his mother never worked out how to counter his permanent sticking charm. He could picture her trying to pry the photographs off the walls, shrieking at Kreacher to help. He casually tossed the mirror onto the bed, heading to the wall where he knew there was a photograph of him with James when they were around the same age Harry was. Sure enough, muddled with the Gryffindor banners and the odd muggle centrefold he’d gotten his hands on, was the photograph. 

As he kept his gaze fixed on James’s laughing face, his fingers rested on the handle of his wand poking out of his robes. After speaking to Harry, seeing him flush over something so ordinary as his feelings for a girl, made Sirius all the more resolute that he had to do something. For James, he had to give Harry the best shot of living his life to the fullest. He had to fight for him, do more than just mope in the miserable old house. The Sirius Black of old had been a man of action, never content to sit back and let others do all the important work - not when there was credit to be had. His promises to not jeopardise Harry’s case had to remain intact, but he simply could not stay idle in the house any longer. Harry may be safe in Hogwarts but his safety was a temporary thing. Harry was right. Voldemort was planning something and they all had to act before he got his chance. 

A plan had come to him while alone with nothing else to do but to plot. He drew his wand. To do something so risky, he couldn’t do it alone, but he couldn’t drag Remus into such a scheme. Not when he was cooperating with the Ministry and the Aurors. He couldn’t risk what Harry had achieved with their alliance. No… he would need to go outside the law but his accomplice had to be outside the law as well. 

He raised his head, looking out to the high window, squinting into the stream of light. With a swish of his wand, filling his mind with the memory of holding Harry in his arms when he was a baby, he summoned forth his patronus. His silvery dog stood as tall as his animagus form, looking up at him with shimmering, glowing orbs. Sirius looked down at his counterpart grimly. 

“I think it’s about time you fixed your mistakes, Albus, don’t you think?” He said to his patronus. “Come to my house tonight and bring a drink or you’re not coming in.” 

With a flick of his wrist, he sent his ethereal messenger away. 

 

---

 

Harry thought he knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to see the Healer again. After speaking with Sirius, he began to have his doubts. It played on his mind all day. When he voiced his doubts to Hermione, her understanding made him feel somehow more nervous. He’d already told her how galling the full medical scan had been the first time and how it exposed more than he ever wanted to have brought to light. He remembered how the medical examination had felt, the intrusive magic that pressed against him all over, the sensation akin to a violation that he didn’t know was possible to experience. Yet he was confronted with a new fear. What if she found something wrong with him that wasn’t physical? What if he did have mental problems as a result of the type of life he’d had? 

It wouldn’t be his fault. Any damage done to him wasn’t his fault. Physical and mental. He just had to keep reminding himself of that fact. 

Celia Travers arrived through the floo to not draw attention, dusting off her robes that blended in well with the vibrantly green flames. Harry stood awkwardly with Minerva where they received the Healer in her office. He shook her hand, meeting her gaze head on and remembering all too keenly how she had looked at him when she saw his deepest secret exposing itself one injury at a time. His nerves jangled inside him as he drifted in a half-daze to the seat that had been set up for him to take at the desk. Celia took the offered seat next to him, placing her bag of tools down at the floor, the same satchel that he’d seen her with at the Ministry. His knees immediately started bouncing when she sat down. Unlike him, her demeanour was of the perfect calm professionalism that one of her calling should possess. 

Outside the window behind the new Headmistress’s desk, the glass was inky black, sky overcast. It was late, past curfew so Ron and Hermione were back in the Common Room. Harry wished he had their support but there was little choice but to arrange the appointment late. Taking on the duties of the Headteacher as well as the Head of Gryffindor House and the Transfiguration professor made Minerva a very busy witch. Her role as his guardian had to take some compromises and Harry had to go along with it, which meant late meetings when she was done with marking assignments. 

“I wouldn’t usually take on private patients away from my position with the Ministry and with the Hospital. If this is something you would agree to, we can make an arrangement for me to see you secretly for appointments here after hours.” 

Celia spoke directly to Harry, propping her elbows on her lap where she leaned forwards. Harry fidgeted with his fingers on his lap, glancing up to Minerva briefly before realising that it was his choice to go ahead, no one else’s. He frowned, breathing deeply.

“This isn’t about what you saw on my medical report.”

It spilled out of him. He sucked in a quick breath, surprised at his own honesty. He risked a look over to Celia, seeing her quickly cover up her reaction.

“It’s about… what it didn’t cover. About this.” He pointed up at his forehead with a sharp, spasm of a gesture with his hand. “It said that it’s a ‘ dark magic anomaly’ but that barely touches it. Nothing about my scar makes any sense and it’s no wonder that I’m being called insane because of it. I… I need answers and right now I don’t care what I hear. I just need the truth and I need it from a Healer.”

Celia sighed, her expression crumpling into one of concern. 

“I wish I could tell you that I can cast a few diagnosis charms and run some tests to get to the bottom of it, but the truth is a lot more complicated than that. We are talking about something that has never happened before. Your scan registered an anomaly because our equipment didn’t know what to make of your scar.”

His stomach dropped. He searched her face quickly but he could see that she was being very honest with him. 

“I… suppose that does make sense.”

Next to him, Celia shifted in her seat so she was facing him. 

“If you consent, I can run some tests tonight to confirm that your brain activity is within normal ranges, check for damage and scarring. We can have all this recorded - much like we did with your scan.”

Harry nodded at once. “I don’t know how much good it will do to convince them but it’s something.”

“It’s despicable that it’s necessary in the first place.” Minerva snapped from her seat. Celia hummed her agreement as she got up from her seat. She picked up her heavy bag of tools, setting it down on the desk. 

“Are you ready to begin?” She asked Harry. He nervously gripped at his legs, remembering Sirius’s words that morning. This was something he had to do. He summoned what he could of his bravery, his legs finally stopping their bouncing. He looked up at Celia and offered a small nod.

“I am.” 

 

---

 

Albus Dumbledore was a shadow of his former self. In fact, observing that he appeared just old was almost a compliment. He looked ancient. Sirius had nearly been rendered speechless when the elderly wizard entered the house through the front door, permitted free entrance into the old building once more courtesy of Sirius’s willingness to have a parlance. As he stepped into the flickering lights of the candelabra, the heavy lines etched in his face appeared deeper and far more numerous. If Sirius didn’t know better, he’d almost believe that Dumbledore had been taking residence up with a family of dementors. 

Fugitive life did not bode well for the powerful, once globally respected wizard. Gone were the flamboyant robes and bright garish colours. He’d done away with rich fabrics that betrayed the indulgent side of the man, the rather overgrown child who still ate too many sweets simply because he could. Instead, he had a rather shabby travel cloak thrown on over a pair of dark grey slacks with a shirt and knitted tank-top. Sirius nearly choked when he saw how he was dressed. If he didn’t know better, he knew exactly where Dumbledore had rustled the clothes up from. His younger, lesser known brother, Aberforth. For Dumbledore to seek refuge there, he must have been desperate indeed. 

Their reunion was almost unbearably awkward. Dumbledore asked after Sirius’s health in a strange way to emulate his usual social ease but it was so out of place against his appearance. Eventually, he unearthed a bottle of Madame Rosmerta’s Oak-Smoked Mead from under his cloak. Sirius led him into the kitchen then, desperate for a drink. 

Conversation had been stilted at first until Dumbledore asked after Minerva and Remus. Sirius was far from surprised that Dumbledore knew that Remus had been reinstated as a professor. Even less surprised when Dumbledore confirmed that he was staying with his brother Aberforth in the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. Just how the Aurors hadn’t found him in such an obvious place was alarming. But then the Ministry never looked too closely at the patrons of the pub. Galleons had been passed under the tables for decades. Things were no different in current times. 

Halfway into their second drink, talk turned to Harry. Sirius maintained his composure with as much control as he could muster, answering in clipped tones to assure the old wizard that Harry was faring very well (no thanks to him). 

So Dumbledore was rather open to a subject change when Sirius went to talk of the reason why he’d offered an olive branch in the first place.

He downed a large mouthful of his drink, relishing the comforting warmth that it sent spreading through him. Encouraged and emboldened, Sirius leaned forwards, looking directly into the piercing blue eyes of the wizard who he once respected above anyone and followed without question. 

“Why did you never consider destroying the prophecy?”

Dumbledore’s brows lifted in a subtle sign of surprise. As masterful as his mask was, the abrupt and direct question wasn’t something was prepared for. Sirius inwardly relished at the small victory. 

“Getting into the Department of Mysteries is no simple matter as you know. To trespass and then perform an act of vandalism wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

“Surely it would have been worth the risk?” Sirius asked, keeping his voice as level as he could. 

“How did that way of thinking suit us in the past? Risks cost lives and we have already lost too many fighting this war. To have the best chance in opposing Voldemort, we needed the numbers. Sending who we have into the Department of Mysteries to destroy a prophecy that we very much do not want the public having knowledge about could have crippled our advantage before we even have a chance to get ahead of Voldemort.”

Sirius’s face twisted in a bitter grimace. Ever the strategist, playing all the angles in his grand game against his opponent. Dumbledore spoke like a General discussing war tactics, not like a Headmaster of a school where his job should have been to primarily look after those in his care. He was an educator, first and foremost, supposedly. It shouldn’t fall to him to marshall up forces in a war and yet, that was exactly what he had to do. It was no wonder Fudge assumed that the forces in his army had come from the school he was meant to be running. 

“This had nothing to do with what the public believed. Their opinion is fickle and controlled at Fudge’s whims. No, this was about what one particular person was supposed to know - and it wasn’t Voldemort. You have been so determined to keep this a secret from Harry, you never thought that maybe it was best to just remove the danger altogether. Just how hard is it to sneak into the Department of Mysteries. You really expect me to believe that you couldn’t find a way yourself?”

Dumbledore said nothing to deny it. He just looked tired as Sirius ranted. Sirius took in a quick breath, controlling himself. 

“Regardless of whatever reason you had then, it doesn’t apply now. Harry knows what’s down there.”

Dumbledore sighed, looking resigned. “H-how did he take learning about the prophecy?” He had to clear his throat, his voice thick with emotion. Sirius’s own guilt made its appearance then. He closed his eyes, sighing.

“Remus told him. Just the basics - that there’s a prophecy about him and Voldemort. That’s all we know. The basics.” Sirius said shortly before emptying his glass. “Harry was angry and upset but grateful that he’d been told.”

“Ah.” Was all Dumbledore said in response. He brought his hand over to where he’d left his wand on the table. At just the touch, both his glass and Sirius’s refilled. 

“He’s been told what Voldemort believes… and what we’ve been led to believe. How close to the truth that is, well, only you can be the judge of that.” 

He knew he was being petulant but he was far from caring. He picked up his glass, now full again with the sweet, very strong drink. Dumbledore was uncharacteristically quiet and contemplative. He took a rather long sip of his own drink, making no visible wince at the strength of the alcohol. His eyes then met Sirius’s. 

“The record at the Ministry isn’t the only copy of the prophecy. I possess the other.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “I was the recipient of the original prophecy and I alone have the knowledge of the full version. What Voldemort believes came from information he received when a spy heard part of the prophecy - but not the full contents. That is why he believes the rest of the prophecy reveals the secret behind Harry’s continuing survival.” 

Sirius frowned across the table. 

“You better tell me that you let James and Lily know the full version.” He growled

“I did.” Dumbledore confirmed quickly. 

That was some comfort. Not much but some. 

“Did you ever intend to tell Harry the full version yourself or were you content to just wait until he’s of whatever age you deem appropriate?” Sirius asked, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. Dumbledore signed, taking another sip of his mead. 

“I intended to wait until he had achieved a good grasp of occlumency.” Dumbledore’s voice was hard. He gave Sirius a very firm look. “I may have overlooked much this year and allowed great injustices to befall Harry while under my care, but my decisions have never been because I doubt Harry’s character and ability. Quite the opposite. I have never met a young wizard as remarkable as Harry Potter. Yet the fact remains that he has a very dangerous connection to Voldemort that poses a threat not just to himself but to those around him. Until he can keep his secrets safe from discovery, I have little choice but to keep my distance.”

Sirius stared at Dumbledore, cradling his glass in his hand. 

“If you were aware of just how dangerous the connection is between Harry and Voldemort, why did you wait until Christmas to have Snape teach him occlumency? Harry’s scar has been giving him insights into Voldemort’s mind since before he was resurrected.”

“It was not until after he witnessed the attack on Arthur that I truly feared that Voldemort had a real presence in Harry’s mind.” Dumbledore’s face then gave a grim twist. “I saw a shadow of him in Harry’s eyes - just for a moment. It wasn’t strong enough for me to suspect that he has consciously established a connection, but I saw him… and the hate in Harry’s eyes was not his own.”

Sirius faintly wished he hadn’t forced the topic. Harry had in fact told him of the moment that Dumbledore referred too. He’d tried to comfort Harry but his worries never really left him. It only confirmed what he had already come to suspect was the truth behind the connection between Harry and Voldemort. 

“He told me that he felt a desire to attack you in that moment. It… frightened him.” Sirius said quietly. “I told him it was an aftermath of the vision, but…” He looked up at Dumbledore. “Emotions are beyond what should be possible with legilimency. It’s an art of the mind, not of the heart. The connection between them isn’t mental, is it? Not truly.” 

Dumbledore met his eyes, showing a flicker of surprise. Sirius let out a dry, mirthless laugh.

“I’m not as ignorant of the Dark Arts as most people, Albus. I know more than I should about the subject. Enough to begin to suspect that soul magic is behind this.”

The look in Dumbledore’s eyes turned calculating and almost sinister. Sirius tensed a little in warning.

“Have you spoken to Harry about your suspicions?”

“Not until I have proof, no.” Sirius then chased his words with a gulp of mead to lend him some more dutch courage. “Minerva has reached out to your old mentor, Nicolas Flamel. Unless I’m mistaken, I think she may have come to the same conclusion as I have.”

“Nicolas…” Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment. “I admit, I never thought that alchemy would have an answer but his experience could indeed prove valuable. When it comes to Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, we go beyond what we believe is possible with magic. Nicolas did indeed explore what is impossible .”

Sirius sighed. He was just going to have to go right for the jugular. 

“So judging from how you are avoiding admitting that I’m right, I’m just going to assume I am. Harry’s scar is a horcrux.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes narrowed. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he downed the rest of his mead. Setting down his glass, his face then fell. 

“I hoped I would go longer without hearing that word pass from another’s lips.” He whispered, reaching over to his wand. He hesitated, his eyes focusing on the wand for a moment before he changed his mind, resting his hand instead on the table top. Sirius had no such reservations, grabbing the bottle instead of using a refilling charm. He poured out more mead for both of them. 

“You see, there lies the problem, Albus. Keeping the truth a secret might protect Harry from this horrible knowledge but it doesn’t protect him from the bit of Voldemort stuck inside him. Even if Harry manages to learn occlumency, that just shields his mind from influence. He will still be carrying a piece of Voldemort. This is… just the same as the prophecy. Instead of hiding it, you should be focusing on destroying it!”

Sirius set the bottle down with a loud thud. To his surprise, Dumbledore actually flinched. He recovered quickly, levelling a firm look across the table. He raised a finger. 

“The only way to destroy it will kill Harry in the process. Is that what you want?” Dumbledore shot back at him, finally angered. “I am doing my utmost to prevent that.”

“By keeping it a secret?” Sirius demanded back, still not intimidated. “I… I know what this means for Harry, Albus. But can you not see how cruel this is? This is akin to a Healer lying to a patient about a life-threatening illness! Unless you have been purposefully setting him up to be a sacrificial lamb-.”

“You cannot even begin to fathom how wrong you are. I am trying to save his life!” Dumbledore snapped, raising his voice for the first time. “When the time is right, I will bring Harry into my confidence and I will trust him with knowledge that I have given no other wizard. You accuse me of being uncaring, but this is war, Sirius. I cannot afford to allow my personal feelings to get in the way of what must be done!”

The temperature in the kitchen had dropped several degrees. Enough for Sirius to truly respect the power radiating off the elder wizard. Sirius ran a hand over his face. He wasn’t ready himself to fully grasp what it meant that Harry carried part of Voldemort’s soul. He would have to confront it, especially if Harry was having Healers and legendary wizards investigating the enigma of his scar. The truth would come out and Harry would need Sirius more than ever to help him come to terms with it. Voldemort simply could not die while Harry lived with a horcrux in his scar. 

“We will think of something. There has to be a way to separate them.” Sirius said mostly to himself. “If there isn’t, then we just… change our tactics. If Voldemort can’t be killed because he has a horcrux-.”

“Horcruxes.” Dumbledore cut over him. Sirius looked over, slightly relieved that it no longer appeared that Dumbledore was trying to turn the kitchen into a refrigerator. “He has more than one.”

“Well, then all the more reason to change how we fight him.” Sirius said, not put off his train of thought. “We tried your way. Well, you tried your way. We just followed your orders and your lead without question.” Sirius stopped himself, reining in his temper for a moment. He needed to keep a level head if he wanted their argument to go anywhere. “So he can’t be killed then we find a way to trap him. It worked for Grindelwald, didn’t it? You had him imprisoned in his own fortress at Nurmengard, isn’t that right?.”

Dumbledore brought his hands together, surveying Sirius over his fingertips. The silence continued but Sirius could tell that Dumbledore’s mind was at work and he actually processed what he had to say. He then sighed, reaching once more for his mead. 

“It has been a while since someone has turned my own achievements against me. As our friends across the Channel would say - touché.” 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Sirius’s anger burned out, leaving him with a horrible hollow feeling. Dreading up painful truths had been in vain, only serving to hurt them both. He hadn’t asked to speak to the old man to make himself feel, if possible, even worse. He’d planned to ask for his help. Accusing him for doing a terrible job at leading didn’t really help his chances with convincing Dumbledore to help him. 

“These past few days have granted me a chance for… reflection and also regret.”

Sirius said nothing, doing his part to listen and not interrupt. Dumbledore closed his eyes then, sighing out past his fingers. 

“Harry has only ever shown me loyalty and while I will maintain that I have only ever acted in his best interests, I confess that my efforts have caused great harm. I have acted knowing that my actions would hurt him yet I reasoned that it was for…” 

Dumbledore suddenly went still, his mouth hanging open with shock. His eyes went wide as if he just made a very terrible discovery. Tears formed in earnest. He brought a hand up to his open mouth, choking back a shocked gasp before he finished his sentence.

“...the greater good.”

Sirius understood the reason for Dumbledore’s shock. He sighed, filling the awkward moment with busying himself with his drink. 

“There is nothing more dangerous than a man convinced that he is completely and utterly in the right.” Sirius then said when he put his drink down. “Do you know who told me that?” Dumbledore’s tear-filled eyes went over to him, giving no answer. “Lily. She said that of Voldemort but it can account for a lot of wizards… and muggles… throughout history.”

Dumbledore brought a hand over his eyes as he worked to compose himself.

“Lily was wise beyond her years.”

“Harry has that in common with her.” Sirius said quietly. Dumbledore reached for his glass, his hand trembling. “I spoke with him this morning. He knows Voldemort will make his move… he knows how much danger he is in and he’ll still face it head on with his back straight and proud. Just like his parents. He is… every part their son. His life is a miracle and I’ll do anything to keep it thriving. Whatever it takes.”

He leaned forwards causing Dumbledore to lower his hand from his eyes and look at him. The regret and remorse clouding his teary eyes cleared for a moment, a steely edge entering their depths. The Gryffindor behind the schemes and secrets looked back at Sirius then. 

“You wish to risk breaking into the Ministry of Magic, travelling down to the deepest level to where the security is the thickest, to access the most classified secrets that our Government possesses and destroy one of them, all the while evading notice and capture.”

Sirius finally grinned, collecting his glass from the table. He was heading towards drunk and, unless he was mistaken, Dumbledore was just as bad as he was. Especially when the mood dramatically changed from them being at each other’s throat to perfectly civil. Dumbledore had definitely brought with him the good stuff as his olive branch.

“I do.” He confirmed. In response, Dumbledore’s eyes gave a shine as he blinked to clear the tears from them. He cleared his throat and picked up his glass, copying Sirius and raising it. 

“You have humbled me very effectively this evening, Sirius. Whatever plan you have, I will listen and, if you will accept it, I will lend my help.”

Sirius clinked his glass against Dumbledore’s. 

“I would be honoured to have you as a partner in crime. As we are the most wanted wizards in the country, it’s only right that we break a law or two.”

Dumbledore then smiled. At that moment, the alliance was made and so the two slightly drunk, emotionally drained criminals began to plan their heist.

Chapter 14: Looking Evil In The Eye

Summary:

The day in court begins

The sky was tinged yellow as the sun began to rise over the mountains on Wednesday morning, the day when Harry had to return to the Ministry. It was early, painfully so. Harry managed to eject himself out of bed by half six, stumbling about, half-awake, before he got himself showered and dressed. He waited in the office for Minerva, watching the sunrise through the window, perched on her window sill. He rested his forehead against the cool glass, his scar prickling uncomfortably as it now did first thing every morning after a night of dreaming of the Department of Mysteries. His heart kicked in a rapid beat as he waited, trying to calm down. Every fibre of his being was convinced that something terrible was about to happen and that he was walking into danger. 

The bookcase swung open. Harry lifted his head, skin peeling from the glass. He slid off the window sill, getting ready to greet his guardian. Minerva swept inside, her movements brisk as she entered, her emerald robes rustling about her. With a twitch of her wand, she had her tea set getting to work. Tealeaves sprinkled into the pot, boiling water streaming inside before the lid settled back in place. Steam gushed out the spout as the tea brewed. Minerva wasted no time as she rushed for Harry, surveying him up and down. 

“Almost perfect.” She said as she narrowed her eyes at his general appearance. “Allow me.” 

His face warmed as she waved her wand at his neck. His collar popped up and his tie undid itself. He looked down, watching as his new tie knotted itself in a neat Windsor knot. It was dark grey, matching the rest of his outfit. He couldn’t go to court in his school uniform so Minerva had arranged for formal robes to be made for him to wear instead. His smartest clothes apparently weren’t smart enough. The formal wear had arrived from Gladrags the previous evening with complements. He’d never dressed himself in a suit before and thought he’d done an admirable job on his own. The jacket under the outer robe was done up more snug than he would like and having his shirt top button done up made him feel like he was being throttled. 

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?” Minerva asked the moment she was satisfied with his tie. His embarrassment mounted as she then fussed over his lapels, straightening them up. She looked him up and down in the same way that Mrs Weasley had done when she fussed over him before his hearing. A strange warm sensation filled him then as he recognised what was happening. He was bringing out her motherly side.

“No. I think I’m too nervous to eat.”

“You’re going to need energy.” She said firmly as she smoothed the shoulders of his outer robe. “And as for your nerves, Professor Snape has provided a calming draught for you.”

Harry blinked at her in surprise. “He did? For me?”

“At my insistence,” she added. Her mouth twitched in the corner before she stopped her fussing, heading over to her desk. Harry’s face was still warm as he savoured the feeling of being cared for and about. 

“Am I even allowed to take a potion before making a court appearance?” Harry asked as he went to take his seat opposite her. 

“You’ll be screened for potions but a calming draught will be permitted. They are often handed out during court proceedings.” She assured him as she fetched the potion in question. She set a small bottle filled with a pink potion that Harry recognised. He smiled his thanks, taking it and removing the stopper with a pop.

“Just a sip for now,” Minerva told him. He nodded, bringing it to his lips. It tasted minty as it ran over his tongue, thick and syrupy. The effects were instantaneous as the tightness in his chest eased. “Better?”

“Much better, thank you.” 

Before long, Minerva had conjured them up bacon sarnies from the kitchen. It was still difficult to get used to having his breakfast with her but with the calming draught in his stomach, he relaxed. The sun had fully risen behind her, the grounds and Quidditch pitch bathed in the light of the dawn. He checked the time, looking over to her grandfather clock beside the bookshelves. 

“Today will be over before you know it.” Minerva said as she passed him his tea. Harry held back his doubtful response just offering a small smile of thanks instead. “Just remember that you aren’t on trial.”

“Not today.” Harry muttered over the edge of his teacup before blowing the surface of the tea to cool it down. “This is just a taste of what’s to come.”

Right on time, the flames in the fireplace roared to life, flaring a brilliant green. Sparks burst out in a flurry before two men in matching red robes stumbled out of the hearth, regaining their balance quickly as they came to a halt. Minerva rose from her seat at the arrival of their guests, twitching her wand over to the tea set to make it clear itself away. Harry finished his tea, setting down his teacup to watch it soar off atop its saucer to join the rest of the set. He got to his feet as well just as Kingsley swept up to him, smiling warmly. 

“Morning Harry,” Kingsley greeted, coming straight up to him with his hand outstretched. Harry approached and took Kingsley’s hand, shaking it in greeting. Kingsley then turned to his colleague. “This is Gawain Robards. I don’t believe you’ve been introduced?”

Robards stepped up to him and offered his own hand. Harry took it politely as he could, wondering where the Auror stood with his opinions of him. The man kept his expression impressively neutral, yet he appeared incapable of resisting the chance to glance up at Harry’s forehead. Harry didn’t bother giving the man his name in return. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said instead, trying to sound as confident as he could given the circumstances. 

“A pleasure as well, Mr Potter,” Robards said, sounding genuine enough. He then bowed his head respectfully to Minerva. “Professor McGonagall.”

“Good morning to you both,” she greeted, surveying them both over her glasses. “I assume you have arrived ahead of the others, Robards?”

“Yes - once Potter and Shaklebolt are on their way, I’ll need to gather the other witnesses, but for the moment…” He reached inside his robes, fetching a small wooden box out from the deep pockets inside. He turned to Kingsley. “You’ll be doing the honours, Kingsley?”

Harry worked out what the said honours were rather quickly when Kingsley crouched down, drawing his wand. Harry leaned down, grasping his right trouser leg so Kingsley could reach the grounding spell that he had cast around his ankle. 

“I’m not removing it, I’m afraid, Harry. Just changing the parameters,” Kingsley told him as he waved his wand in a complex flurry in front of Harry’s shin. The band of magic glowed brighter as he tampered with the spell. Harry felt it glow warm over his skin, making him grit his teeth. He felt a wave of discomfort at the reminder that he was leashed like a dog. 

“Um…” Harry looked over to Minerva, nervous. She understood that he was seeking an explanation immediately, swiftly moving to his side. 

“It’s for your protection. You’ll be allowed out of these rooms but only if you are within proximity of Mr Shacklebolt. It’s a preventative measure against kidnap.”

Fear frazzled down his spine. He didn’t protest against the precautions, not when he was very aware that the threat was real.

“We have two portkeys for you,” Robards then said, snapping open the box that he’d fished out of his pocket. “One that you’ll keep on you. If anything happens and your life is threatened, you’ll activate it and it will bring you straight back here. You’ll wear it on your right wrist… see here?” 

He plucked out a leather band with a small pouch. “It’s very small and inside here. Emergency use only, got it?” 

Harry nodded numbly as he mutely offered the man his right wrist. He gave Harry an appreciative nod at his cooperation, moving to secure the leather band around his wrist. It had a buckle much like a watch strap. Kingsley then straightened, finishing with the grounding spell. 

“You’ll remember how this goes, Harry. I need to search you,” Kingsley explained as he raised both hands in front of Harry, still holding his wand. Harry dipped his chin down, giving his consent. Kingsley started at his shoulders, then patted his arms before checking his pockets and robes. 

“You’ll need to hand me your wand,” Kingsley gave him a sympathetic look as he held out his hand. Harry hesitated but reached in his pocket, drawing it out. He extended out to Kingsley, handle first. Kingsley took his wand, carefully stowing it in his own pocket, giving Harry a meaningful look. He then continued his search, moving down to his legs. Once finished, he waved his wand up and down. A greenish haze streamed out of the tip of his wand. 

“Have you taken a calming draught?” Kingsley asked Harry, eyes narrowing on the haze. Harry cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah.”

“Nothing else?” Kingsley asked. Harry shook his head. “Very well. That’s you set then.” He then threaded his own wand through the holster at his hip. Harry looked down, spotting the pair of inhibitors secured in place. 

“Definitely no inhibitors this time?” Harry asked.

“Absolutely not,” Kingsley confirmed, “I deeply regret that I was in the position to have to do that to you.”

Startled by his words, Harry looked up at him, seeing the guilt for himself. 

“You were only following orders,” Harry said quietly, “I don’t hold it against you.”

Kingsley smiled warmly in response, stowing Harry’s wand into his robes. He then rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze that definitely went beyond his capacity as his guard. Robards cleared his throat, giving Kingsley a frown, but he didn’t appear to care what his colleague thought, his smile broadening as he appraised Harry. 

“Harry,” Minerva then interrupted, bringing his attention over to her. 

Harry looked up, suddenly painfully aware of his shorter height when next to Kingsley and Minerva McGonagall. She pursed her lips a little as she surveyed him with a critical eye. Her expression then softened. Minerva then turned from him, moving to fetch his medical report from her desk. She returned, holding it out for him to take. Harry hesitated, his gaze lingering on where his name was stamped into the cover along with the crossed wand and bone emblem of St Mungo’s Hospital. 

“If all goes as it should today, you will not have to present this.”

Harry took the file and tucked it under his arm before saying, “but when I am on trial, I’ll have to use this.”

“A lot may yet happen until then.” Minerva reminded him. Harry let out a breath, relaxing a little. 

“Are we all set?” Robards brought them back to the matter at hand, presenting the wooden box over to Harry and Kingsley. “You are both due now.” 

Kingsley nodded, looking over to Harry and pointed down with his eyes at the box. Harry understood, shifting closer to Robards, lifting his hand to touch the portkey inside. It was a thimble, just as before. He looked up at Robards, waiting for his permission. Kingsley brought his hand over next to Harry’s, primed as well. 

“Together on the count of three,” Robards told them, “one - two - three.”

At three, Harry pressed his finger down on the waiting thimble. Kingsley’s brushed next to his. For a moment, nothing happened. Harry glanced over, wondering if something had gone wrong. Then just as he was about to open his mouth, he suddenly felt himself jerked backwards. His feet left solid ground, the office ripped away from in front of him. That tug at his naval catapulted him into a vortex of twisting colours and motion. His stomach bunched with immediate nausea, his robes and hair buffeted as he was lurched through time and space. Kingsley’s elbow jostled against his as he joined him through the portal. 

As it did the other times Harry had travelled, it ended abruptly. He had the briefest feeling of free-falling before his feet crashed into the ground. Before he could fall, Kingsley’s hand wrapped around his elbow and caught him. With a plink, the thimble that had been glued to their fingers fell to the ground. Harry doubled over, gasping in a deep breath as he tried to get his bearings. 

He peered up through his fringe, finding dark stone, highly polished with flames reflected in the floor, the fires of the torches set along the walls. Kingsley helped him straighten up, checking that he still had hold of the file under his arm. 

“Are you alright?” Kingsley asked him as he released his arm and moved close, checking him over. 

“Yeah. Fine… I think it gets better each time,” Harry said as his stomach started to settle down. He then looked around, finding himself in an unfamiliar room. It was small and oppressive with a single sconce illuminating the space - no windows. A solitary door faced them, narrow and made from dark wood with metal lattice work. It felt horribly like a dungeon. Harry straightened, spotting behind him that a table and two chairs had been set up, a jug of water waiting with a single glass. Other than them, there was nothing else in the room. 

“You ought to sit down,” Kingsley told him, leading him gently over to the chairs. He set his medical report file on the table and lowered himself into the waiting seat. The chair was uncomfortable with a rigid high back. 

Kingsley poured him out some water, passing the glass over.

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly, offering his best attempt of a smile. He squinted around the room again. “Where are we?”

“One of the meeting rooms off Courtroom One. The Wizengamot need to settle in first, then you’ll be brought in.”

“O-okay,” Harry said as he rested his medical file next to him on the chair, wiping his hands on his trousers before gulping down some water. Kingsley moved to join him at the other chair. 

“I’m going to be with you the whole time. If there is any sign of danger or risk to your safety, I will grab your left shoulder and hand you your wand.” Kingsley’s tone turned very serious, causing Harry to stop drinking at once. He lowered the glass, listening. “That’s our signal for you to use the emergency portkey. You don’t hesitate, Harry.”

Harry suppressed a shudder, swallowing tightly. 

“What happens if my scar starts to hurt?” He asked quietly. “I know that I have to tell you but what if I’m being questioned at the time?”

“In that event, there’s little we can do other than assess the situation as it happens.” Kingsley said hesitantly. “If you start to feel sick or any pain, ask for a break.”

Harry bowed his head, fearful of how it would look if he did have an episode. He then pulled the file out from where he had it stowed next to him.

“I suppose I have this to explain what is going on if it does happen.”

“I’ll be right there watching so if I notice anything, I can intervene,” Kingsley said, trying to reassure him. He didn’t feel all that assured, not when Harry was already preparing for his scar to sabotage things whether intentional on Voldemort’s part or not. Harry just nodded in response, bringing his glass back up to his mouth to finish his water. He could then hear distant banging on the other side of the door coming from the courtroom beyond. He stilled, staring over to the door. 

Calm down. You’re not the one on trial. Just think about what Umbridge is facing right now. He thought to himself. She tried to put me in Azkaban and now she’s ending up there herself. 

A soft chiming sound interrupted his thoughts. Harry looked around for the source, seeing nothing but the bleak walls of the small room. Kingsley got to his feet, wand in hand as he moved into position, looking back at Harry meaningfully. 

Harry set his glass down, drawing in a deep breath as he gathered his medical report and stood. He was relieved when his legs didn’t tremble or show any sign of weakness. He gripped his file tightly to his side as he walked to the door, coming up to Kingsley. 

“Give me that, Harry,” Kingsley said gently, gesturing at the file, “I can hand it over to Amelia if you need it. You won’t be able to leave the stand once you’re on it.” 

Swallowing tightly, Harry nodded as he passed the file over to Kingsley. He felt oddly vulnerable without something to hold, almost as if he was fully unarmed. 

They walked together to the door which swung open the moment they approached. Harry’s heart started to race as he nearly stumbled on his feet as they emerged from behind an alcove. The atmosphere was just as ominous and oppressive as he remembered, even though he was in a different courtroom. He noticed that there were a lot more seats in the room though not all of them were occupied. He looked up to his left, seeing the stands of raised seats. On the side of the room from where they emerged, the seats were occupied with wizards and witches dressed in the formal regalia of the Wizengamot. Those nearest rose up on their seats, turning to get a look at them as they entered. Harry felt his face warm under the stares as they entered, coming into the full view of everyone present.

His footsteps briefly faltered as he took in the scene. He found the Judges’ stand first, facing the Accused. Only one witch occupied the stand, her wispy fly-away hair giving her a general harried appearance. Harry didn’t recognise her. He lowered his gaze down to the solitary seat in the middle of the room. The severe, high-backed chair was set upon a slightly raised platform. He let out a relieved breath when he saw it was empty. He then looked over to the seats facing the Wizengamot. All were empty. He realised that they were for the witnesses and for any others in the audience allowed to attend. In the case of this particular session, friends and family of those involved and members of the press weren’t permitted. It was a closed session.

Kingsley gently urged him forwards. The murmuring had fallen silent, leaving just his footsteps. Harry focused on walking as he was brought to where seats were cordoned off from the audience by wooden railings. He took to the steps that led up the tiers, spotting where he was being taken. There was a raised seat positioned between the Judges’ bench and tiers of seats. Judging from how it was boxed off with a small table positioned in front of the seat, it was the witness box. 

Sure enough, Kingsley directed him towards it. Harry climbed up some narrow steps to reach it. He let out a small relieved breath at the sight of the glass of water left thoughtfully for him. 

“Sit down,” Kingsley murmured, Harry nodded, his face and neck suddenly very hot as he felt stares pressing down on him. He perched nervously on the edge of the seat. Kingsley positioned himself behind him, standing just at his shoulder. 

They weren’t left waiting for long. At the back of the room, the main double doors threw open. Madame Bones made her arrival, striding with her characteristic purposeful gait. She wore formal robes much like the silken regalia of the Wizengamot, only hers were black and without the ‘W’ logo emblazoned on the breast. She carried a stack of files under her arm as she entered. Harry eyed them, his nerves returning, knowing full well that his own evidence and testimony was among that which she brought with her. She paused as she passed the base of the witness box. She came up to him, her monocle catching the golden light of the torches set in the walls around them. 

“Mr Potter… Auror Shacklebolt,” she greeted them. She didn’t linger. Harry nervously swallowed. They weren’t on first name terms in the courtroom. 

Activity at the doors dragged Harry’s attention back over. Fudge was next, followed closely by Percy Weasley who carried his files for him, rushing behind at a quick pace. Fudge didn’t look up at Harry at all as he took the same route as Amelia. Percy, however, faltered in mid-step, looking upwards. His face flinched with something unreadable before he looked away. Harry immediately noticed his ears reddening, just in the same way Ron’s did. 

“We continue the trial of Madame Dolores Umbridge who stands charged with the following crimes,” Madame Bones looked down at her many papers, adjusting her monocle, “possession of a Dark magic artefact, use of the Dark Arts, child endangerment, and child abuse. Madame Umbridge also stands suspected of torture and conspiracy to murder.”

Harry straightened in his seat. He looked over to Amelia, confused. Were they going to carry on the trial without Umbridge present? She seemed like a pretty vital part of the trial. He looked across, not seeing anyone else visibly confused, but then… he was the only person on his side of the courtroom other than Kingsley. 

“Bring in the Accused.”

Harry’s breath then hitched in his throat, the air turning cold at once. His blood chilled, goosebumps erupting. His gaze swept back to the doors but he knew what he would see. A thin, skeletal creature in ragged, black robes… a dementor. It glided inside, plunging the room into an icy silence. One of its hands was wrapped around the arm of the condemned, leading her inside. Harry barely recognised her as she half-stumbled behind the dementor, her feet shuffling as if punch-drunk. The hatred he should feel at the sight of her was muted behind the shock and the dread that the dementor’s presence set inside him. 

The dementor released her and she slumped down. Before she collapsed, two Aurors moved in, taking her arms and walking her inside. It had been less than a week since her arrest. The dramatic change in her appearance was a galling reminder of just how terrible Azkaban truly was. She was dressed in grey robes - drab but clean and not ragged. They were unmistakable, however. It was deadly silent as she was brought to the chair in the centre of the room. The Aurors sat her down. The chains attached to the arms of the chair then slithered up, snatching at her wrists first before winding around her arms, binding them in place. She didn’t visibly react, remaining still as if frozen. 

The muffled silence that pressed down upon all present seemed to lift. Harry blinked, feeling as if he was thawing out of ice himself. He stared down at the woman in the chair, trying to connect her to Umbridge and confirm in his mind that they were the same person. She appeared to recover from the same stasis, shifting back against the chair as much as she could while bound. She lifted her head. Her eyes found him at once, not looking anywhere else. Not to Fudge for help or the Wizengamot. Her face trembled, lips, cheeks, eyes, all twitching out of control. Her hair fell in strands over her greyish skin, no longer kept neat with a bow. Her eyes… they latched onto him like leeches. Instinctive fear shot through him at the sight, his senses screaming warnings through his mind. He looked away sharply, his heart jumping. 

Amelia’s sonorous voice then echoed out. His attention called back over to the one preceding over the court. 

“We start today’s proceedings with the first witness. If he will please stand…” Amelia turned to look at Harry, nodding at him. Kingsley’s hand brushed his elbow, signalling him to stand. Harry felt his face warm as he got to his feet, feeling foolish after just sitting down. “Can you please state your full name to the court?”

Harry stared at her, silent. A second passed. Both the scribe at Amelia’s side and Percy slowly looked up to see why he hadn’t spoken. He felt his face grow warmer.

“Harry James Potter.”

There were a few hushed voices murmuring across the room before quickly falling silent. The atmosphere intensified as Harry grew incredibly aware of Umbridge’s glare piercing through him. He didn’t look down, keeping his focus and attention anchored on Amelia. 

“Will you give your vow to speak the truth while standing as a witness?”

“I do,” Harry answered before his mind caught up. “I mean, I vow to speak the truth.” He hastily corrected. Amelia dipped her chin with an appraising nod. 

“Mr Potter, as the first witness, your testimony and account of events that led to the offences committed against you are required for the purposes of this criminal trial. As such, you will be required to answer questions to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”

Harry wished that he could sit back down but he understood that ‘standing’ as a witness was meant to be literal as well as metaphorical. 

“I understand,” he replied, gaze flicking to the witch at Amelia’s side who urgently took down his response. 

“The accused will be unable to interrupt you while you are being questioned. Once we have finished our questioning of all witnesses and victims, we will then cross-examine the accused for their response. You have the right to remain in court once you stand down, but if you choose to stay, you will be unable to interrupt. If you make an attempt, you will be held in contempt.”

Harry understood enough to know that if he spoke out of turn, there would be consequences. He nervously nodded. Amelia opened one of her files, pushing through the documents. All watched her as she held up a document. Harry felt a sudden sick swoop of anger as he recognised the pink parchment. 

“During your first class with Madame Umbridge teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts, you received disciplinary action for your behaviour.” Amelia intoned, her voice ringing around the bleak walls. “I have here the official note which Madame Umbridge had submitted to your Disciplinary Record. You were assigned a weeks’ worth of detentions for what was recorded as ‘disruptive and abusive behaviour’. It says here that you shouted at Madame Umbridge, accused her of lying and made… statements regarding the death of Cedric Diggory. Do you deny this?”

Harry let out a long breath through his nostrils, preparing himself. A cool calm settled on him, a blissful effect of the potion he’d consumed. His nerves settled back down to manageable levels and he went to answer. 

“No,” he said carefully. 

“Can you please tell the court what you said to Madame Umbridge to warrant this disciplinary action?”

“I… I don’t remember exactly what I said word for word,” Harry said haltingly as he felt the attention of all present zoning on him, “but I defended myself when she said I was lying about Vol- You-Know-Who.”

Harry winced as his near use of Voldemort’s name caused an immediate response from the Wizengamot. Gasps shot out and low murmurs. 

“I lost my temper,” he admitted quickly, “and I was already in trouble but I didn’t care at that point. So I stood up and said something along the lines of her believing that Cedric dropped dead of his own accord.”

It came back to him very suddenly, making him speak more clearly. He could see Umbridge watching him in the corner of his eye but she didn’t speak to contradict anything or hiss any insults his way. In fact, she made no sound at all. 

“She said it was a tragic accident and I then argued that… it was murder and that Voldemort was responsible.”

He didn’t have the chance to stop himself from saying the name. At once, there were hoarse gasps and winces. He ignored them and so did Amelia. 

“What happened next?” She asked him. 

“She called me up to the front of the class and she wrote out that note,” Harry said, nodding at the pink atrocity in Amelia’s hand. “She then sent me to give it to Professor McGonagall. I was so angry, I didn’t say anything else and just left.”

“Did she tell you what your punishment was before sending you out?” Amelia cut in with the next question barely a second after he just finished answering her last. Harry hesitated for a moment.

“No.”

“And you didn’t read the note?”

“No. I didn’t know that she’d given me a weeks’ worth of detentions until I gave that note to Professor McGonagall,” he said, starting to feel a lot more in control. 

“I see.” 

Amelia appeared to be pausing to allow the woman at her side to catch up with her transcribing. For a few seconds, the only sounds in the room were the scratching of her quill and a few breathy coughs from the Wizengamot. Umbridge made not a single sound and Harry didn’t give her any notice, keeping his attention transfixed on the person interrogating him. As she returned the pink parchment back to her file, she considered her documents with a stern, pensive look.

“Mr Potter, while you have already been questioned about what transpired during your detentions with Madame Umbridge, I must ask you to confirm several points while you are under oath and for the court’s record.”

“I understand,” he said as calmly as he could. He pressed his hands against the stand in front of him, deeply relieved that he wasn’t restrained as he’d been when questioned before. Harry reached for the glass of water quickly, taking some methodical sips. He had no such luxury when questioned before. He felt a swell of anger at the thought. Being given the simple basic necessity of water just further showed how poorly they treated him before. Deprived of his freedom, making him go thirsty for hours, draining his magic to the point he could barely stand… 

“Please describe to the court what you were made to do as a punishment for ‘disruptive and abusive behaviour’.”

The order only stoked the fires of his anger. His jaw set as he lowered the glass back to the stand in front of him. He looked across at Amelia, meeting her stern gaze.

“I had to write lines using a cursed quill,” Harry said in an almost deadpanned voice. “I didn’t know it was cursed until I used it, and as I was writing, the words were being cut into the back of my hand. It used my blood as ink.”

The uproar that he’d received in response the last time he said as much in front of the Wizengamot was absent. Angry murmurs and hisses buzzed from their gathered throng, but nothing to interrupt the proceedings. 

“How many lines were you asked to write?”

“There wasn’t a fixed number. I was told that I had to keep going until the… the message ‘sinks in’.” 

“How long did the detentions last?”

“They started at eight and I wasn’t done until past midnight.”

“After curfew?” 

“Yes,” Harry frowned a little at the question. 

“Did you tell anyone about what was being done to you?”

“Y- No,” Harry corrected himself quickly. Fudge leaned forwards at his near slip-up. Harry glanced at him quickly but looked away. “My friend, Ron, saw that my hand was bleeding when we bumped into each other when I was coming back from detention. I only told him when I couldn’t hide it.”

At the mention of Ron, Harry saw a flinch in the corner of his eye. He imagined Percy to be the culprit but he didn’t look over, keeping his focus fixed on Amelia. He then noticed Kingsley shifting beside him, the wooden floor creaking a little as he moved. Something had unsettled him.

And he wasn’t alone. Low voices were murmuring over in the Wizengamot. Even Amelia had stalled in her next question, staring across at him. She was too far for him to fully read her reaction. He inwardly baulked. Had he messed up? What had he said? 

“Mr Potter, can you please confirm to the court who did know about what Madame Umbridge had you do during your detentions?” Amelia asked in her steady, resounding voice. Harry wished she was closer so he could have a better read of her. 

“Only my friends Ron and Hermione,” Harry said, trying to raise his voice loud enough to carry though his voice lacked the booming quality Madame Bones managed. “I didn’t tell anyone else.”

“Were you aware that Madame Umbridge was committing a very serious crime in making you use such an instrument on yourself?” Amelia’s voice took on a much more forceful tone, the anger very obvious then. 

“I figured it wasn’t legal but what was I supposed to do about it? Report her?” Anger started to strengthen his voice as he turned his gaze across to Fudge. “Just how far would I get before getting accused of making up stories or, even worse, having them make out that I was harming myself?”

More angered, low voices hummed from across the room. Amelia ducked her head for a moment, sifting through her documents as the voices continued to mutter. 

“During your testimony before the Wizengamot during the session on 19th April, you stated before the Assembly that you felt that you had been purposefully singled out. Can you please elaborate for us? What led you to form this opinion?”

Harry licked at his dry lips, hurriedly picking up his glass to sip some water before responding. 

“Because those detentions weren’t punishments for… for what was it? Being ‘disruptive’?” he said distractedly, trying to remember what his apparent offence was. “They were for ‘lying’. I wasn’t made to write ‘I must be respectful in class’ or whatever. It never was about me being a troublemaker. It was all about shutting me up.”

Harry did his utmost to not be tempted into looking at Umbridge even though he could feel her ire searing into him.

“I wasn’t being punished for speaking out of turn in class. I was being punished for speaking out against him .” he lifted a single finger, pointing it across to where Fudge was sitting. “Anything that goes against what he says is the truth is a lie, so I’m a liar and Dumbledore’s a liar. It wasn’t enough to be slandered almost every day in the paper. Giving their best effort to get me expelled didn’t work either. It only stands to reason that they’d try a different tactic. Pain is a pretty good motivator, after all.”

Hate pulsed through him with every word that left his lips. All the voices in the courtroom had been silenced as his lone voice rang out with a similar resonance to Amelia. A renewed authority thrummed through him, making his young voice sound mature. 

“This is outrageous!” Fudge then blustered loudly, hands scrabbling on the desk in front of him as he lurched himself to his feet. He jabbed a finger of his own in Harry’s direction. “Suggesting that I would ever condone such practices as to use corporal punishment on a child?”

“And yet you believe it is appropriate for a reputable publication like The Daily Prophet to openly slander a fifteen-year-old boy.” Amelia countered, not needing to shout in order to be heard. “To call him names and make public remarks about his mental state?”

Fudge narrowed his eyes, turning to face Amelia. He tapped his fingers on the surface of the stand, glancing between her and where Harry was waiting to be questioned further. 

“Need I remind you that you went on record during Mr Potter’s Disciplinary Hearing in August, inferring that his testimony was ‘another cock-and-bull story’ without even hearing what he had to say?” Amelia then continued firmly. “Your objection is overruled, Cornelius. Sit down.”

Between Amelia and the Minister, it was clear who held the power in the room. Fudge seethed, his face darkening, but his words failed to become coherent sounds as he gripped at the nearest sheet of parchment, scrunching it in his hand. After a few painful seconds, he finally lowered himself back into his seat, expression murderous as he tossed the crumpled parchment over in Percy’s direction. It rolled off, disappearing from view. Low, derisive mutters were audible over from the Wizengamot, the audience clearly not impressed with Fudge’s display. 

“I only have one last question for you, Mr Potter, and then we shall take a short break.”

Amelia’s voice lost its edge as she returned her focus back to where Harry was doing his best to not smile at Fudge being put in his place. He brightened further. There was only one more question? He had been expecting to be stuck on the stand for at least an hour. 

“Did Madame Umbridge make any threats or blackmail you to keep your silence about what was taking place during your detentions with her?”

Harry’s brow furrowed at the question. Wasn’t being made to cut into his own hand threat enough? He then went back over her question. Did she think he didn’t tell anyone because he was being threatened? In a way, it made sense for her to ask. Vernon had always threatened ‘tanning his hide’ if he ever blabbed to anyone or whined to a teacher. Umbridge didn’t have to threaten him, not when she was counting on him running for help so she could use such weakness against him. 

“No, she didn’t have to,” Harry answered, resisting the urge to look down at Umbridge. “I knew her game. She wanted me to run for help; she counted on it, even. She wanted me to watch my helpers fail, watch me lose hope and find myself alone and helpless… defeated, I suppose… but I didn’t want to give her that satisfaction. So I took the abuse. I sat through every hour and didn’t make a sound because…” 

Harry knew every single person in the room was hanging onto every word he said. The only sound, other than his own voice, was the scratching of the quill that recorded his words. He drew in a quick breath. 

“I didn’t make any sign that I was in pain because I knew she wanted that… she wanted to see me suffer.”

His heart started to race and before he knew what he was doing, he was rocking himself back and forth slightly. He blinked rapidly for a few moments, a sudden intense sensation of fear stilling his tongue. For a brief moment, he didn’t know where he was. Everything tunnelled inwards, making him feel incredibly small and trapped. 

A hand rubbed against his back, the contact light but enough to return him back to his present. Kingsley had moved closer to him. Harry closed his eyes briefly, coming back to his senses. The calming draught fought back the whispers of trauma that had tried to distract him. There was one last thing he knew he had to say, especially as he had sworn to say the truth.

“I knew that if I did try to report her, not only would it fail, but she’d punish me and likely someone else I care about. I was… scared,” Harry admitted, his honesty causing a fresh thrum of mutters and sighs from the Wizengamot. He looked up, finding Amelia looking at him. He could tell, even from the distance, that there was an apologetic look behind her severe countenance. 

“You were terrorised into compliance,” Amelia summarised for him. Harry jerkily nodded, his face warming up as he did. She didn’t request a verbal response as she had done during his interrogations, instead turning to her scribe and muttering something to her that Harry couldn’t overhear. She glanced up to Harry.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, throwing the formalities aside. “You may take a seat.” 

Harry lowered himself back down in the waiting seat. Kingsley edged towards him. Harry glanced over to him, managing a small twitch of a smile in response. He couldn’t tell if he’d answered well or not, but he definitely felt shaken. The sudden spike of fear had unsettled him. Not once during the whole ordeal when he was going through the detentions had he admitted his fear, not even to himself, but he knew, deep down, that he had been terrified. After the first night, he had sprinted from her office without a destination in mind, just fleeing the scene to put as much space between him and his tormentor. Just as he used to do as a child when running away from Dudley or hiding from his uncle. 

Being reminded of both sets of abusers at that moment, seeing their parallels suddenly align themselves in his mind, couldn’t have happened at a worst time. Sitting with the whole Wizengamot as his audience, he had a strong urge to cry… or run. 

“We shall adjourn here to end the closed session,” Amelia then announced, sending a swell of relief through Harry. His ordeal was, for the time being, over. To punctuate the point, Amelia tapped the bench with a gavel that Harry hadn’t noticed positioned in front of her. It further cemented the reality of the situation. The very words he just said had the power to condemn a life to prison for a long time. Even if it was Umbridge, even if he despised her with every fibre of his being, he was actively destroying her life.

She deserves it, he told himself, you know she deserves it. 

While the Wizengamot dissolved into low chatter and the bench of officials shared brief words with each other, Harry shuffled himself further to the edge of his seat. It took a lot of effort to engage the muscles in his neck and force himself to look up. All he needed was a small lift, just an inch up to see past the edge of the stand. Though it was only the barest of movements, it took a tremendous amount of his will to make himself look. 

Once again, he found his surroundings tunnelling around him, the sounds and sights of the dismal courtroom retreating behind a darkened haze. A horrible sensation of being cramped, of needing to tuck in his elbows, pulled him down a split state between fear and confusion. His wrists ached for some unfathomable reason before he blinked, finding himself staring into a pair of bulging, bloodshot eyes. 

He knew that look so well, too well. It boiled in the dark, inhuman pupils of Lord Voldemort. It simmered in the beady eyes of his uncle as he cracked his knuckles, threatening a beating. It chilled in the cold disgust that he received in his aunt’s eyes when she looked at him like unwelcome filth in her home. 

But he didn’t look away. Not this time. He could feel it… how much suffering the woman wished upon him. How much she hated him. At that present moment in time, her hatred towards him made sense. He had beaten her at her own game. She attempted to have him thrown in prison and, here he was, making sure that she would end up in Azkaban for her crimes. 

It was all the moments that he had somehow shelved away in his effort to keep functioning. How she held up his hand after each detention, marvelling at the harm he’d inflicted on himself with triumph dancing in her eyes. How once or twice, she pulled at his skin to loosen a drip of blood from a weeping cut so she could see the damage and watch him wince in pain. How she put on that sickly sweet voice as she wished him a ‘good evening’ and ‘good night’ as if he wasn’t in that office to be tortured for hours… because that’s exactly what it was. Torture.

Only then, in that still moment as he stared at Dolores Umbridge, watching her seethe and twitch as she glared at him, he saw her for what she was. A monster. Without her silly bow and frills, without that simpering smile and tittering laugh, the malignance within was exposed. The rotten part of her, the festering wrongness that made her capable of inflicting pain on someone who didn’t deserve it, it was all there, teeming in those hate-filled eyes. He knew what it was… 

Evil.

Taking a deep breath, Harry held her gaze. He refused to look away, refused to let that evil claim any victory over him. He wasn’t afraid, not anymore, not now that he could see. Evil was something he understood. It was something he could survive. He survived Voldemort. He survived the Dursleys… and now, he survived Umbridge.

As Harry looked evil in the eye, he did the best thing he could to show her, once and for all, that she had lost. 

He smiled.

Notes:

Would you look at that? An update!

I really couldn't decide the best way to progress. I had filler chapters that didn't really lend anything, so I decided to just go straight into the courtroom. Not sure when I will be free next to work on the next bits. I am very busy with IRL and all the other WIPs I have on. Would you believe this nutjob has 10 Harmony WIPs currently in progress?

Anyway, I hope this wasn't dull. I don't think I've done a full chapter of just one character POV in this fic before so sorry if you got bored of being stuck in Harry's head lol.

Next up we will find out what the rest of the cool kids are up to (and yes, Dumbledore and Sirius absolutely do count as 'cool kids').

Also, a fond shoutout to Ivycloak for the lovely comment that inspired me to get back to writing this fic. You're the best x

- Aey

Chapter 15: Hear The Lion's Roar

Summary:

The rest of the witnesses show up.

 

While it was meant to be kept from public knowledge, most in the school knew that the student testimonies were due to begin when they woke to a dreary Wednesday morning. Rain lashed the windows, wind battering the battlements, plunging the Great Hall in an ominous gloom as the ceiling hung with moody dark clouds. As the tables filled steadily for breakfast, the room was soon abuzz with excited chatter as the openly discussed and shared theories on fate would be decided on the former Hogwarts High Inquisitor. The only table not participating in the speculations, or not as enthusiastically, was the Slytherin table where most of the students glumly ate in silence, surly as they shot sour looks across the hall to where the loudest voices were raised in the throng. 

Stomach twisting with nerves, Hermione could barely keep up with the energetic conversations around her. She and a few others among those in the hall shared the same pale, nervous expression as they mentally prepared themselves for their scheduled sessions in the Ministry’s courtrooms. She was part of a small group of those who received formal summons from the Wizengamot, only a handful selected to be questioned before the court as both witnesses and victims of the crimes that took place under Umbridge’s authority. Next to her, Ron suffered no such nerves as he buttered his toast, eagerly joining in with the others as they tried to predict the day’s outcome. For by the time the sun would set, Dolores Umbridge’s fate would be set in stone. The Wizengamot would be voting on her verdict after all the witnesses had been questioned. 

Up at the top of the Great Hall, however, there was sudden activity as the door at the back wall opened, expelling a wizard dressed in blood red robes. The buzz of voices rose in volume at his sudden presence as he strode up to the table where the staff were eating. Hermione searched the length of the table, having already taken note of Professor McGonagall’s absence. The Auror paused instead to where Remus had sat with Professor Flitwick. Both wizards leaned their heads forwards as the Auror stopped to speak with them. Whatever was being said, it demanded their attention as Lupin rose to his feet, looking out to the students. He searched down the Gryffindor table, finding her. 

He gave her a small nod, then headed down the table towards the door, the Auror following. 

“What do you think is going on?” Ron asked Hermione, leaning his head to whisper into her ear. 

“That must be who will be taking us to the Ministry after breakfast,” Hermione said, giving Ron a sharp look. Surely it was obvious. Ron frowned, giving his plate a scowl. Sighing softly out her nose, Hermione knew then what was causing him to frown. While she had been named as a key witness to stand in court, Ron hadn’t been requested. Only a few had been asked to make an appearance with Harry leading the proceedings with his private session. A session that was currently underway. 

Hermione lifted her chin, somehow finding the gaze of the one person who came to her mind as she thought of the others who had been summoned. Lee Jordan offered her a small, encouraging smile before nudging the closest twin. Fred looked up, appearing uncharacteristically peaking. All three of them, Lee, Fred and George, had been called up. 

The hall started to thin out as most of the student body got up to return to their common rooms. The Wireless was primed in the Gryffindor Common Room, ready for the House to listen to the proceedings as they were reported from outside the courtrooms. Just how much access the WWN would have, Hermione could only guess. While Harry’s session with the Wizengamot was closed, the rest of the trial would not be. 

By the time only the last stragglers remained in the Hall, mostly the witnesses waiting to be told what to do next, Professor McGonagall arrived with Remus and the Auror from earlier. 

“Students with summons to the Ministry, please would you come with us to my office,” McGonagall instructed. Ron made a disappointed huff as Hermione rose along with the others. 

“Good luck,” he mumbled, trying his best to not make a deal out staying behind, “see you and Harry later, yeah?”

“Of course,” she assured him before nervously leaving him at the table where he scowled at his last piece of toast. 

She hurried to catch up with the twins, both who had been frowning at their younger brother. 

“Let me guess, Ron’s sulking at being left out?” George asked her as she joined them. She just grimaced in response. Of course, his brothers would know his attitude better than most. Fred snorted, shaking his head incredulously.

“Only he would get jealous at not being picked to get questioned in front of the Wizengamot in a courtroom.” Fred said, causing George to roll his eyes. Hermione opened her mouth to reprimand them for being too hard on Ron, but she stopped herself, feeling a stab of guilt. She didn’t tell the twins that Ron had a good reason to feel left out considering how she and Harry were ‘going out’ now. Ron wasn’t just sulking about being left behind.

They joined the others but followed at the back. Lee appeared to be the most calm, but then he was used to talking to a crowd as he’d been commentating Quidditch matches for years. The gift of the gab was his talent, after all. His confidence making him the perfect addition to Fred and George’s mischievous trouble-making. 

Reaching McGonagall’s office, the witnesses all crammed into the room. The Auror, who Hermione then realised was the man who led the investigations in Hogwarts while she was in protective custody, explained to the nervous crowd that they were going to arrive at an antechamber outside the courtroom via portkey for their safety. Not through the Atrium as would be the usual manner of arriving. 

Their portkey ended up being a bicycle tire, big enough for them all to arrange themselves in a circle and press their fingers on the rubber. Hermione glanced around the group. Other than her, the twins and Lee, there were no other Gryffindors. Across from her was the sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect, Sarah Myles, then two Hufflepuffs from the fourth year who she didn’t know. Only one Slytherin joined their group, Daphne Greengrass, who briefly met Hermione’s gaze and pointedly looked away. Hermione eyed her with more curiosity than the others. Most Slytherins had sided with Umbridge and, as far as Hermione knew, Greengrass was friendly with Malfoy and his ilk. It was odd that she had testified against Umbridge and was willing to be publicly seen doing so. 

Robards placed his hand on the tire, along with Remus and McGonagall, surprising Hermione. She hadn’t realised that the two would be escorting them. 

Portkey travel was just as nauseating as Hermione remembered. Somehow, magical travel appeared incapable of being comfortable. Why did there have to be so much spinning? Floo travel was at least brief. Her shoulders were buffeted at both sides as she was hurtled through time and space, impossibly teleporting across the country towards London. Once it was over, she wasn’t alone in gracelessly dropping hard on her behind. Daphne, the adults and the Ravenclaw prefect were the only ones to stay on their feet.

They had arrived in a rather bleak, featureless room with a torch burning in the wall. Bare stone surrounded them with a ominous door set with metal trellis work securing them inside. Remus stepped over to Hermione to help her back on her feet, inquiring if she was alright. She had to take a couple of deep breaths to steady her roiling stomach before answering him. 

“I don’t like portkey travel,” she said in way of an answer. He chuckled in response. 

“Just wait until next year when you learn Apparition. You’ll find yourself appreciating portkeys a lot more,” he said jovially before moving to help the others. 

Robards stood at the door, frowning as he checked his pocket watch from his red robes. Grasping the handle, he eased the door open a crack to glean what was going on inside. There was movement on the other side. 

“Ah Gawain, you’re on time,” a slightly hoarse voice greeted from the courtroom as Robards opened the door wide, revealing another Auror who was standing guard. 

Hermione wasn’t alone as she shifted forwards in an effort to peek inside the courtroom. Professor McGonagall strode up to Robards. 

“Good morning, Proudfoot,” she greeted in her usual stern manner, “Is the court in recess?”

“Yes, Minerva. I’ll inform Madame Bones now that you’re ready to enter. She’ll want everyone seated before we reconvene,” the older Auror said, nodding respectfully to McGonagall. He abruptly turned to go about his business, leaving Robards to position himself in the doorway, taking his place as a guard. 

“Do you think Harry’s still here?” Fred whispered in Hermione’s ear, causing her to jump. 

“I… I’m not sure,” she said, discovering all the other witnesses staring at her. Of course, as she had already been deeply involved in the investigation, and close to Harry, they all assumed she knew what was going on. “I can’t see how anyone will be able to reach him so deep in the Ministry with so many here to protect him… and he deserves to watch justice carry out.”

“Damn right, he does,” Lee said fiercely, surprising her with his sudden fury. “That vile toad had it out for him from the start. I have no idea how he held out for so long without cracking.”

“That’s just who he is,” Hermione murmured under her breath, her heart swelling with pride for her ridiculously brave and stubborn boyfriend. “He’s a survivor. He survived Voldemort and he survived Umbridge and Fudge trying to ruin him. It’s never been Dumbledore who’s their real threat. It’s Harry. Going after him was a huge mistake.”

Her voice grew stronger and louder as she found her own fury surging to life. Daphne lifted her chin, her pale blue eyes surveying Hermione curiously down her aristocratic nose. Her eyes then narrowed and she motioned to speak. Before she did, footsteps interrupted her, coming from the courtroom. 

Madame Bones was instantly recognisable with her short hair, stern visage and glinting monocle. Dressed in black robes that would be at home in a muggle courtroom as well as a magical one, she strode directly up to Professor McGonagall, shaking her hand in greeting. Her gaze softened, adopting a familiar demeanour.

Both women then bowed their heads together, talking quietly in private, their words not discernable. Their brief conversation concluded, McGonagall turned to face the nervous students waiting and watching. 

“For those of you who don’t know, this is Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Madame Bones is the leading prosecutor and will be the one carrying out your cross-examinations.”

Madame Bones entered the room, offering a small smile as she regarded them each in turn. Her gaze settled on Hermione the longest, then clutched her hands together at her back. 

“I would like to first sincerely commend your bravery for testifying against a figure of authority and standing up against tyranny. In return, I will assure that justice is properly dispensed and the guilty parties are suitably punished for their crimes.”

Her firm words had Hermione’s heart racing as reality dawned suddenly. They truly were about to claim a victory. Fudge’s corruption and delusions of his autocratic power would not win, not while they had the law on their side. Between her and Harry, they had achieved something that Dumbledore failed to do. They found powerful allies actually willing to make a stand publicly rather than in the shadows with spies and secrets as their arsenal. They were fighting back and they were winning. 

Feeling dazed and oddly euphoric, Hermione eagerly entered when given permission to follow the Aurors into the courtroom. As her testimony corroborated Harry’s, she would be going first and so led the way with McGonagall at her side. The first thing she was aware of was the ominous atmosphere in the courtroom. The walls were all bare stone, making it clear that they were deep underground in repurposed catacombs. There were stands, half-vacated where wizards and witches in plum robes muttered between themselves. All conversations ended as the witnesses entered. A dense silence hung over them, punctured only by the sound of footsteps. 

Hermione’s gaze latched onto the chair set upon a platform in the centre, facing the raised stage where the prosecutors judged the condemned. Her heart gave an alarming leap when she realised that it was Umbridge, hunched over in the high-backed seat. Her shoulders and chained arms were all Hermione could see from the angle as she was led behind the seat towards stands that were positioned opposite the Wizengamot. 

Only two people sat in the witness pen. Hermione gasped as her gaze settled on a smiling Harry. Her soaring euphoria crescendoed, causing warmth to bloom. She, of course, immediately noticed that he was dressed the smartest she’d ever seen him before. He also appeared very relaxed and calm, lifting a hand even to wave at the others. Before they were led up the steps to join Harry, Robards turned to look back at them, causing them to come to a halt. Madame Bones had split from them, taking her position at the prosecution desk.

“Miss Granger?” Robards asked to which Hermione raised her hand at once. He smiled warmly and gestured for her to go with him. Separating from the others, he led her over to a narrow set of wooden steps. She swallowed, her euphoric dimming as her nerves returned. He was taking her to the witness stand. 

“This will be over before you know it,” the Auror kindly assured her once they were at the top of the stand. “I’m just going to search you to make sure you don’t have your wand or anything else, then you can take a seat.”

As he drew his wand and went about respectfully checking her robes, Hermione turned to look back over to Harry. He hadn’t stopped watching her, his smile gone where his gaze instead was full of concern.

“Are you okay?” Harry mouthed at her. She nodded.

“You?” She mouthed back. Harry just smiled again in response, a satisfied gleam entering his green eyes from behind his glasses. His gaze then flicked out to look in front. Hermione followed his gaze, her stomach twisting as she then caught a full look at Umbridge. 

From her elevated position, her view was very clear. Umbridge wasn’t looking at her, her face instead angled in front of her, her eyes full of simmering hate and rage as she watched Madame Bones assume her position. While Hermione knew Umbridge had been held in Azkaban, seeing the grey striped robes was a shock… as were the chains that bound the witch to the chair. Her hair, absent any silly pink bows, fell over her face in a mess, her skin greyish and sickly in appearance. 

Robards finished searching her, indicating that she should take a seat. Hermione nodded gratefully, glad to see that there was a glass of fresh water in front of her. She then lifted her chin to look over to the prosecutors. Cornelius Fudge glared down at his notes in front of him, his face tinged with pink. Beside him was Percy Weasley who was doing a good job of avoiding looking anywhere but his hands. A woman Hermione didn’t recognise sat at the far end, a little separate from the other three. 

Wizengamot members were returning to their seats. Hermione stiffened when a small group was escorted into the courtroom between a pair of Aurors. From the way they clutched their notepads and quills, it was clear that they were the approved reporters. The courtroom rooms then banged shut where they were then sealed. The members of the press hurried to their seats in the rather empty spectator seats. 

A loud bang at the judge stand snapped Hermione’s attention back over to where Madame Bones stood, wielding a gavel that she’d just used. 

“Court is in session. We resume the trial of Dolores Jane Umbridge who stands accused of the crimes of possession of a Dark magic artefact, use of the Dark Arts, child endangerment, and child abuse. Madame Umbridge also stands suspected of torture and conspiracy to murder.”

Murder?

Hermione recoiled in shock. She glanced over to Harry, but there was no hint of surprise. Instead, his mouth had settled into a grim line of determination. The other witnesses sat two benches below Harry. He wasn’t alone with Kingsley acting as his bodyguard and jailor. 

Her energised mind tried to speculate exactly what murder Umbridge had been plotting. As far as she was aware, there had been no real threats on Harry’s life during the school year. Threats and harm upon his person, certainly, but Umbridge surely wouldn’t go so far to actually kill Harry. 

Then something itched at the back of her mind. Harry’s life, his very soul, had been threatened. Not at Hogwarts, but before… when he had to use a patronus charm to save him and his cousin. Dementors under the apparent control of the Ministry had attacked him. 

A wave of cold washed over Hermione as the glaringly obvious sign of the Ministry’s corruption was so suddenly laid bare. When the dementors failed to silence Harry for good, the Minister then lobbied to have Harry expelled. 

If Umbridge truly did try to have Harry’s soul sucked out and there was evidence to prove her guilt, she would be facing a life sentence in Azkaban. 

Good riddance.

“For the benefit of the press who now join the proceedings, we shall release an abridged transcript for the first witness’s testimony for you to use. Further testimonies shall be available to the public as well as our concluding statements before we proceed into the verdict and sentence.” 

Madame Bones’s voice resonated around the room without the need of a sonorous charm to amplify her voice. The reporters all nodded their understanding as they set up their quills ready to scribble away their observations. Hermione noticed how each of them held their quills. It appeared quick-quote-quills weren’t permitted. 

“Now, onto our next witness. If she will please stand and state her full name to the court?”

Hermione wasn’t expecting the focus to turn to her so quickly. Drawing upon her own courage, she met Madame Bones’ gaze from the stand and rose to her feet. She pressed her hands on the surface in front of her to steady herself. Doing her utmost to draw upon her Gryffndor bravery, she spoke her name.

“Hermione Jean Granger.” 

“Will you give your vow to speak the truth while you stand as a witness?” 

Her research into magical law sprung into her mind as she gave the official response.

“I vow to speak the truth,” she promised, her voice confidently ringing out. She caught some movement in the corner of her eye from the witness benches but she kept her focus fixed on the prosecutor. Madame Bones’ mouth twitched in the corner.

“Miss Granger, can you confirm for the court that you are here to testify against Madame Umbridge as a witness?”

“I am,” Hermione answered, giving a very brief glance over to the Wizengamot, her skin crawling when she saw all the stares. 

“The accused will be unable to interrupt you while you are being questioned. Once we have finished our questioning of all witnesses and victims, we will then cross-examine the accused for their response. You have the right to remain in court once you stand down, but if you choose to stay, you will be unable to interrupt. If you make an attempt, you will be held in contempt.”

“I understand.”

Madame Bones nodded in response and regarded her documents. She pushed a file to one side, opening another. Bringing up one hand to adjust her monocle slightly, she surveyed Hermione once more. 

“Miss Granger, during the period which Madam Umbridge was acting in the position of the Defence Against The Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts and also appointed as the Ministry sanctioned ‘High Inquistor’, did you receive a detention with the former professor?”

A hushed silence fell over the courtroom as Hermione felt all attention fix upon her like multiple spotlights. 

“I was given a detention last Wednesday, but it’s the first time I had been given one,” Hermione answered as clearly as she could. 

“That is interesting as there is no record of disciplinary action on your report card,” Madame Bones said as she lifted up a file, showing the court. “Professor McGonagall has provided the prosecution with all the report cards of the students who have been summoned as witnesses. I have Miss Granger’s here as well… and there is no mention of a detention at all. Not from Madame Umbridge or any other professor at the school this year.”

Hermione felt a sick twist in her stomach, gritting her teeth. Of course Umbridge didn’t record her detention. She likely thought herself above needing to to such practices once she usurper the position of Headteacher from Dumbledore. 

“Can you please tell us why you were given disciplinary action?”

Gladly, Hermione thought savagely as she then lowered her gaze down on Umbridge. 

“I wrote and sent a letter to you, Madame Bones, to provide you with testimonies from me and other students in the school who wished to stand up for Harry’s defence when he was arrested for conspiracy.”

“This is the first time I have heard of corresponding with the Ministry to be against the school rules,” Madame Bones said coolly, “yet I am to understand that there were Ministry-approved sanctions put into place to restrict the movement of information and control the channels of communication at the school.”

Fudge shifted in place, sourly glancing across to Madame Bones. “I believe we must attest to the legality of these measures as I believe they are in fact a breach of the young wizards and witches in the school of their rights as citizens of Magical Britain. I am astounded that they were passed at all… but that is a matter for another time.”

The ice in her voice almost had the temperature sinking as surely as if a dementor had entered the room. Hermione felt her respect towards the impressive witch rise ever more. 

“Miss Granger, can you please describe what you were told to do during your unsanctioned detention?”

Quite involuntarily, Hermione’s gaze drifted over to the witness bench. She found Harry at once, his eyes shining with encouragement. He dipped his chin, all she needed to add her nail to Umbridge’s coffin. 

“I know that Harry has given his testimony and he has more concrete evidence, considering his detentions left him actually scarred,” Hermione told them all, her fire complimenting Madame Bones’ ice. “I was fortunate to only have an hour before my detention was interrupted and cut short, but I got to experience first hand what that… that vile excuse of a witch did to him.” She looked away from Harry to fix her heated gaze upon Madame Bones, “I had to use the same cursed quill, the one that draws blood from the one using it as ink while cutting into the back of the hand. I had to cut the words ‘I will not question authority’ into my own hand while she watched and enjoyed my pain.”

Her anger stirred some disapproving mutters from the Wizengamot, but she didn’t care. They wanted her testimony and she’d give it. There was no way that Umbridge was going to get away with what she did to Harry. Like McGonagall said - it was a mistake for them to try to silence a lion’s roar. 

“During Mr Potter’s own cross-examination earlier this morning, he informed us that only you and your mutual friend knew about what he was going through while alone with Madame Umbridge during his detentions. Did you inform any members of staff at the school or anyone else of his mistreatment?”

Hermione felt blood rush to her face, feeling Harry’s stare upon her along with everyone else’s.

“No… no, I didn’t.” She let out a long breath as her face warmed. “Harry believed that there wasn’t anyone with the power to help him and… after some convincing from him, I ended up agreeing with him. We had very little reason to believe that anyone could overrule Umbridge when she had the Minister on her side. All the bad publicity about Harry had done its damage so we truly felt like we were on our own.”

“Even though you were aware that Madame Umbridge was breaking the law?”

“Forgive me, Madame Bones, but exactly who could we have turned to?” Hermione asked as she leant forwards on her hands. Her heart hammered in her chest as adrenaline spiked through her. Finally, she had a chance to speak her mind and an audience to listen. “Exactly who could we trust? From our perspective, Umbridge was the law. She represented the Ministry and undermined all the staff at the school. Harry didn’t have anyone he could confide in other than me and Ron, no one who could come to his aid. I certainly didn’t… not when my parents are muggles.”

Silence shuddered in the wake of her words. Hermione found herself shaking with the force of her emotions. She turned her glare over to the Wizengamot next. 

“Harry and I have both only really been a part of wizarding kind for over five years and in that time, we’ve had nothing to show that the people in charge have our best interests at heart. All we’ve seen just shows that those in power will do anything to stay in power. I can list off multiple examples where the well-being of the students at Hogwarts were neglected just so the Ministry could save face. So, no, we didn’t believe that it mattered whether Umbridge broke the law or not. You’ve never cared about us before so why now?”

The reporters were furiously scribbling. Hermione had forgotten about them and felt her face heat up some more. She ignored them as best as she could, her eyes stinging a little as she began to fear that she’d gone too far. To her surprise, Madame Bones had her hands pressed on her temples as she glared down at the document before her. The silence lengthened as she sat still. Fudge then cleared his throat, catching Hermione’s attention, but he didn’t speak. He had, however, lost his angered pink flush. His face had since drained of colour and he’d lowered himself in his seat, appearing diminished. 

“One last line of questioning, Miss Granger,” Madame Bones said after a few long, drawn out moments, her voice losing its cold firmness as she looked up at her. 

“If I may protest-,” The Minister went to interrupt. Madame Bones lifted a single finger, silencing him. 

“Your protest is noted, Cornelius. I, however, agree utterly with Miss Granger’s perspective. They had absolutely no reason to trust the Ministry would protect them and that… that is your fault,” her cutting voice made the man flinch. “Unless you wish to find yourself in that seat… I suggest you refrain from condemning yourself any further.” 

Her raised finger pointed to Umbridge’s chair. Fudge’s face lost more colour. 

“As I was saying,” Madame Bones continued, reminding Hermione very strongly of Professor McGonagall, “I have just one further line of questioning. Miss Granger, I am aware that you and Mr Potter have been close friends for a while and a close confidant as well. Mr Potter was very forthright in the event that led to his original disciplinary action from Madame Umbridge. He informed the court that he lost his temper and accused her of lying. Is that true?”

Hermione didn’t look in Harry’s direction. 

“Harry wasn’t the only student to speak up during that first lesson, but yes, he was the only one to lose his temper. Harry stood up, walked in front of Umbridge’s desk and said ‘According to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord.’ She replied by saying that his death was an accident. I would… like to point out here that Madame Umbridge wasn’t a witness to these events - she wasn’t at Hogwarts and neither did she see Cedric’s b-body or what Harry was like afterwards.”

She paused for a moment, worried that she was going off topic. Madame Bones gave her a small wave.

“You may continue,” she said softly.

“If anyone would know what really happened that evening when Cedric… died, it would be Harry. He was the one who brought him back with the portkey. So when Umbridge punished Harry for lying about what happened, it was unjust, because she doesn’t know if what he says is the truth or not. She wasn’t there. She has no evidence to dispute his claims. If Harry had been making up lies on the spot to upset people, maybe a detention would be justified, but he was standing up for himself. He was the only witness! She could accuse him of being confused, but to accuse him of lying? That… that doesn’t make sense. Not unless she had firm proof to say otherwise.”

Madame Bones smiled across from her. From that alone, Hermione knew her words had sealed Umbridge’s fate. She could sense the appreciation from one smart woman towards another… a comrade in their fight against tyranny. 

“Thank you, Miss Granger. That will be all.”

 

---

 

As much as Sirius didn’t want to admit it, Albus Dumbledore was brilliant. The plan he managed to concoct after a rather impressive amount of mead was genius. As bizarre as it was impressive, the plan did involve Sirius spending a lot of time in his animagus form. 

As Dumbledore maintained the guise of a blind man making use of a guide-dog to make his way through the London Underground, the muggle staff were more than happy to assist them to reach their trains. Sirius felt a little bad for their deception as the men who helped treated Albus very kindly despite his disability. It was worlds apart from how wizards treated the infirm and lame. They were also very friendly towards him, giving him many pats and ruffles, ensuring that he was a ‘good boy’. One had even tried to sneak him half a sandwich before his colleague told him that he wasn’t sure if dogs could eat bread. 

Sirius performed his act well enough, used to surviving as a lovable stray after his year on the run. His coat was sleeker than usual and the harness he had to wear as an aide for his blind ‘owner’ was uncomfortable, but he enjoyed the freedom. As lonely and touch-starved as he was, he also enjoyed the touch of the muggle staffs’ hands as they stroked him. The unassuming kindness of strangers was such a foreign concept… and it left a very bittersweet taste in his mouth as he led Dumbledore down the platform of Embankment station to the service door. While Dumbledore’s eyes were milky with feigned blindness, he wasn’t actually blind. His disguise was very good, however, his beard shaved away and hair cut back to expose his full face. 

No one knew how Dumbledore looked without his beard after all.  

It had shocked Sirius when he saw him clean shaven. Rather than appearing older with every wrinkle and line exposed, the effect made him seem younger. Dumbledore didn’t appear to be all his hundred plus years, though he was withdrawn and tired, his magical power gave him vigour where any other man his age would have perished long ago. Without his characteristic blue eyes and white beard, he appeared like an old man. Easily dismissable. And no one on the London Underground would ever suspect a blind man and his guide dog to be two wizards. 

It didn’t really matter if the cameras caught them sneaking into the staff-only area off the platform. By the time anyone came to investigate, they’d be untraceable. Once the door shut behind them, Sirius transformed back into his human form, the harness pinging free as he grew too large. Dumbledore was at work sealing the door while Sirius removed the evidence with his own wand. He stretched out his neck and arms, adjusting his different muscles and senses for a moment.

“Are you alright to continue?” Dumbledore asked him, startling Sirius for a moment as he had to face the unfamiliar yet familiar visage that Albus Dumbledore currently sported. His milky cataracts were gone at least so his piercing blue eyes were recognisable enough for him to ground himself. 

“Yes, lead the way,” Sirius said, jerking his head down the corridor. Dumbledore nodded curtly, rushing off with a speed that wasn’t normal for a wizard of his advanced years. 

“As a younger man, I had reason to suspect that the Ministry would arrest me… and I won’t go into detail why… but I took measures to save myself if I was unlawfully detained,” Dumbledore started to speak as they made their jaunt to their destination. Sirius sighed, expecting a monologue. “It happened very often during those years. Often enough that I knew that my position at Hogwarts wouldn’t protect me. The Ministry had already prevented me from teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts in fear of me influencing students in some way… but those fears were unfounded and dismissed eventually. I never lost that fear, however, which is why… I have this particular secret.”

Dumbledore stopped at the end of the corridor, unlocking the door wandlessly before opening it. They emerged then onto the train tracks in the tunnel. Dumbledore leaned against the wall and Sirius did the same, understanding full well why. 

“I marked out a map on my knee, one that would point out an escape route from the Ministry if I needed it. Not up through the Atrium, but down into the muggle London Underground. I sketched out the lines of the tunnels so even if I was without a wand or anything, I still would have a map. I was… rather extreme in my younger years.” 

Sirius stared at Dumbledore’s back, stunned. “You carved a map in your own skin?”

Dumbledore chuckled as he slowed. “I did and it’s really only now that it's of any use. There is a junction down this tunnel that will lead to a maintenance shaft. From there, we only require a few reductor hexes to breach the Ministry walls.”

It took a fair while to reach the junction. Sirius’s heart nearly stopped too many times when a train hurtled down the tunnel at speed just a couple of feet from where he was pressed against the curved wall. It was stuffy in the tunnel. His fears were prickling as his mind circled continuously to Harry. They were just a mile apart, if that, maybe closer. 

Eventually, they made it to the junction just as a train tore past them. The air tugged against Sirius as it sped on. He threw himself down the service tunnel after Dumbledore, eager to get away from the train tracks. He swept his arm over his sweaty brow and followed in pace. 

“Okay, you’ve convinced me that you know a way into the Ministry. Our plan once we’re inside, though.”

Dumbledore looked back at him, his blue eyes twinkling in the electric lights. 

“It will work, Sirius. No one has ever breached the Ministry this way. Whether we are caught or not, all that matters is that the prophecy stays out of Voldemort’s clutches.”

Sirius shook his head.

“No, Harry is all that matters. Removing this prophecy protects him and I’ll give everything to protect my kid.” With that, he rushed past Dumbledore, his wand raised. “Point me to the wall we need to blast down and I’ll do it, Professor. It’s time we start this heist.”

Chapter 16: Guilty

Summary:

Courtroom stuff and DOM stuff.

Hermione’s impassioned words had set fire to Harry’s soul, her stalwart defence of him and fierce fighting spirit made him want to run up to the stand and join her. He couldn’t, stuck on the bench, separated from the others. He wasn’t allowed to talk or move from his position, magically shackled to Kingsley who acted as his guard as well as his supervisor. 

Hermione had joined the others on the bench below where he’d been positioned. They communicated as best they could through looks alone, but it was hard for him to convey the turmoil inside him. He just witnessed his best friend, his girlfriend, speak like a lawyer and get her point across. He knew Hermione was not afraid of speaking her mind, but seeing it… watching her accuse the entire Ministry of negligence… made him want to hug and kiss her the moment he could. 

The next witnesses weren’t as exciting as Hermione’s testimonies. Fred and George went up together and were clear about their experiences. Harry hadn’t been aware that they both had detentions. The pair told the court that they didn’t speak out because they feared their dad would lose his job if they did. Most of the other witnesses said much the same thing. 

What surprised Harry the most was Daphne Greengrass. 

He had barely said a word to her before in his life, yet there she was, testifying against Umbridge and her fellow Slytherins who had been in cahoots with her. Daphne told the court that Umbridge instructed those in Slytherin to watch Harry and trail him if possible, then report his movements to her. Then she stunned Harry completely when she looked directly at him and said clearly.

“My family and I believe what Harry Potter says. We believe that He Who Must Not Be Named is back.”

After the last witness was called, there was a break. A fair few members of the Wizengamot left the courtroom. Meanwhile, Amelia Bones had descended from the stand to speak with Umbridge. Harry watched on curiously before remembering that now all the witnesses had testified, it was Umbridge’s turn to be cross-examined. The reporters had been escorted out as the next stage would not be public. 

“Do you need a comfort spell?” Kingsley asked him quietly at his side. Harry shook his head, flashing Kingsley a grateful look. While he knew he was permitted to speak while the court was in recess, he didn’t want to risk doing anything that Fudge could use against him. Staying put and silent felt like a safe decision, even though he was aching to launch himself down the benches to where Hermione had her head bowed towards Lee who spoke in her ear while she nodded in agreement with whatever he was saying. 

When Fudge returned, the last to reappear, he pointedly ignored the witness stands and the students glaring at him as he passed them. There was a slightly diminished air about him as if he’d only just realised that his reputation was sinking along with Umbridge, his fate chained to her own. From the low hissing sounds coming from the Wizengamot, a ‘vote of no confidence’ was seeming more and more likely. A hush soon fell once Amelia stood at her position in the centre of the stage, hammering her gavel against the block. Harry narrowed his eyes at Fudge, trying to get the man to break his resolve and glance over. He wanted to see a hint of remorse or guilt for what he subjected Hogwarts to in his crusade for total control. Instead, the man looked down at Umbridge, fixing an expression of disgust on his face as if he wasn’t just as compliant. 

“Court proceedings will now resume,” Amelia announced clearly, her voice ringing out around the vast space. “Madame Umbridge, as a citizen of Wizarding Britain, you have the right to speak in your defence before the Wizengamot. Before I question you on the charges you face for the crimes that you have committed, you have the right to plead guilty or not guilty. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has charged you for the following: possession of a Dark magic artefact, use of the Dark Arts, child endangerment, and child abuse.”

Silence settled over the court when Amelia paused, reaching for one of her many documents before her. 

“I have before me the report that Auror Gawain Robards submitted upon his authorised search of Madame Umbridge’s office at Hogwarts School. Amongst the testimonies he and his team collected from the students, he discovered evidence to support these testimonies – particularly the one which Mr Potter presented himself during his incarceration. I also have… the most disturbing article of evidence of them all to present before the Wizengamot which shall give a very clear picture of the sort of witch stands accused.”

Her voice had turned cold and curt, many Harry’s hairs stand on end. She reached for a wooden chest which had been delivered to her stand during the recess. Harry recognised it as the very one which she had with her during Umbridge’s interview. The sound of the lock clicking echoed loudly before she opened it. 

Amelia removed a very familiar black quill from the chest and held it up high. Even from the distance, Harry could see the sharp tip. His right hand flinched involuntarily, the memory of the pain flashing through him briefly. 

“Madame Umbridge, for the crime of possessing a dark magic artefact, how do you plead?”

Umbridge drew in a sharp breath, her face turning in the direction of Fudge, before opening her mouth to speak. 

“Guilty.”

Harry jumped when she spoke, not expecting her voice to be as clear and steady. He felt sickened at the absence of any guilt in her flat, hateful stare. 

“By extension, use of this artefact counts as the use of the Dark Arts. The curse to extract blood from a victim is regarded as Dark magic, the primary function of this quill. For the use of the Dark Arts, how do you plead?”

“Guilty,” Umbridge said again, tipping her head back as a sick look of smugness settled over her face. 

“And for your other two charges of child endangerment and child abuse?”

“Guilty.”

Her voice lowered in volume and her gaze swung slowly to where the witnesses were watching. Hate returned in her flat eyes as she looked right at Harry, her nose twitching. 

“Naughty children deserve to be punished. You should be rewarding me for teaching that boy a lesson he will never forget.”

Fierce rage blazed through him as she had the sheer nerve to be proud of what she did. He could sense the sentiment spreading through the room like a wildfire as angered hisses set off around him and across from him. 

“Thank you for bringing us to that subject, Madame Umbridge. You face multiple counts of misusing corporal punishment upon underaged students, but you are also suspected of the use of torture and attempted murder of Harry Potter.”

Every pair of eyes were drawn to where Harry sat rigid on the bench. He could feel the blood draining from his face as he looked over to Amelia, finding her monocle aimed right at him. 

Murder?

Confusion blasted his thoughts apart. He’d admit that the use of the blood quill could be argued as torture, being made to cut into his own hand, but when had she tried to kill him? 

“Murder?” Fudge suddenly spluttered, apparently sharing in Harry’s bewilderment. 

“Indeed,” Amelia loomed over to where Umbridge sat, simmering in her poisonous rage while confined in chains, “but we shall get onto that last as the most serious of offences as it is my belief that it is just the top of a mountain of corruption and conspiracy at the heart of the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry settled back, dazed, still trying to figure out when exactly Umbridge tried to kill him. Did being made to write in his own blood count? He must have lost a lot of blood during those detentions after all. He caught Hermione looking back at him and she mouthed a word at him. He frowned, confused, as she then mouthed it again. 

Dementors.

Igniting like a fuse, the revelation sparked in his befuddled head. He turned his shocked gaze over to Umbridge. The memory replayed in his mind, back when he had sat in a courtroom very similar. 

“So silly of me. But it sounded for a teensy moment as though you were suggesting that the Ministry of Magic had ordered an attack on this boy! ” 

Umbridge had said those very words.

And then Fudge had said.

“There are no dementors outside Ministry control!” 

“Oh my God,” Harry muttered under his breath before clapping his hand over his mouth. Kingsley cleared his throat, covering up for him. 

Across from him, however, his remark hadn’t been noticed as Fudge was whispering furiously in Amelia’s ear, his face having turned a violent shade of dark pink. She then turned, silencing him with a single look. 

“You will sit down, Cornelius… because I have a charge written in my office along with records of dementors being authorised for your personal use. I collected these when visiting Azkaban when I went to escort Madame Umbridge from the prison myself. I have long since had my suspicions for how far you would go to remain in power, but this? You should be appalled at how far you have fallen, Minister. ”

Fudge dropped down into his seat, making a small ‘eep’ like sound. He then finally looked up and right at Harry, his mouth agape with shock and horror. Then his eyes bugged, going round as he then snapped his gaze down to Umbridge. 

“What have you done, Dolores!” He yelled out, his voice pitching up. “You… you bloody sent dementors to kiss the boy?”

Shocked gasps rippled through the Wizengamot. 

Bang! 

Amelia seized her gavel furiously and crashed it against the block, calling for order. Fudge actually shut up. Harry, shaking in his rage, had to grip his robes tightly to stop himself from rising. He could see Lee having put his arm over Hermione’s shoulders, likely stopping her from doing the same. 

“Another word, Cornelius, and you will be held in contempt. You no longer have a voice or vote in this tribunal as your involvement impacts the legitimacy of our verdict. Leave or be silent! ”

Harry had witnessed someone inflate before – literally in Aunt Marge’s case. Now he bore witness to someone deflating. At least, it was the best analogy he could come up with as Fudge’s bluster drained out of him like air leaving a balloon. Amelia Bones towered over him as if she was as tall as Hagrid while he shrunk down in his seat, power leaking out of him as if he had a puncture. Just like that, a Minister had been toppled. 

All because, in his pride, he wouldn’t accept Amelia’s offer to step down gracefully. 

“As for the crime of torture,” Amelia’s voice resonated in the courtroom once more as she turned her cold glare down on the accused, “we heard from Mr Potter what he was original disciplined for. An outburst is hardly a warrant for torture, no matter what was said. Such disruptive behaviour would require discipline, of course, but usually punishments fit the offence. For the Wizengamot’s benefit, I questioned four Hogwarts professors, each with long careers at the school, for how they would discipline such behaviour.”

She cleared her throat, picking up a document from in front of her. 

“Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, has taught at Hogwarts for over thirty years. She informed me that disruptive behaviour such as Mr Potter demonstrated in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class would have first been met with a warning, then points deducted, then if his behaviour escalated, she would make him leave the classroom and wait in the corridor until the end of class, at which she would give a detention once cooled off.”

It did sound very much like what she would have done.

“Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout gave me similar responses, though Professor Sprout said she would also speak to Mr Potter privately to see if he needed to talk to someone. In her words, disruptive behaviour always has a reason and it would have been unlike Mr Potter to lose his temper unnecessarily.”

“Lastly, I spoke with Severus Snape who has been the Potion Master at Hogwarts for fourteen years.”

Harry winced. 

“He also specified that a detention would suffice and said that he would make it unpleasant to teach him a lesson. I asked for clarification and he provided me with a rather comprehensive list of punishments, none of which use corporal punishment or pain as a motivator.”

Oddly surprised, Harry looked over to where Hermione sat. It was a strangely reasonable response from a teacher who hated his guts. A horrible cold sensation then spread through him as he realised something very suddenly. It hadn’t truly sunk in yet that Umbridge’s treatment of him actually had been torture. 

“I will reiterate for the Wizengamot precisely what punishment Mr Potter was given for being disruptive and insulting his teacher. I have before me evidence from a medical examination which Mr Potter agreed to while in Ministry custody. From between 4th and 9th of September, the total number of cursed lacerations inflicted upon Mr Potter was six hundred and sixty. Now the charm registered the injury as one single cut, but Mr Potter was told to write the line ‘I must not tell lies’. The sentence has fourteen letters so… in reality we are looking at over nine thousand cuts.”

Harry shuddered, ducking his head as he felt attention settle on him like a spotlight. 

Nine thousand cuts.

“That is torture,” Amelia announced, “all in favour, raise your hands.”

At once, every member of the Wizengamot raised a hand, causing a shiver to go down Harry’s spine. There it was, confirmed by the ruling body of Wizarding Britain. He’d been tortured. 

“Based on the savagery and severity of punishment, I can only conclude that Madame Umbridge targeted Mr Potter with the sole intent of inflicting bodily harm upon his person. This was not an act of discipline, but an act of cruelty. Madame Umbridge, I will ask you this. Did you target Mr Potter with the intent to torture him into submission?”

Umbridge suddenly rocked herself forwards, causing the chains around her arms to clank. A wild, deranged look distorted her features as she looked desperately between Fudge and Amelia. She then twisted, trying to look at Harry, baring her teeth in a half-feral smile. 

“He deserved it!”

“I will take that as a ‘yes’,” Amelia said coolly, “and were you responsible for authorising two dementors to track down Mr Potter and remove his soul, effectively killing him?”

“Something had to be done!” Umbridge shrilly cried out, twisting to look over beseechingly at the Wizengamot. “Everything we have built over the last decade. We had order and peace and this boy threatens all we have made.”

“Harry Potter is the reason we have peace, you fat toad!” The shout came from across the room from the Wizengamot, an elderly witch with a very ornate hairstyle who had leapt up from her bench. 

“Hear, hear!”

“You’re a disgrace to magic!”

Amelia hammered the gavel down as the angered Wizengamot started to rouse. Harry’s face flamed at their response. 

“I see no reason in prolonging this any longer,” Amelia Bones declared, “the verdict for the crimes of possessing a Dark Magic Artefact, using the Dark Arts on minors, Child Endangerment and Abuse, Torture and Attempted Murder. Those in favour of declaring Dolores Umbridge as Guilty of these crimes, raise your hands.”

Harry sat forwards, stunned as things quickly progressed towards the verdict. His own Hearing had ended just as abruptly. He watched in shocked awe as every single member of the Wizengamot raised their hands. Umbridge let out a wordless scream, thrashing forwards. Gawain Robards stirred from where he stood guard, his wand flashing as he cast a silencing charm. Umbridge’s mouth remained open in a silent scream. Amelia nodded gratefully at him as the Wizengamot members lowered their hands as they voted.

“Dolores Jane Umbridge, your wand shall be snapped forthwith. For the crimes which you have been found guilty of committing, you will be interred in Azkaban for a life sentence. No parole. The act of harming innocent children, our progeny and future, is unforgivable. The parents of the children you terrorised and the victims themselves deserve justice. We shall see it done.”

Her gavel slammed down with complete finality.

 

---

 

With a name like ‘The Department of Mysteries’, Sirius had expectations for a creepy and sinister place. Mind-bending corridors that led into timeless loops, experimental magic that defied all laws of reality… he expected to have his mind blown to pieces with what he saw. As he followed a beardless Albus Dumbledore through a chamber of black marble and green tiled walls, he was rather disappointed. 

When they breached the outer wall of the Ministry, their break-in met with no dramatic response. Instead, he just shuffled through rumble into what looked like a normal office. Nothing mysterious about it. Dumbledore didn’t delay, ushering Sirius into the room before casting a few spells to check for any attacks. Their loud arrival hadn’t raised any alarms. Dusting himself off, Sirius kept in step with the older man, clutching his wand close to his chest as he searched for attackers hiding in the wings. Eventually, they emerged in a circular chamber with many black doors. 

As the chamber wall started to spin around them, Sirius realised that perhaps there was something mysterious about the place. It apparently wanted to make him throw up. 

“Interesting. It appears that there are some magical defences in place to throw off trespassers,” Dumbledore commented once the spinning walls stopped and they were left clueless about which door they had arrived through. 

“I suppose it will be wishful thinking to expect that you know where we are going?” Sirius ventured to ask. Dumbledore let out a light chuckle as he removed the glamour on his face that gave him the guise of someone blind. His blue eyes cleared, sharp and wary. 

“I’m afraid so, though I admire your optimism,” he said brightly, striding purposefully towards one of the doors. “I believe we are going to have to rely on the age-old tactic of the process of elimination.”

Shoulders slumping, Sirius followed as he mumbled “great” under his breath.

“Keep your wits about you, Sirius,” Dumbledore warned once they entered an airy chamber, large like the courtrooms above them. He stopped short and Sirius nearly walked right into him. Frowning, he looked past Dumbledore to where the chamber sunk down into a pit with tiers going down like some sort of amphitheatre. 

His hairs then stood on end as he stared at the centrepiece in the middle of the sunken floor. There was a round plinth with a crumbled archway in the centre. Hanging from it was a torn curtain, a sort of aged gossamer that rustled slightly in a faint breeze.

“Nothing is as it seems,” Dumbledore said quietly, “and we will be wise to stay clear from things that appear innocent. I fear that the more harmless something looks, the more dangerous it will be. Come… this isn’t what we are looking for.”

“What are the chances we have Death Eaters posted here?” Sirius asked as he followed Dumbledore back into the circular chamber. The walls immediately began spinning. “Oh, great… we should have marked that door so we don’t go back through it.”

“Excellent thinking and as for chances of running into Death Eaters, I would say we should expect anything. I doubt Voldemort will have Nagini waiting for us as he did for poor Arthur, but it is not his way to leave what he covets unprotected.”

When the chamber reset, Sirius made the move to choose a door. Seizing the handle of the nearest one, he wrenched it open. When he turned, he saw the hint of Dumbledore’s trouser leg disappearing through another. He sighed. 

“So much for sticking together.”

Sirius emerged in a weird library of sorts. Sirius looked around, eyes wide as he saw how the ceiling wasn’t a ceiling at all but a fathomless night’s sky filled with stars.

“Well… definitely in the Department of Mysteries.”

“This isn’t it,” Dumbledore said, appearing behind him. Sirius jumped, not having heard his approach. “Mark the door as you suggested. I know what we’re looking for so we can make better time if we pick a door each.”

“Right…” Sirius backtracked, using his wand to mark a cross on the black wood. “And what are we looking for exactly?”

“Time,” Dumbledore said simply. Sirius shook his head, knowing that he shouldn’t have asked. 

“Why is there no one down here?” Sirius asked when the wall came to a rest once more. “There should be Unspeakables… some security, surely?”

“Yes, it is a little disturbing, I admit,” Dumbledore said softly, bringing his fingers up to his hairless chin. Sirius still had a hard time dealing with a beard-less Albus Dumbledore. “Not for the reasons you think. I fear they may be a little too interested in the current trial going on upstairs. Harry has… always been a person of interest to the Department of Mysteries, being a mystery himself.”

Sirius rounded on Dumbledore in an instant, anger flaring through him like a storm. 

“ What? ”

“They observe, Sirius, that is all,” Dumbledore said firmly, fixing him with a stare that did not twinkle. Feeling physically sick, Sirius rested a hand on his brow, heart thudding in his chest. The mere thought of Harry being tested on like a curiosity and nothing more… it made him want to blow up the place from the bottom up. 

“If they so much as touch him, I’ll-.”

His growled threat ended as the wall stopped spinning. He drew in a deep breath, working to get his temper under control. Dumbledore then grasped his shoulder, standing at his full height, making Sirius look up at him. As he did, he felt the chill of Dumbledore’s power emanating him, a cold fury of a power that was the only thing that Voldemort feared. 

“I agree… with almost every violent thought in your mind right now, Sirius. I may have not shown it as I should have, but I care for Harry a great deal. Make no mistake. I would never have let an Unspeakable close to Harry and they knew this fact. As for right now, Harry is safe from them while in protective custody.”

Sirius let out his breath, nodding, shooting up a glance at Dumbledore’s face. Releasing him, Dumbledore picked an unmarked door. Glimpsing past him, Sirius saw shimmering light coming from within. 

“Ah, this is what we are looking for,” Dumbledore announced, striding through. 

Following close behind, Sirius realised rather quickly why Dumbledore had given such an enigmatic answer earlier. The shimmering light came from a huge hourglass set as a centrepiece in the chamber. All around them, there were clocks, ticking discordantly out of time. Sirius stared, mouth agape, as he witnessed a hummingbird inside the huge hourglass flittering away, only to sink down to the bottom chamber where it became encased within an egg.

“Time,” he murmured, awed. His eyes widened as he saw a workstation like something expected at a goldsmith’s. Tiny hourglasses glittered on a shelf above a bench where golden mountings were being prepared.

Time turners.

He’d only seen one in the flesh and it had been the one that saved his soul. 

At the sound of a door creaking open, Sirius looked over to see Dumbledore a few steps ahead, heading into the adjoining room. Leaving the hourglass, Sirius headed over and gasped as he entered a church-like room with a high ceiling. It resembled a library with towering shelves, only in place of books, there were small orbs. The silence in the room was thick and weighted, making him on edge at once. Sirius lurched forwards, grasping the back of Dumbledore’s coat.

“We’re being watched,” Sirius said, sensing it. That uncanny awareness that it wasn’t safe. Rather than dismissing his remark as paranoia, Dumbledore straightened and raised his wand. 

“We must make haste,” Dumbledore said in a hushed voice. “Row ninety seven is the one we are after.”

They set off at a run, footsteps loudly echoing in the high-vaulted space. There were so many orbs, Sirius couldn’t comprehend just how many. He glanced at the silvery numbers that marked the rows, keeping track until they both skidded to a halt at ninety seven. Dumbledore muttered something under his breath as he took the left side of the row, his wand lit as he searched the shelves. 

Sirius spun on his heel, watching with his wand raised. He could feel the presence, the danger lurking. 

“It’s here, Sirius,” Dumbledore called to him. 

Rushing over, Sirius wasted on time as he joined the older man at the shelves. He looked up, finding the orb where Dumbledore’s wand bathed it in a soft white light. The writing on the yellowing label was clear to read. 

 

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord and (?)
Harry Potter 

 

Anger surged back to life as Sirius read the label. He glared at the object that had been a death sentence for his best friend and his family. He could feel his magic prickling at his fingertips, his need to destroy the infernal item driving his arm upwards. He’d destroy them all. All the orbs… all the prophecies that had the power to destroy lives like James and Lily’s. 

Fury powered his magic before his intent caught up. He didn’t need an incantation. Blasting out of his wand, his bombardment hex exploded out. Dumbledore cast a shield over them to deflect the debris. Before them, wooden shelves and orbs alike were reduced to shards as Sirius let his magic loose. He didn’t know he was yelling until he felt his throat shredding. 

Destruction. 

Before him, hundreds of voices murmured as wisps of broken prophecies rose from the wasteland of wood and glass. They rose up where they dissipated, lost forever. Sirius heaved in a breath, his face sweaty where he had unloaded raw magic. He hadn’t just destroyed the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort, but all of them in front of him. He couldn’t even make out the shards of glass that belonged to which. 

“We most certainly have the Unspeakables attention now,” Dumbledore said urgently as he snatched Sirius’s elbow. “Transform, Sirius. You can run faster as a dog.”

“But you?”

“We have done what we set out to do,” Dumbledore then swallowed, eyes gleaming with a multitude of emotions. “Go. It is better for me to be caught than you. I’m an old man, Sirius, and it’s about time I realise this. You were right… Harry is what matters.”

Just as Sirius went to protest, light blitzed across from the other side of the room. It arched upwards, then settled down over where he and Dumbledore stood. Sirius recognised it… a revelio spell. 

“Now, Sirius!” Dumbledore shouted. “Go!”

Dumbledore pushed Sirius away from him just as a purple jet rippled towards them. Sirius crashed down on the floor as Dumbledore effortlessly erected a shield and launched destructive spells in succession, blasting more shelves and orbs into smithereens in the process. Sirius caught sight of someone running, dressed in grey. Heart heavy despite his feelings towards Dumbledore, he pulled inwards for Padfoot. 

Shifting into his canine form, Sirius bolted away from the fight. He just had to hope that he was doing the right thing. Once he re-entered the time chamber, a shrill alarm then rang out. With his dog hearing, it had him crashing against the wall from the onslaught. A red sizzling stunning charm burned on the ground next to him, narrowly missing. He wasted no time then, ambling back into the chamber with the spinning wall. 

The way out! I need the way out!

Miraculously, his urgent thoughts brought him to the dull offices where they had originally arrived. He hasted inside, turning back into his human form so he could seal the doors. He hesitated at the precipice, debating charging back in and saving Dumbledore, but he stopped himself. His recklessness had cost Harry so much already, he couldn’t afford the same to happen again. Hand itching when he clutched his wand, Sirius escaped.

Though he left devastation in his wake.

Chapter 17: The Mastermind

Summary:

Amelia and Albus clash while Harry and Hermione grab a moment's respite.

If there was anything capable of sinking Amelia Bones’s triumphant mood, a security breach that made her look like an incompetent fool was right at the top. It was kept quiet at least, as most things were that happened in the depths of the Department of Mysteries. She had at least some time to relish in delivering justice at last to the corrupt cretins that had been tarnishing every damn thing the Ministry should stand for. They were the laughing stock of the wizarding world with buffoons like Cornelius Fudge taking charge. Fortunately, the said buffoon had swiftly departed the Ministry with his tail between his legs before the reporters cornered him about his involvement with Umbridge. 

When the memo landed on her desk, one firewhisky in, Amelia had to adjust her monocle a few times before hastily making her way down into Level nine. She always hated the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables saw themselves as a law unto themselves, keeping their secrets and mysteries hidden. Much of what they dabbled in came close to illegal if not was illegal and nothing was documented. It was a bureaucratic nightmare and one she didn’t want any involvement with. Thus far in her career, she hadn’t needed to involve herself with their affairs. Most of the time, they kept quiet. It wasn’t since she discovered the existence of a whole hall full of prophecies that she became aware that the location was a top target of Lord Voldemort. As she soon found out after making her way to the scene of the crime, the hall wasn’t a place of interest to just one powerful wizard.

Doing her best to not take her eagle eyes off the man, she listened to Saul Croaker, the current Head Unspeakable. His dreary voice wasn’t helping her mood, nor was his account of how the Ministry had been seemingly breached from below rather than from above. Once her Head Auror arrived having successfully returned all the students to Hogwarts safely, she took command and closed down the scene. Taking Gawain Robards to the side, she grimaced down at the shards of glass under foot. 

“Not a word gets out about this,” she ordered them firmly. “Is that understood?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Process him under an alias and have him held in the Detention block. Full security measures. I want this to be tighter than the hold of a lethifold.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Robards said curtly with a nod, moving to carry out her orders without hesitation.

As she looked over, a pair of piercing blue eyes met hers directly. She let out a small mirthless laugh, clenching her hands behind her back in anger. While she let Robards escort Albus Dumbledore away, she remained behind, kicking over a fragment of a spun-glass orb. Sighing, she took in the carnage.

There was no doubt in her mind that Dumbledore had allowed himself to be taken in. A small smirk pulled at her mouth as she knew why such an act of vandalism had taken place. It was so chaotic in its delivery, it was almost ingenious. Destroying just one prophecy gave it significance and would draw attention to it. Destroying multiple? It just appeared like madness. Yet she knew that Dumbledore was many things – mad wasn’t one of them. There were also the bizarre witness statements of a black dog fleeing the scene. Had the Unspeakables all had the same hallucination of the harbinger of death, the Grim, at the same time? She knew the Unspeakables dabbled in researching the veil between the living and the dead, but for there to be omens on the loose?

Rubbing at her temples, she barely noticed Croaker stalking back over to where she assessed the damage. He gave the ruined shelves an oddly disinterested look. 

“The knowledge contained within this Hall was too dangerous to be released beyond these walls. Only those whom the prophecies relate to would be able to remove them safely without having their minds scrambled. Dumbledore must have believed a subject of a prophecy planned to retrieve such knowledge and took measures to prevent them.”

To her surprise, the man sounded amused rather than annoyed to have countless prophecies rendered to dust and splinters. 

“Rather heavy-handed but effective, I must admit,” Croaker further mused, then he turned to look at her, his eyes glittering under his grey hood. “We will not be, ah what’s the phrase… charging for damages. Most of us had forgotten that this room even exists. However, I would like the matter of the security breach to remain classified. That knowledge could be disastrous. We have much experimental magic that could break reality if uncontained.”

“A secret route into the Ministry in itself is something we must keep between ourselves,” Amelia said pointedly, eyeing him through her monocle severely. “If you will keep your discretion, my Department will do the same.”

“My dear Madame Bones, we are called Unspeakables for a reason,” he said with the same bemused tone.

“Need I remind you that Augustus Rookwood had been among your number, yet his title did not prevent him divulging secrets to his master.”

Croaker surveyed her silently from under his hood for a moment, then he turned away, leaving her. Amelia smirked, pleased to have won the exchange. Leaving the gloomy crowd of grey cloaked wizards to their repairs and clean-up, she hastened away from the creepy place. 

The trip back to her department gave her time to quickly think of how best to deal with Dumbledore now that he was in her custody. She needed him to cooperate and no longer operate as a vigilante in the shadows. He was the only wizard who had the power to threaten Voldemort and that power needed to be allied with the Ministry if they stood a chance at putting up a fight when the war finally erupted. She and her Aurors could scarcely handle the Death Eaters at large, let alone their resurrected master.

She wasn’t surprised to find Mad-Eye Moody loitering in the foyer of the Department’s detention wing. He scowled at her with his normal eye, conveying his thoughts rather clearly. 

“Is it true, Amelia?” 

“Speak plainly, Alastor. I do not have the time to deal with vague questions.”

“Dumbledore,” he grunted, following her once it was clear that she wasn’t slowing as she made her way through the security check-point into processing. 

“Yes, and he’s not in Azkaban on a technicality,” she said curtly, “Clause fifty B of the Act for the Protection of the Infirm, Very Elderly and Magically Addled. The conditions of the prison do not fit the appropriate standards for a wizard of Dumbledore’s years.”

Mad-Eye barked out a laugh, “that Clause doesn’t exist.”

“Try me, Alastor,” she bit back, striding at full pace, “it is there. We are not losing Albus Dumbledore to dementors because of Fudge’s fragile ego.”

Sliding through processing, Amelia ignored Mad-Eye’s disgruntled grumbles as she opened the door to the lock-up. Relieved to see that the guard stationed at the cells was alert, she nodded at Hughes gratefully. 

“Just delivered his breakfast, ma’am.”

“Very good. I’ll be conducting preliminaries myself.”

Getting the hint, Hughes nodded and marched off to stand guard at the entrance of the corridor instead. She unlocked the door to cell two. 

“Albus,” she greeted, not waiting around as she pushed the door open. She glanced quickly around, gauging his state to determine the level of respectful privacy she needed to maintain. The old wizard sat straight at the desk, dressed in the black detainee robes. The sight was so stark, it took all her professionalism not to stare. 

Dumbledore finished his mouthful of muesli, setting down his spoon carefully. He shifted in his seat, watching her with the stillness of a man who was very capable of defending himself if need be. He didn’t appear vulnerable or defenceless, but alert and wary. She looked at him properly then, taking in the short white hair that curled a little above his ears. His face, heavily lined with signs of advanced age, was pallid under the sterile light of the room. Blemishes characteristic for any elderly person littered his face including a hint of rosacea on his long nose. It was strange seeing his mouth, not concealed under white whiskers of his moustache and beard. The laughter lines were like carved crescents, accentuating a lifetime of kind smiles. There was no smile on his face, no friendly twinkle. 

“Amelia,” he greeted in turn, “I must assume that I have you to thank for these… accommodations?”

“You do,” she said stiffly, “and I am putting my trust in you because if you escape, it will make it harder for me to vindicate Harry Potter from your mistakes.”

Dumbledore sighed out of his nose. “I see Barty was a good teacher.”

“No. He was a terrible one. I learned from his mistakes. He believed his convictions had greater weight than the laws he was meant to uphold. I believe in getting justice for the right reasons.” 

She turned from him. “You have ten minutes to finish eating, Albus. I’ll let you eat without an audience, then I’ll take you to the interview room myself.”

Taking the keys with her, she left the room, not looking back at him. Limited attention to him was a good intimidation tactic for someone like Dumbledore who was used to being in control. She wasn’t looking for his lead; she was taking it. Shutting the cell door behind her, she didn’t lock it as she stood guard herself. Decades ago, she used to stand guard as a trainee. Now there she was, the head of the Department showing her respect towards the man she had incarcerated. She knew that there were very few people in the building who could even pose a danger to Albus Dumbledore – even him without a wand. 

When it was time, she opened the door and Dumbledore stepped out. Even though he was still a foot taller, perhaps more, she didn’t feel diminished. She carried on down the corridor, not restraining him or grasping his arm. She heard his feet pattering behind her.

“You extend me courtesy that was not shown to Harry while he was incarcerated, I notice,” Dumbledore remarked, his voice cold and cutting. He was angry. “Using inhibitors to confine a wandless wizard serves only to humiliate.”

“I quite agree, which was the Minister’s intention when he made it clear that Harry was to be treated as a suspect in a criminal case.”

Mad-Eye stood outside the doors of the interview rooms. A very uncharacteristic conflicted look settled on his scarred face as he looked at his former leader, evidently unsure what to do as he had turned against Dumbledore in order to come out of retirement. Amelia nodded at Mad-Eye, quickly looking ahead so he could have his awkward moment with Dumbledore without her staring at them. She swept into the brightly lit room, pulling out her chair. She gestured for Dumbledore to sit.

“Take a seat, Albus, and lock us in, Mad-Eye. Full wards, if you please, and total privacy.”

Dumbledore flicked out his robes as if airs and graces mattered before sitting down upon the metal seat. His discomfort wasn’t something he could conceal, his mouth downturned in the corners. Amelia sat down opposite, waiting for the door to shut and seal them in. 

“If your intention was to hand yourself in, Albus, I would have preferred something with less destruction on Ministry property,” she said dryly, resting her hands on the table, “as for now, both of us are going without any sleep tonight.”

“Sleep is a luxury few of us can ill afford,” Dumbledore said, his voice noticeably thin from his own tiredness. “I assume you have heard enough from Alastor to know the significance of my presence in the Department of Mysteries tonight. The Hall of Prophecy in particular.”

Surprised that Dumbledore would go straight to the point, Amelia surveyed him almost appraisingly. 

“Yes… and as always, rather than go through the proper channels, you chose to take matters in your own hands. Are you not getting a little old for vigilantism, Albus?”

“Were Cornelius and I on the same page, it would not have been necessary.”

“I am not Cornelius,” she said firmly, “and neither do I run scared at the mere mention of Lord Voldemort’s name. In going about this whole business alone, you have allowed him and his followers to consolidate power while you wait in the shadows for him to make his move. Recruiting spies to do your dirty work for you… leaving your students to flounder under Umbridge’s cruelty… what in Merlin’s name have you even been doing?”

Her voice rose to a volume that was close to a shout before she reined in her prickling temper. She sighed, bringing up a hand to rub at her forehead where an ache was already building. After the success of putting Umbridge in Azkaban where she belonged, Amelia should be comfortably at home, enjoying a nice glass of port before going to bed. Instead, she was in the brightly lit interview room, lecturing the man that single-handedly fought and won against Gellert Grindelwald and who gave Lord Voldemort pause. 

But even legends get old.

His unsmiling face gave away his great displeasure at being talked to in such a manner, but he didn’t answer right away. His piercing blue eyes briefly glanced past her to the mirror behind her before returning to look at her directly. 

“I could ask you the same question, Amelia.”

Amelia lowered her hand, staring right back at him. Just one sentence and she felt disarmed. The truth was she should have done more. She wasn’t alone in noticing the signs. The disappearances then the deaths, all culminating towards a mass breakout in Azkaban that was completely unprecedented. While her colleagues scoffed and dismissed Dumbledore’s word on Voldemort’s return, she considered it as a possibility. Then when she saw for herself what sort of young man Harry Potter was when she questioned him, she realised that he wasn’t a liar. 

Deep in her gut, she knew her brother Edgar would be ashamed of her lack of action. He stood up for what he believed in… as did her parents. They openly opposed Voldemort, paying the price for their defiance. Their sacrifice, along with the many others who lost their lives in the conflict, had somehow gone forgotten while they convinced themselves that all was well. She sat back, dealing with petty burglaries and smuggler rings, while murderers walked free. The innocent suffered while the guilty got away with their crimes. She just let Fudge walk all over her. 

“I can admit to my mistakes. Can you do the same?” She challenged after a moment of silence. Dumbledore leaned back a little, a glint of appraisal lighting up in his countenance. 

“I do, however as human as it is to make mistakes, when people like us let down those we are responsible to protect, the consequences are dire. I wished to remain pacifist for as long as possible, but when the other side does not play by the same rules, we only stand to lose.”

“That certainly changed tonight when you decided to break into the Ministry,” she remarked.

“I eliminated a threat that I should have removed long ago. Now that the knowledge which Voldemort coveted has been removed, he cannot gain that advantage. He has made too many moves without any counters for too long. Whether or not you are ready to believe it, we are at war, Amelia. You are right… I have been idle, but I think we are in agreement that this can not go on any longer.”

She nodded, grateful that Dumbledore was talking to her as an equal. Attempts to patronise her would not go down well. 

“I may not like your methods, Albus, but our best success lies with a coalition between us. If you cooperate and answer for your charges of sedition, we can use Fudge’s dangerous incompetence in your favour. Deposing a weak and corrupt leader for the good of the people should be enough to clear you… and Harry as well. However, it is unlikely that you will be restored as Headmaster of Hogwarts after this. Not after Umbridge got away with such barbaric acts under your nose.”

She mostly mentioned Umbridge’s crimes to gauge some reaction from Dumbledore. Was he aware of what had been unfolding in his school? Did he know that Umbridge resorted to such cruel methods to discipline underaged witches and wizards? 

His gaze dropped. 

“I deserve far worse,” he said heavily, sadness lining his features, “I failed the students and the staff. It is only right that I be removed from the position. Professor McGonagall is an apt replacement.”

He then sighed, looking over to the side. Without his beard and usual spangled robes, he appeared very diminished. Amelia felt some sympathy towards him, but it wasn’t enough for her to drop her objective. In the fight against Voldemort, they didn’t need Dumbledore at Hogwarts, comfortably sitting in his office. They needed him in the Ministry, helping to marshal their efforts to counteract the threat to the people of the country. No more vigilantism. And certainly no more putting children in harm’s way.

“Between myself and the Unspeakables, we can keep all that transpired tonight classified. It benefits us to brush this under the rug. The security flaw that you exploited…”

“I understand,” Dumbledore said, “and that is why I kept it quiet for so long. I have betrayed the Unspeakables in my actions, but I will stand resolute that my actions were necessary. This is a blow against Voldemort.”

Amelia looked down at the table, thinking furiously. She hadn’t expected Dumbledore to be as cooperative as he was being. It shouldn’t surprise her as he didn’t resist arrest. He was notorious for keeping his secrets and there was still the matter of the dog that had accompanied him. 

“Will you at least tell me about this prophecy and why Voldemort knows about it?” She asked, looking up at Dumbledore once she sorted her thoughts. 

His face pinched, grimacing as he baulked at having to divulge. His fingers twitched a little before he stilled and dipped his chin downwards. 

“Is this off-record?” He asked, eyes casting another brief glance to the mirror.

“It’s just between you and me,” Amelia confirmed. 

Dumbledore nodded then began.

“It all started when I went to The Hog’s Head to interview a potential candidate for the then vacant position of Professor of Divination sixteen years ago…”

 

---

The downfall of Umbridge deserved a full blown spectacle in the Great Hall. With the hero of the hour stuck to his guardian’s chambers, celebrating without him didn’t feel quite right. The rest of the school took to the news in varying levels of triumph. Streamers and fireworks blasted down the corridor, covering floors and suits of armour in a layer of confetti and glitter. The Ministry decrees had been torn down from the wall, all smashed and trodden on in the Entrance Hall. Torn copies of Umbridge’s textbooks littered the castle while her office had so many dungbombs crammed inside, the corridor was unbearable outside, impossible to navigate without eyes and noses streaming. 

The Gryffindor Common Room was oddly sedate as the rowdier crowd had been invited to an exclusive celebration. Dumbledore’s Army had managed to squeeze into Professor McGonagall’s office. Hermione suspected that the mistress of Transfiguration had done something to expand her office as it felt roomier than usual. With her desk pushed back against the wall, leaving a big enough space for everyone to mull around, it served as a good enough venue for the DA to congratulate their leader on his successful takedown of their oppressor. 

Said leader’s hair was more of a mess than usual from the sheer number of times Fred and George had ruffled his jet-black locks. His face was tinged pink, eyes a little glassy from one too many butterbeers. Red and gold streamers hung around his shoulders from where he’d been attacked a few times. Speckles of glitter still clung to his hair. He looked like how he did after a Quidditch win. Even the huge smile was in place as he appeared to finally unwind, the tension in his shoulders eased away. 

Hermione found their eyes meeting across the room often. She didn’t crowd, giving everyone else time to reunite with Harry and express their sentiments about his unfair arrest. Her stomach bunched unpleasantly when Cho Chang made an effort to speak with him and make excuses for her sneak of a friend, Mariette Edgecombe. The spotty-faced snitch was unsurprisingly absent. When Harry flashed his ex whatever-they-were a cool smile and ducked away, murmuring a soft ‘excuse me’, Hermione felt a strong surge of triumph. Finally, after what felt like hours, Harry appeared next to her, nudging her arm playfully. Ron then went to say something in Harry’s ear, causing Harry to laugh loudly. Hermione peered across, eyeing the red smudge of a flush spreading over Harry’s nose and cheeks. 

“I think that will be enough for tonight,” Professor McGonagall announced as she returned back into her office following a meeting with the governors. “Yes, yes, I know you are disappointed, but many of you have revision to be getting along with.”

After saying goodnight to those that showed up to see Harry, Hermione hovered, unsure if the dismissal counted for her. Professor McGonagall looked over to the three of them, sighing. 

“Alright, you three. You get an hour… no longer.”

“Er… actually, you two go ahead,” Ron murmured, ears turning their warning shade of red, “got a bit of a stomach ache.”

“Oh, right, well…” Harry tried to smile despite the instant awkwardness, “see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Ron offered them a cordial wave before leaving, but it did little to assuage the general uncomfortableness that he left in his wake. Harry busied himself with pulling the streamers from his shoulders, his face still tinged pink in an embarrassed flush. Hermione took the chance to admire how Harry looked out of his school robes and dressed in smart attire. She hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him how he came across a suit that fitted him while in Ministry custody. When Professor McGonagall pointedly cleared her throat, they both said their farewell. Hermione’s face warmed further when she caught their professor giving her a knowing look. 

Something told Hermione that her thoughts had been pretty visible on her face to earn such a look. 

It left her feeling oddly nervous as she followed Harry down the narrow stairwell that led down into his quarters. When he looked back at her, almost as if checking that she was still there, her heart gave a strange leap. Every moment they had together, alone, was so very precious. Compared to the raucous atmosphere up in the office earlier with the DA, the empty bedroom felt eerily quiet. Their footsteps creaked on the wooden boards, candles fluttering to life at the presence of an occupant. Harry continued towards the window, his pace quickening as he sought the sight of the world outside his cage. He removed his outer robe and suit jacket, casting them on the window sill before he rested his hands upon the stone lip.

Drawn towards him, Hermione could sense that he had dropped all his guards. The turmoil and stress contained behind his fake smile and laugh spilled free. His shoulders hunched up, tensed, as he took in a long measured breath. Hermione reached him, touching his back. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to. The gravity of what had come to pass that day sunk down upon them. Between them both, and with help from the other witnesses, they had condemned another human being to a fate worse than death. Life in Azkaban. 

For as much as Hermione could convince herself that Umbridge deserved prison, Azkaban wasn’t really prison. It was a slow, torturous death. Either those locked with the dementors went mad and eventually died. Sirius only survived with his wits intact because he was an animagus. Otherwise, he would never have lived long enough to escape and vindicate himself. 

Harry eventually straightened from where he had doubled over, hands resting on the stone window sill. He sighed heavily, turning away from the darkened window where night had since fallen. When his eyes met hers, they softened considerably with a gentle smile pulling at his lips. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked her. Hermione didn’t need him to explain what he meant. She wasn’t in the mood to go over everything that had transpired at the Ministry, having done so multiple times upstairs. 

“Not at all.”

Harry kept the same small smile as he nodded. He wasn’t okay, that much was very clear. Hermione stepped up to him, her hand acting almost of its own accord as she rested her palm against his cheek. It always surprised her… how warm Harry was. His eyes then shut and she felt him lean into her touch. She could read each subtle cue, understanding all too well the significance of Harry accepting the comfort she offered. He needed her and she needed him. 

Kissing him made logical sense. Their last opportunity to show each other how they felt had been days ago, unable to seize moments where they were alone in private. Harry’s lips parted for her and she deepened the kiss, causing Harry to brace himself against the window sill, hands flat on the stone behind him. Hermione’s other hand soon crept up Harry’s back as she moved closer, their legs slotting together as their bodies touched. Hermione’s heart was racing wildly, a gasp escaping when Harry’s tongue ventured into her mouth. He let out a grunt-like moan as he pushed his head towards her, desperately seeking, desperately wanting… 

Their lips parted, both breathing heavily. Harry’s eyes were wide open then, his pupils dilated where his irises had formed thin verdant rings. Where his lips were reddening from her assault, he looked more sensual than she had ever seen him before. His chest was rising and falling quickly, breathing loudly from his mouth. Hermione’s gaze travelled down his midriff, taking in the ivory cotton of his shirt and the lean abdomen underneath. His tie hung to the side. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Harry whispered his question. Hermione flushed at once. Did she tell him that she was thinking about how much she wanted to undress him? Did she tell him how good he looked in formal wear? Did she tell him how hot he was?

“You’re hot,” she blurted out. 

At once, her eyes snapped up to Harry’s face. Disbelief scattered her thoughts. Had she really just said that? Harry’s eyes widened as he, too, came to the realisation that she had indeed just called him ‘hot’. It was obvious that she wasn’t referring to his temperature as well. As if in an effort to wipe the words from Harry’s mind, Hermione kissed him as a distraction. It was clumsier than the first, her nose butting against his. Harry pushed himself off the window sill and, suddenly, something ignited in him. His lips pressed against her with purpose, his hands now pressed on her hips as he held her against him. 

Her hands soon found themselves pushing up to his hair, her fingers going in deep. Harry sighed into her mouth, a sound that had her knees nearly crumpling under her. It had been undeniably a sound of pleasure. The knowledge that she could make him feel good, that she was responsible for the pressure she could feel starting to poke into her abdomen, filled her with a powerful satisfaction that she never knew she could feel about herself. Giving Harry comfort and succor was one thing. 

Pleasure however… 

There was something alluring and dangerous about the precipice they were heading towards. Enjoying each other, exploring… it was as if they were pioneers, traversing the unknown. Only, it wasn’t quite so terrifying because they had each other. Even if they got lost. 

Harry then pulled away. She looked up into his eyes, spotting the furrowed line that had appeared between his brows. It smoothed when he met her gaze.

“You were amazing today,” he said softly, his hands lifting to her face. Hermione let out a soft gasp as his warm palms cupped her cheeks tenderly, just as he had done while they were in protective custody. His compliment made her heart feel like it was about to do somersaults.

“I’m sure you were as well,” Hermione said, gazing deeply into his eyes. Harry’s smile was soft, but he didn’t dispute it. “The suit likely helped.”

Harry’s smile broadened, “I wondered when you would bring that up.” 

Hermione’s fingers wandered down to Harry’s collar, lightly touching the dark grey tie. She saw his eyes light up, almost challenging. Before she really knew what she was doing, she was loosening the Windsor knot. Harry had already undone his top button to give himself air. Both of them went still, waiting for Hermione to take the initiative. 

She wanted to undo his tie, then his shirt… and see what had girls murmuring about him after the Second Task last year. Apparently he had been a little too cavalier about taking off his water-logged robes and his shirt underneath had left little to the imagination. Not that she had ever told Harry that such things were discussed in the girls' bathrooms and dormitories. He had enough whispers following him to add how girls talked about his six-pack behind his back. 

“It suits you,” Hermione murmured, then flushed further at her accidental pun. Harry had the audacity to chuckle, making her roll her eyes. 

“Funny that.”

“Shut up. You know what I meant,” she said, though there was only a soft playfulness in her words. She felt the silk of his tie in her fingers. “Where did you get this from? How…?”

“Minerva,” Harry said with a wistful look upwards towards the direction of the office, “she said that appearances are important. I couldn’t wear my school robes as I still need to be re-enrolled, so she pulled some strings to have the robemakers at Gladrags send over something… um… suit able.”

Hermione laughed, surprised more than anything at their joking. Was it really a time to joke around? Considering that they spent the day in court?

Before she could truly over-analyse their behaviour, she acted on impulse. Her fingers dug into the dark grey silk, pulling the knot apart. The raw astonishment on Harry’s face made her impulsivity all the more worth it. Once his tie was two loose strands, she held them both in her hands, staring at Harry as she heard his breathing turn ragged. Not thinking, she tugged on his tie, pulling him towards her. He sensed her intention and melted against her, his mouth hot against her. The kiss was very different to the last two, suddenly fuelled by a wild desperation that Hermione didn’t realise either of them had. Harry broke away for a gasp of air. 

Hermione found herself tugging Harry away with her, leading him over to his bed where they could get more comfortable. Joined by the lips, Harry didn’t protest, moving with her. Half-blind by the fierce want for his contact, Hermione misjudged how close the bed was and the edge came to meet the backs of her legs sooner than expected. She dropped onto the bed, gasping in surprise as she landed, still holding Harry’s tie. Forced to bend over her, Harry then dropped forwards, his hands snapping out in time to catch himself. Arms on either side of Hermione, Harry leaned over her, breathing heavily, still on his feet. 

They both just stared at each other, breathing matched. Harry’s hair hung forwards, almost long enough to touch Hermione’s face. His glasses slipped down his nose, his eyes riveted to hers. He then bent his elbows down, moving to claim Hermione’s lips again. Hermione let go of his tie, her hands climbing up to his waist. The dynamic shifted, switching from her leading the way to Harry having the control, looming on top of her, his body hovering where he kept himself propped up. She could feel the tension in his body where he was keeping himself from dropping fully on top of her. 

More importantly, she could feel his muscles bunching at his stomach. Formed and developed muscles. 

“You can undo my shirt… if you want.”

If Hermione hadn’t seen or felt Harry’s lips move, she would have doubted her ears. Her eyes widened, stunned that Harry would say such a thing. She met his gaze, seeing the nerves causing his eyes to flick between hers in a staccato dance. He was nervous, yet he held her gaze, his lips glistening with moisture where they had kissed so ardently. Part of her knew she should say that they had to slow down, but the louder side of her was flooded with the need to go further. They had precious minutes alone. Both of them needed to have something to hold onto while separated, a private moment of discovery and intimacy. There was no telling when they would have their next opportunity. 

Almost shaking with nervous excitement, Hermione’s fingers felt cumbersome as she released Harry’s tie so she could undo each button. Her nerves soon leaked away as her gaze followed the ministrations of her fingers, revealing something new and exciting. As she travelled down, her face grew hotter and hotter as she could see what she imagined becoming reality. When her gaze caught his nipples, something flipped inside her, reminding her that she was looking at Harry’s bare chest. Harry.

Yet it didn’t feel wrong, not while he was standing over her, his chest moving in regular breaths. His shirt soon hung open, showing her his abdominal muscles and pectorals. Harry was slender and lean, not having barely an ounce of fat on his body. His muscles stood out, but he wasn’t bulky. She could see his ribs and hip bones, but he wasn’t skinny. He felt solid, immovable, and so very warm. Hermione held her breath as she gently ran her fingers over Harry’s tensed stomach, feeling the ridges of his six-pack because Harry actually had a six-pack. 

His breath hitched at the contact of her fingers. She could almost feel the heat radiating from his face where he was starting to flush. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-.” She started to say before Harry shook his head, eyes wide. 

“It’s okay. I… it feels nice. I, um, I’m not completely clueless, you know. I can tell what you, er, like.”

His awkwardness radiated just as strongly as his body heat, but he said nothing else as Hermione was emboldened to run her hands upwards. She felt Harry shudder at her touch, but it wasn’t out of discomfort. The opposite. His eyelids fluttered, his breath sighing out. When her hands rested flat against his chest, she could feel his heart racing under her hands. The steady pumping of life powering the blood through his body, his very alive and close body. 

“As nice as this is, my arms are aching,” Harry said eventually, letting out a small chuckle. Harry then moved off her, settling himself down on the bed next to her. His smile was wide where he propped his head up on his hand, elbow supporting him. His shirt was still gaping open, leaving nothing to the imagination. Hermione got a full picture, including the smattering of dark hair that was starting to grow on his chest. 

Hermione pushed herself up, mirroring Harry’s pose as she kicked off her shoes, Harry following her lead. She brought her hand up to her breast, touching her top for a brief moment. Harry noticed her movement, his smile fading. He reached for her hand. 

“It’s okay. You don’t need to… I mean. It’s a bigger deal for you to, er, undress.” 

His flush darkened and he cleared his throat. Hermione lowered her hand, smiling. 

“I’m glad one of us is thinking responsibly,” she mused wryly. Harry chuckled again, reaching to his face instead as he removed his glasses as they were in danger of falling off. 

“Minerva might have an inclination of what we’re getting up to, but it’s probably not wise to go wild. As much as I, um, want to.”

Harry shifted, a small grimace of discomfort rippling over his features as he rearranged his legs. Hermione noticed that he was purposefully not putting pressure on his privates which were still engorged. 

“Is that, um, uncomfortable?” She asked, gaze flicking pointedly to his lower half. 

“It’s annoying,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes, “but it’ll go down on its own. That’s if we’re calming down a bit now?”

“Probably a good idea,” Hermione said reluctantly, “though… it would be a shame to do up your shirt.”

Harry glanced down, looking a little self-conscious for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in… er… how I look. I know how skinny I am.”

“Fit,” Hermione corrected, “you’re fit, Harry.”

He flushed even deeper, going a colour she hadn’t seen him turn in a long time.

“I’m not just saying this to fish for compliments, but… I kind of just figured that I’m ugly,” Harry said, turning the subject somewhere Hermione didn’t expect, “I was… er… bullied for it. Before Hogwarts, I mean.”

Harry’s gaze dropped down to the bed and he rested his glasses on the cover, folding the arms back. He gave them an apprehensive look, then sighed.

“These didn’t really help,” he said of the glasses, glancing up at her, “nor did… well… this .” He gestured at his forehead where his scar was just visible behind his fringe. 

A wave of anger rushed through Hermione. She could relate, having experienced cruel comments throughout her childhood and while at Hogwarts as well. If it wasn’t her muggleborn background earning her hateful remarks, it was her hair or her teeth – though she remedied the latter. As much as she wished she could ignore the nasty things said about her, they still hurt. 

“The other children in my classes at my primary school bullied me as well” Hermione said quietly after Harry didn’t speak for a moment. He looked up at her sharply. She smiled grimly at the flash of anger in his eyes, matching what she felt in response to his own admission. “Buck-teeth, bushy hair on top of being a know-it-all didn’t exactly make me any friends.”

Harry sighed, appearing crest-fallen at the moment, “we weren’t much better before the whole troll thing in first year.”

“You made up for it,” she said simply. Harry gave her a small smile.

“Best idea of my life,” he said, his eyes gleaming, setting off a warm feeling of nostalgia through Hermione. As she met his gaze, she recalled how she had a few weeks that year, nursing a slight crush on Harry after she learned how going to find her that Halloween had been his idea. 

She brought her hand up to his face, running her fingers down his cheek. She marvelled at how still he turned at her touch, his lips remaining slightly parted as he watched her. 

“You know how that makes you so special. Being brave and kind is second nature to you. It’s not something you have to be prompted towards. For others, it's a learning curve, but you made it there yourself. That’s what makes you a great wizard and… a wonderful person. It’s what’s here.” 

She brought her hand to his bare chest, lightly touching the spot over his heart. He stared at her, eyes blowing wide while his face remained flushed. 

“I only realised how much I value you while you were out of reach… and how much I took you for granted,” she continued, finding that she couldn’t stop as she found herself thinking of her heart ache while Harry was locked up in the Ministry. “I should have done so much more or at least realised how much you were really going through. I can’t… believe how strong you are, Harry. It’s superhuman.”

His smile twitched at the corners at her choice of word, “being stubborn isn’t a superpower.”

“You make it one,” she said softly, resting her hand on his shoulder. Harry’s smile then dwindled and he looked away from her, his eyes shuttering alarmingly. “What is it?”

He sighed, shaking his head a little. He then moved, her hand sliding off him as he sat himself up, crossing his legs. He pulled at the open sides of his shirt and started to button it back up. He spoke as he did.

“It isn’t something to be proud of. If I hadn’t been so stubborn and gone to Dumbledore when you said I should, things might not have gone as far as they did. Or maybe if I had gone to Minerva. I know she… was hurt that I didn’t trust her enough to speak out. Sirius is as well, but… I don’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hermione said as she went to sit up as well. Harry let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “No, really, Harry. It isn’t. No one blames you. If anything, everyone is devastated that they didn’t help you sooner or notice that you were being hurt. At the end of the day, you are just fifteen years old and they all stood by while you were being tortured. ”

Harry’s shoulders slumped forwards when he finished doing up the last button. His gaze turned distant.

“Amelia really put it into perspective. Nine thousand cuts…” He rubbed the back of his right hand absently. “She made me do that to myself… and for what? Because I was upsetting the illusion that everything is hunky dory? If anything, she just proved that anyone is capable of evil things, just as long as they believe that they are in the right.”

He shot Hermione a rueful look, “sorry, we did say that we weren’t going to talk about this.”

“If it means you’ll stop blaming yourself, we absolutely should talk about it,” Hermione said firmly, “because none of this is your fault. You did everything you could without any support from the people who absolutely should have supported you. Dumbledore abandoned you… and that’s the truth.”

Harry stared at her with open astonishment. Hermione hesitated, realising what she had just done. She denounced Albus Dumbledore with total confidence. Yet, despite his reputation and his history, it didn’t change the fact that Harry had been in that office, all alone, while Fudge had him arrested on bogus charges. When the look in Harry’s eyes suddenly turned lost and sad, Hermione closed the distance between them, folding her arms around him. Harry burrowed his face into her shoulder. 

Without really thinking, Hermione kissed the top of Harry’s head gently. She felt him relax against her, almost melting into her embrace. To feel his trust and how much her contact was enough for him to feel safe with her could never get old. She rubbed his back, comforting him as much as he needed. 

“Unlike Dumbledore, I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered into his messy hair, tightening her hold on him. “We’re in this together. No matter what.”

The tender moment, however, ended when she felt something crack under her weight. Harry’s breath hitched, then he laughed, the sound shocking her. He lifted his head, eyes glittering with tears that hadn’t fallen. The sight of his raw emotion nearly distracted her until she realised what had cracked. 

“I appreciate that, really… I do,” Harry said softly, “though… I think my glasses might have something to say about that.”

Hermione sat back, gasping as she saw his glasses on the bed under her knee where she had thrown herself at Harry in her haste. A giggle escaped her when she saw the cracked lens. Harry laughed with her until they both were laughing, sounding breathless and possibly a bit mad. 

“I think this might mean it’s time for me to go if I’m breaking things,” Hermione said once she caught her breath back. Harry climbed off the bed to fetch his jacket so he didn’t look quite so ruffled. Hermione repaired his glasses with a quick ‘reparo’, passing them back to their owner before they received more of a battering. Harry smiled gratefully at her. 

“Thanks. I think we could both do with some sleep and a break from everything. I don’t know about you, but I feel like my body is begging for a lie-in.” 

Just as Hermione got to her feet, there was a knock at the door. She turned, sharing a worried look with Harry. He blinked at her, restoring his glasses to his face. He cleared his throat, hurrying over to the door. Hermione smoothed her clothes, hoping to look more innocent than she felt. When Harry opened the door, he stepped aside. Professor McGonagall stepped inside, giving Harry a concerned look that instantly filled Hermione with foreboding. 

“You will want to come back upstairs, Harry,” she said to him, giving Hermione a pointed look, “your Godfather has made an impromptu call… and I daresay you will both want to hear what he has to say.”

Harry was alarmed, “what’s happened? Is he okay?” 

Their Head of House sighed, looking tired and, frankly, a little fed up. 

“Black, for once, isn’t the issue,” she said heavily, “it is Dumbledore. It appears… he has gotten himself arrested.”

Harry immediately turned to look at Hermione, who gaped back. Her own shock was reflected back at her. 

So much for wanting a lie-in.