Subpoena

2:01 pm in the Wizengamot chamber

November 20th in the real world  

She hadn’t fixed her mascara.

She had fixed everything else: redone her hair in the women's loo, fixed her shirt so it was as neatly tucked in as it had been that morning- she even managed to find a breath mint in the deceptively small beaded bag she seemed to always have.

 It was only after the courtroom was full and settled that she realised she hadn’t thought to check if her makeup had run during her episode under the bleachers.  It’s not that she had been trying to be careless- taking such meticulous care of every other detail was proof of that- but it was that, on the whole, Hermione Granger never bothered to wear makeup.

Of course, the one time I do, I decide to fall apart under the stairs like some ruddy schoolgirl.

“The Wizengamot in the Black verses Ministry trial, dated the thirty-first of October. It is two-o-one pm.  The court resumes it’s session.”  

She was seated in the house now, rather than in the witnesses and defendant section. She was about three rows from the minister- a small gesture, she suspected, from Draco. Although she’d been removed as both defendant and witness, her proximity to the rest of the action was a message. It would be kind to assume Draco secured this seat because he didn’t want Hermione to feel slighted- but she knew better. Someone else had been booted from this coveted spot. Three was a sacred number, a magical one. Far enough away from the minister to avoid suspicion, but close enough to get a good read of his face. Not to mention the fact that she was now, quite literally, in the middle of the jury. 

“There’s a power that comes with stillness.” Draco had said to her one evening in her kitchen. 

It was before they’d established their department, officially at least. They were sitting across from each other at the round kitchen table, pouring over page after page of Wizengamot proceedings. These cases were from just after the fall of Griendelwald. Hermione had been bustling with the work- you could practically see energy swirling in the air around her. She looked up from the parchment to her blond counterpart. 

“I’m sitting down.”

“I’m aware. However, you rarely sit still.” 

She frowned at him for that. He pushed his parchment to the side and folded his hands in front of him before continuing. 

“Do you know who I think is the most powerful person I’ve ever met is?”

Her frown deepened. They’d been in close enough confidence as of late for her to know the answer wouldn’t be Voldemort. He’d laugh at her if she said Dumbledor or Harry. 

“I don’t.”

“My mother.” 

Hermione’s posture shifted to match Draco’s. 

“Why?”

“In a room full of the most evil men in the world, mother was the only person who could keep pace while playing a game that was entirely her own. Because she would sit in stillness.” 

Draco tilted his head to Hermione as he crossed the room to his new seat- a question asked without the use of words or legitimacy. One he had no need to pose, as she understood perfectly.

Hermione’s job now was to wait, and to listen. 

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“Am I correct in my understanding, Mister Malfoy, that your use of the pensive has concluded for the extent of the trial?” Shacklebolt’s deep voice filled the courtroom. 

“That is correct, sir.” Draco replied.

“Plaintiff, will you be utilizing the pensive in any capacity?”

“No, your honor,” said an elegantly dressed witch, standing from the front row on the opposite side of the arena where Draco and Sirius were now seated.  She was a blonde woman who wore her hair in, it was Sirius’ opinion, a rather overdone updo.  Her heels were high, her lipstick pink, and her pearl earrings massive.  Sirius snorted, thinking of the striking contrast between her and Hermione.  Whoever had picked this woman clearly didn’t care much about how she would be perceived by the notoriously conservative and traditionalist jurors. 

She stepped to the center of the platform, next to the potioneers.

“We believe in upholding the integrity and legacy of the Wizganmot.  We won’t be using progressive scare tactics or wasting anymore time today,” she said, with a pointed glare to Draco.

Shit. 

“We might put it down then, sir,” Spenser Cracknell said to the minister.

“Very well then,” Kingsley responded, “While we are waiting for the plaintiff to situate their first witness, let’s have the pensive lowered,” he said with a wave of his hand, returning his gaze to the stack of papers before him.

The shuffle, both of people and of paperwork, allowed Sirius enough of a mental break to acknowledge the shift in the air around him.  Hermione had been moved into the stand, but they were on the same side of the arena style courtroom, meaning he was no longer able to see her when he snuck glances her way.  She’d been unreasonably calm, he thought, after the recess.  She hadn’t spoken to him, but he saw her being escorted to her new seat near the minister by the red-headed clerk just before the session restarted.  Ron had left during lunch, but Harry had elected to stay for the duration of the trial, and was seated five or so rows behind Sirius.  He said that Ginny and everyone at Hogwarts would understand.  Sirius had his doubts about the former.

The blond attorney had magicked a table next to the potioneers- again, a very different strategy than his own council.  A man, much shorter than her, was standing to her right and organizing files as she handed them to him.  His hair was overgrown, brown, and rather frizzy.  Sirius looked back to Draco.

“I see it too,” the Slytherin said quietly, “our exact inverse.”

“A little trippy, don’t you think?” Sirius mumbled. 

“People seek out patterns- hearing an opposing argument from faces that are just familiar enough to be comfortable is an easy way to earn trust quickly.  The state did a good job in picking them, I’d say.  Especially with the lead being a woman- I’m willing to bet they’re using her as the concession.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Draco turned in his seat to look at Sirius squarely.

“We’ve used a surfeit of new methods today- really shaken things up, if you will.  If we win, they’ll likely implement a lot of what we’ve done as the new processional standard,” Draco finished, turning his attention back towards the center of the room.

“You’ve lost me.”

Draco sighed.

“Look around- would you say that any of the jurors are in the same peer group as Hermione or myself?  Or even you and Lupin, for that matter?”

Sirius scowled at the wizard’s tone, but scanned the room nonetheless.  Row after row was filled with balding wizards and greying witches.  As he observed, he noticed a common theme.  Each person's posture was immaculate, as though they were all trying to hold the embroidered “W” on their robes higher than the next.  They all were adjourned, he realized then, with jewelry of some kind.  Gold watches with diamond encrusted faces, hairpins dripping with sapphires.  Almost everyone had a plus one of some kind- an assistant, a secretary, a house elf.  The ridiculous luxury of each Wizagenmot member increased with their proximity to the minister.  Sirius’ eyes landed on an older witch just six seats away from Shacklebolt; her lipstick was precisely the same silly shade of pink as the women on the platform.  Everything clicked into place.

“She’s a symbol,” Sirius said slowly, “showing that they value things being done how they’ve been done historically.”

“And besides a symbol?” Draco said, turning his head to look at the same row Sirius knew Hermione sat.

“A token.  Their way of saying they’re not being prejudiced or unreasonable.”  

“Precisely,” Draco said, glancing back at Sirius.

“You can’t see her from here,” Sirius said, unable to stop the words from leaving his mouth.

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched down.

“Precisely.”

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3:19 pm in the Wizengamot chamber

November 25th in the real world

There were three things Hermione noticed as she dutifully sat in the third seat of the third row away from the minister.  

She gave herself permission to all but ignore the plaintiffs argument- it was certainly still there in the background. She was able to digest the words spoken, but there was hardly a point in keeping up with the placement of every breath like she would have done had she still been a representative of the defense.  Instead, it was her surroundings Hermione decided to study.

The first thing she noticed was the procession of the potioneers- it was late afternoon in the arena now, meaning that it was late into the month outside of the courtroom.  The veritaserum was filmy; just a few more hours (days, really) and it would be ready.  The trial would conclude with the unquestionable testimony of Sirius’ innocence, and the wizarding world would change for the better, there was no doubt.  But it was the method of the potioneers process that drew Hermione’s attention.

Horace hardly moved, it seemed, from his chair directly next to the cauldron in which the veritaserum bubbled.  He stirred it every four minutes or so, as Hermione had helped him calculate before the trial, once clockwise and three times counterclockwise.  She had assumed the other two potioneers, the Korean man and the women with short brown hair, were there to offer Slughorn some relief of his responsibilities or rotate through the task.  But they hadn’t.  The Korean man sat to Slughorn’s left, helping him keep time and know when it was time to stir once more.  The woman sat away from the two, legs crossed with elbow on her knee and chin rested on her hand.  Biting on the inside of her cheek, Hermione realized that she hadn’t seen the woman move once since she’d been moved to her new spot.

Certainly I’ve just missed her involvement, Hermione thought to herself, I was rather preoccupied before now.  Stirring can’t possibly be a three person task.

The second thing she noticed was an eerie similarity between Slughorn and the female potioneer.  At a passing glance there was not the smallest hint that would match the pair together, but there was something tugging on Hermione’s mind that they were connected somehow.  It wasn’t that all potion masters were the same; the difference in personality of Slughorn and Snape was evidence enough.  They certainly weren’t the same ethnicity either.  The woman’s skin was a lovely dark brown, and there was something about the way she set her mouth that made Hermione think she had a different accent than most of the other people in the room.  She couldn’t recall Slughorn ever having mentioned marriage, though she supposed a daughter would be possible even without a wife. She looked between their faces; they didn’t share even the slightest similarity in bone structure.  Hermione was about to turn her attention elsewhere when it hit her.

The eyes.

Though completely contrasting in color, the eyes of both potion masters were glossed over and empty.  Their expressions were vacant, and their movements robotic.  

They’d been imperiused.  

The third thing Hermione noticed, she had noticed seconds too late. She tore her eyes from Slughorn and the woman, only to see the Korean potioneer staring directly at her.  As she moved to stand, the man moved his hand over the cauldron and dropped something into the potion. 

From the cauldron ignited a yellow ball of flame, billowing outwards, filling the Wigzanmot chamber. A deafening wall of sound rushed Hermione’s ears; the force of the explosion sent her flying backwards, smashing her against the wall behind her.  The last thing she felt was white hot flame engulfing her skin. 

And then the world was dark. 

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END OF PART TWO