Lunar
Chapter 6: Lunar
On the kitchen table, two certified Ministry envelopes sat unassumingly, waiting to be ripped open. Sighing, Harry picked one up hesitantly. Even years later, he still expected it to be a letter detailing his criminal activity and expelling him from Hogwarts. Really, if he thought about it, it was ridiculous and irrational considering he was never actually expelled and Dumbledore would’ve never let him be locked up in Azkaban…right?
Mr. Harry J. Potter,
The Supreme Court and Wizengamot for Wizarding Britain requests your attendance and testimony for the following court cases of:
Ministry of Magic v. Al. Carrow
Ministry of Magic v. Am. Carrow
The trials will be held simultaneously in courtroom three on the sixth of May, at quarter past four in the afternoon.
Your presence is compulsory. Please prepare your statement prior to the court date, and be prepared to provide evidence via Pensieve.
Well Wishes,
Eurydice Daniels
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Harry checked the old Weasley heirloom watch perched on his wrist. He had just over four hours until the trials. Images of Amycus Carrow spitting in Professor McGonagall’s face flashed and he felt the heat ripple over his body as the same anger from that night surfaced.
…
“Only the difference between truth and lies, courage and cowardice,” Professor McGonagall said, “a difference, in short, which you and your sister seem unable to appreciate. But let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to pass off your many ineptitudes on the students of Hogwarts. I shall not permit it.”
“Excuse me?” Amycus moved forward offensively, his face only inches from hers. “It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or pay the price.”
He spat in her face.
Harry had whipped out from under the Cloak, saying “You shouldn’t have done that.”
The comically wide-eyed look Amycus wore when he spun around to find Harry Potter using an Unforgivable on him was priceless.
“Crucio!”
…
He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction from himself, and if it had been most of the other professors, he might’ve remained under the Invisibility Cloak. Harry could still feel the intensity of that moment pulsing through his limbs. If there was one trial he might actually enjoy—aside from Dolohov’s, it would be this one. It wasn’t that he enjoyed torturing someone, but it was the sweet glow of enacting immediate vengeance for what Amycus had done to McGonagall, and getting to feel it all over again would be a little delight he’d allow himself while taking a momentary break from his wallowing.
He tried to nail down his exact thoughts. McGonagall certainly wasn’t a mother-figure for him, that was more Mrs. Weasley. She was something , though. Perhaps a stern grandmother…or maybe this was just what it felt like to have a real, competent, and engaged professor that actually cared about their students’ wellbeing. Not that he’d really know the difference, considering he had no living relatives, and aside from Flitwick and Sprout with their own respective houses, he hadn’t had any professors like that either.
Lupin—he had been involved…and caring, and knowledgeable. He was a common choice for favorite teacher at Hogwarts, even long after he’d left…
Neville.
Harry had nearly forgotten his promise to Bill. “Kreacher!” He called.
“Master?” Kreacher appeared in front of him with a low bow.
“Is there a—a cellar, or somewhere secure enough for a werewolf to transform, here?”
Kreacher sneered. “Yes, Master. In the basement.”
“Show me.”
Kreacher led Harry down to the basement, past his small corner he used as his personal room, still filled with trinkets and useless garbage he had collected during the original clean out of Grimmauld Place at the beginning of fifth year.
He stopped in front of a section of a door made out of metal bars—silver.
“Master Sirius installed it for the filthy halfbreed—“
“Thank you, Kreacher, you may go.” Harry didn’t think he could stomach another insult to either Remus or Neville at that moment, still fired up over the remnants of the memory he’d been dissecting.
Three of the walls were made of stone, floor to ceiling, with the door spanning the length of the fourth wall. The room was small, but large enough for a werewolf to comfortably transition—well, it was big enough. He didn’t know as much about werewolves as he probably should by now, but he knew there would be nothing comfortable about the transition, especially it being the first.
Satisfied with what he would be offering, at least for now, Harry returned to the kitchen. The second envelope still lay unopened on the table. He tore at it in the same fashion as the first, with tentative curiosity. It was another summons, and coincidentally for Dolohov this time. The trial was set for the seventh, only tomorrow.
The Ministry was really pushing to get through these trials quickly. Harry was somewhat relieved at that, but he couldn’t quite place the anxiety building in his gut at it either. It all felt too rushed. And was the Ministry really giving them all the Dementor’s Kiss immediately after their guilty verdicts? While well-deserved, it was a heavy-handed and irreversible punishment. What if the Ministry got one wrong?
So far, he hadn’t seen any names that had even a remote possibility of being innocent, but his faith in the government was shaky at best. Setting this powerful of a precedent was tricky and reckless in his opinion.
Pale blonde, perfectly coiffed hair and icy blue eyes flashed in his thoughts. Narcissa Malfoy was the source of his fretting, because of course a Malfoy would still take up space in his brain. With every Death Eater ticked off the list, the Malfoy trials loomed ever closer. Harry hadn’t thought much about it, even after that reporter had pried about the date of their hearings, but it was evident now. He had seen her not only save his own life, but protect Hermione’s. He couldn’t, in good conscience, let her be handed over to the Dementors.
Lucius, on the other hand, could get fucked.
He marched up the steps to his room, hastily throwing on the same robes he’d worn the day before and lazily cleaned them with a scouring charm. Harry took a quick look in the mirror, his black hair was messy as ever, but he’d officially given up on that particular front.
Arriving much earlier for the hearing this time, Harry found only Neville and Theo in the courtroom, chatting with Augusta Longbottom. Neville spotted him first, shooting him a lopsided grin and gesturing for him to join their conversation. As he approached, Theo looked up, his eyes sparkling.
Why was he always noticing Nott’s eyes? That was weird right? To notice another bloke’s eyes? It felt weird, but he just couldn’t help it!
“Mister Potter, pleasure to see you this afternoon” Augusta Longbottom greeted properly, and Harry returned her sentiment before she bade them farewell and began to mingle with the other arriving Wizengamot members.
“Hey, Nev,” Harry scratched at his collar, uncomfortable with what he was about to say. Suddenly his throat felt dry and his robes were increasingly growing tight. “I—er, can I talk to you in private?”
Theo was crestfallen as Harry dragged his companion away, and Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the lanky, lone Slytherin, but it had to be done.
“What did you need me for?” Neville asked curious, but ready for a fight, as though they might storm the Ministry from within in the next five minutes.
“Well, I spoke with Bill yesterday…he—erm—he suggested you may want to use the cellar at Grimmauld Place for the full moon. I know it’s not my place—“
“That would be great,” Neville said, relieved. “I mean, if you don’t mind, that is. Gran’ll be over the moon—no pun intended,” he said with an easy smile. “I haven’t been able to find anywhere else outside of going back to the Forbidden Forest, which I don’t think I’m ready to do…”
Harry nodded assuredly, “You’re welcome at Grimmauld any time, Nev.”
The brothers embraced momentarily before returning to a forlorn Theo, sighing dramatically from his seat away from anyone else. Each person who had entered, had deliberately chosen their seats away from Nott, and Harry felt the unscratchable itching of irritation in his chest. Not so long ago, he had judged the man he now proudly sat next to, but these people had no history with Theodore Nott, only his father and rumors…
Harry couldn’t help but feel his social vigilante list was growing longer by the minute…it might even rival Hermione’s soon.
The courtroom was called to order not much later, and the trial went much the same as the last. The Carrow twins were brought in separately—Alecto first, locked into her seat, followed by Amycus. The only differences, really, were the calm and arrogant demeanors of both prisoners and the sheer number of Hogwarts students lining the rows reserved for witnesses.
Pansy had declined to be involved in the trial, wanting to stay out of the papers and the gossip circles, but Theo certainly wasn’t the only Slytherin by the start of the trial. Tracey Davis and the Greengrass sisters sat close, all holding hands tightly, and several younger children sat with their parents, nervously watching the Carrows as if they might break free of their bonds and attack at any moment.
Every witness present was allowed ample time to give their testimony. Harry’s was one of the shortest ones, as he hadn’t been present at Hogwarts for their reign of terror.
Neville, Luna, Theo and even Blaise with his still-healing chest took the witness chair, regaling their horror stories of the last year, and detailing their attempts to overthrow the wicked Death Eater siblings.
Harry hadn’t heard their individual stories yet, and with each passing testimony, his stomach churned. Their plight had been an impossible one, yet they’d powered through the last year on nothing but fumes of hope that he would return and finish the fight with them. What if he hadn’t? What if he’d died earlier? What if Voldemort had actually killed him in the forest? What then?
He shivered thinking about the consequences of those lines of questions. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about anymore. Theo subtly elbowed his side and gave him a genuinely sunny smile. They all knew how the trial would go—in the end, the Carrows would spout some nonsense about being good educators, and a definitive guilty verdict for both Amycus and Alecto would be swiftly handed down. The pair would be removed from the chambers and delivered into the waiting, scaly and decaying hands of the Dementors.
And so it was.
Harry wasn’t sure what he felt. It was inescapable for them—they deserved it. And yet… He couldn’t help but wonder about the morality of their punishments. The entirety of the war, the Order had preached tirelessly of not stooping to the Death Eaters’ level. They had been referring to the use of Unforgivables, but Harry’s own inner compass wasn’t entirely convinced that handing the prisoners over to the Dementors was exactly ethical. A life was still being taken, was it not?
He looked at Nott, who was being hugged by several small second year children, and Harry’s heart warmed. This was the source of the grayness seeping into his life. His once black-and-white perceptions were evolving into a grayscaled effort to care about those he once considered unsavable. And it was all thanks to one Theodore Nott.
A dopey grin spread across his face like honey, slow and sweet. Nott caught his eye, matching his smile with his own, and shrugging nonchalantly as if saying “ who’d have thought? ” about the kids latched to his arms and legs and the parents thanking him relentlessly.
“So, you and Theo…?” Neville quietly joined Harry, keeping his voice low enough no one else would overhear.
“Wha—? Me and—no! Definitely not! What? Why would you say that?” Harry fumbled to get a grip, his mind racing. Why would Neville have said something so ridiculous! They were friends— just friends. Which was bad enough, really, admitting to being friends with the Slytherins. Ron already was barely accepting of that, but to have a—a—anything with one of them. He’d never be forgiven! He already had his work cut out for him in trying to convince Ron that Hermione and Malfoy were together and that maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall…
“Come on, Harry. It’s me,” Neville looked at Harry searchingly. “Oh, you don’t even know.” He smiled pityingly at his brother-in-arms. “Just…know I’m here when you need someone to talk to. And whatever you do, don’t ask Luna for love advice,” he grimaced as though remembering his own unfortunate experience doing just that.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, wanting badly to just escape the whole conversation that had somehow come about from simply smiling at Theo across the room. “Er—thanks, Nev.”
“I spoke to Gran a minute ago, and she wants to come see the cellar, if that’s alright?” he asked, changing the subject entirely, shifting the discomfort from Harry to himself. Neville was good in that way—sensing the awkwardness in others and embracing it, showing his own to help ease the anxiety.
“Sure, anytime. I’ll be at the Dolohov trial tomorrow, but I don’t have any other plans before the full moon,” Harry said.
Neville nodded. “I’ll speak with Gran, and we’ll owl you later tonight. Unless…would you like to join us for dinner?” His cheeks turned rosy, as though anticipating rejection.
“Yeah, that’d be great, actually.”
The two young men parted, and Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, not wanting to get caught up in the crowd of people trying to leave the Ministry all at once.
…
The Longbottom residence wasn’t what Harry had expected. He wasn’t entirely sure what he thought it would be like—Augusta Longbottom was an austere, proper, stately sort of woman, and he supposed she would live in a home that matched. He had pictures in his head of a large brick house, not quite the size of the Malfoy estate, but large to be sure. Neville, on the other hand, conjured images of a small, homely cottage—warm and inviting.
Reality floated somewhere in between. The moderate-sized house was nearly identical to the Potters’ home in Godric’s Hollow, considering there were only a few houses separating the two. This was what shocked Harry the most—he and Neville would have grown up together, truly as brothers. Their parents were friends; classmates fighting in the original Order of the Phoenix together.
Harry tried to walk quickly from the Apparition point near the little church he and Hermione had arrived near on Christmas Eve. If he slowed enough to read the headstones, he’d be lost forever in his thoughts, talking to his parents and wondering if Hermione was with them now. His mother would’ve loved Hermione—protective and brave, but smart, and creative, and headstrong.
He paused in front of the Potter’s home. It was still in shambles, even more so after their encounter with Nagini in the guise of Bathilda Bagshot. How had he not seen that it was a trap? Hermione had…because of course she had. She’d seen the snares lain waiting, even with the Department of Mysteries. He had to get her back. How could she see everyone else’s demise planned out, but not her own? He couldn’t continue down that train of thought, or he’d be back to wallowing in his bed for hours on end. They had a plan. He needed to stick to the plan.
Harry’s feet had carried him away, knowing what was better for him—moving away from the past. He touched the smooth, knotty wood of the Elder Wand he still carried with him. Had Hermione kept his broken holly wand from that night? He would check the beaded bag when he got home—if she held onto it, it would be in there. Maybe the Elder Wand could mend it…
The path to the door was straightforward, and he gently pushed through the well-oiled garden gate, walking past prudently trimmed shrubs and carefully-tended daffodils and forget-me-nots. A slight, warm breeze rustled through his already wild hair, and muted the chattering of the squirrels and birds settling in for the night. He knocked sharply on the crimson door with its shiny brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head.
A wizened, old house elf opened the door with a low bow, his wrinkled ears draping against the floor. “Mistress be’s expecting you in the parlor, Mr. Potter, sir.”
Harry allowed the little creature to escort him at a glacial pace, following three steps behind so as not to rush the old thing. The hall was a neutral white with finished wood floors, and lined with a few paintings—some of long-passed Longbottoms, and others of vast landscapes. Several of the portraits nodded politely at him as he walked past, and he returned their sentiments as well as he could.
The elf led him around a corner, and they were deposited into what Harry assumed was the parlor. Neville and his grandmother were seated on matching settees across from each other, Neville holding a glass of firewhiskey, and Augusta, a glass of wine.
“Harry!” Neville greeted warmly, rising to his feet to embrace his newly arrived friend.
His gran, slower to rise—due only to her pureblood posture and in no way her age—watched the two young men with scrutiny. “Harry Potter,” she said by way of greeting, “welcome to our home.”
“Thank you for having me,” Harry said quickly, glancing shyly between the two Longbottoms.
“Gimby, we shall dine as soon as our last guest arrives,” she announced perfunctorily. The elf popped away with a lowly uttered ‘yes, Mistress’ .
“Firewhisky?” Neville held out a freshly poured glass filled with amber, and Harry took it hastily.
Neville had always been easy to be around—even now with his lycanthropy, Harry didn’t feel any discord between them. It was his gran that had Harry’s nerves in a tizzy. He’d always expected the worst of the woman, in part, due to the way Neville had described her growing up. He knew she was a demanding, no-nonsense sort of witch; formidable at best, fear-inducing at worst.
“Well, now is as good a time as any. Spit it out, then,” the elder witch demanded, an eyebrow lifted nearly to her graying hairline.
“Er—“
“Sit up straight, no slouching, young man. You boys—no backbones! The lot of you! No mumbling either, mind you!” Augusta Longbottom rapped her wooden cane on the floor to accent her raving.
Harry immediately jerked his shoulders back, his spine straightening as her commands. “I offered Neville the use of Grimmauld Place for the full moons. It’s where Professor Lupin would shift.”
“If it was safe enough for Remus, then I suppose—now there is a young man with proper posture!”
“Gran…” Neville groaned as though he’d heard the same spiel a hundred times over.
A cheerful voice echoed down the hall, and Harry could practically see the cheeky smile that accompanied it. “Hello to my favorite aunt! I must say, you are looking younger and younger every time I see you!”
“Theodore, you know better than to use flattery on an old bird like me! Even if it does work,” Augusta said slyly, looping one arm into the crook of Theo’s elbow, tapping the floor with her cane in the other as she led their small company into the dining room. “You know Mr. Potter as well, I presume?”
Theo winked in Harry’s direction, while Neville rolled his eyes behind his gran’s back before mouthing ‘he’s her favorite’ jerking a thumb at the other boy. The tall Slytherin shrugged at the accusation, clearly finding the whole situation comical.
“So you’re related?” Harry tried to work out how the families must’ve crossed, but pureblood lineages were so inbred, it really would’ve been just a guess with his lack of knowledge on the subject.
Neville nodded, “Theo’s gran on his mum’s side and mine were sisters. We didn’t really spend much time together growing up, so it was nice when we finally connected seventh year…even under the circumstances.”
Theo gave a sad half-smile as he took his seat next to Augusta and across from Harry. “Yes, even amidst everything else…I was glad to have found a new family.”
“Not new,” Augusta whacked the legs of his chair in correction, “just estranged.” He nodded like he’d heard the same phrase several times before. “You’ve always been family, your father just couldn’t see that.”
The mention of his father sent Theo far away—not unlike Mrs. Weasley when she thought of Fred. Harry hadn’t heard anything about Nott Sr. getting a trial, nor had he heard about his passing in the battle. It would be incredibly rude and insensitive to ask…but now that the question was burning in his throat, it was threatening to leap from his lips any second.
“He is no longer a hindrance,” Theo stared blankly, lifting the full wine glass that had been set before him once they were all seated. “Harry, you really must try the elf wine, this is positively delicious.”
Harry sipped at his Firewhisky, but at Theo’s words, a glass of wine appeared before his place setting, and he had to wonder how he would escape this dinner party sober enough to apparate home. He tried to focus his attention on the yellowish, lily-like flowers in the centerpiece as a distraction.
The appetizers were brought out and sampled. Harry hadn’t a clue what it was he was eating, but the way Theo’s lips curled around it made him want to give it a try. Why was he looking at Theo’s lips? Harry felt an unease in his gut, but it certainly had nothing to do with his digestion.
Theo was watching him just as closely when Harry would look away, while Augusta prattled on about proper dinner etiquette, and new legislation that was being pushed across the Wizengamot’s desks. Neville watched the bizarre game, blindly stabbing at an errant morsel on his plate, earning a dressing down about correct usage of silverware and cutlery.
Green met green again, and Harry’s chest seized up. Neither was willing to break eye contact until the main course was set before them, physically blocking their view momentarily as large silver domed covers were lifted off their platters. Then the hunger kicked in, and all went silent except the light taps of forks and knives against plates.
Afraid of making eye contact again, Harry stole glances just far enough up to watch Theo’s throat muscles roll beautifully as he swallowed another gulp of wine, and the veins that rolled across his strong forearms. He looked down at his own as he cut another bite of food. If he was watching Theo, there was a chance he could be watching Harry too…
He was all skin and bones. Maybe once, in fifth or sixth year, he’d put on some muscle and began to fill out his frame a little more, but after their time on the run, he’d lost it all.
Embarrassed, Harry lowered his arms beneath the table between bites. If Neville or Theo noticed, they made no facial expressions to indicate it, but Augusta watched him approvingly as if his table manners had suddenly gone from Troll to Exceeds Expectations. Of course, only Theodore would earn an Outstanding in her eyes. He’d only been in their presence for a mere half an hour, but he could tell Theo was the beloved prodigal child.
Neville didn’t seem to mind much, and Harry understood that. When every harsh glare or watchful gaze was on you, it was impossible to do well or feel even remotely comfortable in your own skin. With Theo around, Neville was left to his own devices as long as he maintained the minimum expected.
Theo, on the other hand, was made for the spotlight—that much was clear. He seemed to relish the attention he’d likely never received at home. Harry made a mental note to ask about Theo’s upbringing. Why didn’t his mother take him away from all the Death Eater bullshit?
“Harry?” Neville kicked his foot under the table. He’d been asked a question and was too engrossed in thinking about Theo to even notice the conversation that had cropped up.
“Sorry, what was that?” He asked dumbly, his cheeks warming as the man in question caught him staring again.
“Gran asked if you were planning on staying at Grimmauld during the full moon.”
“Er—yeah, I’d planned on it. The cellar is reinforced with silver bars, it seems sturdy enough,” Harry shrugged, unconcerned.
The old woman’s calculating stare bore into the side of his face, but Harry refused to meet her eyes. He stuffed a bite of whatever was on the end of his fork into his mouth, preventing him from responding again.
“Do you have any wolfsbane?” Theo broke the awkward silence.
Neville nodded, “Professor McGonagall found some in Snape’s stores that he had made for Remus that are still good, but by the next full moon I’ll need more.”
“I’ll start working on it, unless the Prince of Potions, here, would care to brew it himself?” Theo’s eyes glittered with amusement.
“I, er, I’m actually not—,” Harry stumbled over his words.
“No, I’m Nott , ” Theo winked, chuckling at Harry’s squirming and his own bad pun. “Don’t worry, Potter, I’ll take care of it. I’m only joking.”
Of course Nott would’ve noticed, seeing as he was in N.E.W.T. Level Potions with Harry after seeing him fail for the previous five years…and Hermione probably bitched about the whole scenario to him after Harry had surpassed her in Slughorn’s class. His heart was beating erratically from both being put on the spot and simultaneously saved from embarrassment by the man in question in less than a minute.
Neville watched the exchange, scoffing at Theo’s ridiculous joke that reminded Harry of the times when Sirius would say “you’re not serious, I’m Sirius!” Augusta seemed to ignore the whole aside, finishing off her potatoes and wine.
“Have you thought about fixing up your parents’ home?” the Longbottom matron asked abruptly.
“I hadn’t thought about it, no,” Harry was shocked by the directness of the question, but now that it had been brought to his attention, maybe he should… “I suppose in the future—“ he looked at Theo and Neville, it obviously would have to be once Hermione was back. “—it would be a nice project to take on.”
The witch nodded approvingly, wandlessly summoning the bottle of wine from the side table. “Now, what are you three up to?”
Harry, Neville, and Theo all paused what they were doing—Harry’s fork clattering against the plate, Neville sputtered, choking on his drink, and Theo’s chair which had been tipping back, balancing on its hind legs, crashed back to all four with a thud.
“Did you seriously think a few teenagers could pull the wool over these old eyes? I haven’t gone blind yet!”
“But how—“ Neville’s face had gone pale white.
She poured a healthy serving of rich burgundy wine into her empty glass, swirled it around and sniffed. “Neville, dear, if these two hadn’t formed some sort of alliance, Potter here, would’ve hexed him into next Sunday by now. Although the ga-ga eyes they’ve been making at each other all night may be to blame for that as well, come to think of it…”
“What?! We’re not—,” Harry stuttered with an unusually high squeak.
Theo smirked, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned over the table. “We’re not what, Potter?”
”Not to worry, dear, while I am quite the traditionalist in most regards, when it comes to love, I pride myself in being very forward-thinking!”
Harry gulped.
“Enough!” Neville groaned. “Gran, we’re not up to anything, really! Harry helped release the Slytherins from the dungeons after the Battle of Hogwarts, and got to know some of them.”
Augusta Longbottom harrumphed. “Not up to anything, my arse!”
All three pairs of eyes blew wide at her crassness.
“I’ll figure it out sooner or later, young man,” she directed her words toward her grandson, “and when I do, you’ll wish you’d asked me for help!”
“Erm, Mrs. Longbottom? Those are lovely flowers, are the yellowish ones lilies?” Harry tried to distract the old lady from sniffing out what they’d cooked up and interfering in any way.
“Asphodels, dear. Neville thought them appropriate after we’d lost so many in the war—quite right, quite right,” she said proudly, sipping from her glass.
Neville blossomed under her praise, his spine straightening and his mouth tipped up at the ends. He noticed Harry’s confusion at the statement and explained: “You were correct in that they are part of the lily family, but they also have origins in Greek mythology. They are said to cover the great meadow of the dead. You may recognize the name from potions class as its roots in powdered form are a common ingredient in many potions.”
Augusta nodded along, the hint of a smile threatening to upturn her perpetual frown. Theo hummed along in agreement, “Asphodels are typically tied to Persephone and the underworld. Great choice, Nev.”
…
Dinner hadn’t gone on much longer, and Harry was glad to leave the stilted conversation behind. He said his goodbyes and walked back the way he had come, stopping at his parents’ graves to lay small bouquets of conjured asphodels on them, before disapparating back to Grimmauld Place. Dolohov’s trial was the following day, and he needed some sleep.
As he climbed the stairs, he paused outside of Hermione and Ginny’s old room. The small beaded bag sat, lonely, on the made up bed. Before he could change his mind, Harry walked in purposefully, and opened the drawstring top.
“Accio wand,” he waited a few seconds before two broken halves of the holly and phoenix feather wand zipped into his fingers. The familiar wood felt warm to his touch, but there was no residual sparkle of magic that he could detect.
He rolled the Elder Wand in his hand, thinking of any spells that could possibly mend his original wand. The only spell that pulsed in his mind was Reparo . Might as well start with the basics…
It worked.
It actually worked.
Harry dropped the Elder Wand and it clattered to the floor. He swished and flicked the holly wand, and as the magic tingled through his fingers, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the feel of his first wand.
The next few hours were spent scourgifying and straightening anything he could see even slightly out of sorts. He levitated and transfigured every object that caught his eye, and he hadn’t thought he could find this sort of small, everyday joy he’d given himself.
That night, Harry slept more soundly than he had in years. His dreams were more happy memories, and less tragic nightmares. When he woke, he felt just a little less defeated.
…
The trial for Dolohov was carried out expediently, and the incarcerated Death Eater was sent away to have his soul sucked out. It was a tad worrisome how everyone involved in the proceedings had grown accustomed to the practice so quickly. Five guilty verdicts within three days; five souls pulled from their bodies and devoured by the Dementors.
Harry felt like he should be fighting it. But what sway did he have? It was primarily his testimonies being used to dole out the punishments, and punishments were definitely called for in these cases…just maybe not this. Harry grappled with his conflicting emotions the remainder of the weekend, but before he could come to a conclusion, he was sent yet more summons for Rookwood’s and Macnair’s trials which ended in the expected, and the full moon was suddenly upon them.
“Harry, you look exhausted. You don’t have to stay down here with me,” Neville said quietly.
“I’m not any more tired than you are,” Harry said reproachfully. “Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I let you go through your first shift alone? I only wish I’d taken Sirius up on those animagus lessons so I could keep you better company.”
“How were the trials?” Neville hadn’t been able to attend due to his degrading condition over the last few days. By the time Monday had hit, he was feverish, unfocused, and completely out of control of his emotions—particularly rage. He’d smacked a crystal vase out of his gran’s hands early that morning when she tried to correct something he’d said, and when he had seen what he’d done, he came straight to Grimmauld Place, locking himself in the cellar a whole twelve hours early.
Harry shrugged, “Same as the others. Hagrid finally got to have his go at Macnair for the whole Buckbeak execution thing, and Percy spoke for quite some time on Rookwood causing the explosion that killed Fred. There were a lot of tears…” Harry cleared his throat which had grown thick as he remembered the Weasley family’s reactions to Percy’s words, and finally the verdict.
“I got another summons today…for the Malfoys,” Harry said hesitantly. “It’s on Thursday.”
Neville eyed him carefully, “What are you going to do?”
“Well,” he paused, considering his answer carefully. “I have to go, don’t I? All these summons are compulsory…but I don’t think I believe Narcissa Malfoy deserves the Kiss. She was just sort of dragged along in it all, wasn’t she?” He looked to his companion sitting in the silver-laden cell.
Neville looked at him sadly. “Draco always said he did what he did to protect his mother. Narcissa’s life was only a bargaining chip in the war—a way to keep Draco and Lucius in line, I suppose.”
Harry nodded. He’d guessed as much, and after her words post-battle, he’d known he was right. She was just as much a victim in this war—held hostage and her son threatened on a daily basis. He was certain she’d witnessed Draco being tortured on numerous occasions, and likely vice versa.
It was difficult for him to imagine the utter stress they must have been under. Of course, his mother had paid the ultimate price for her love—sacrificing her own life for his—but Harry hadn’t been old enough to understand what witnessing something like that would do to a person. To a kid.
“I want to testify on her behalf—and Draco’s. If we do bring them back, I want to make sure it wasn’t so they could throw him in Azkaban the second they find out he’s not dead.”
Neville’s breath was ragged and short, but he nodded in agreement. “Harry—it’s—starting—“
The cracking of bones quickly echoed in the cellar, and Harry winced at the sounds accompanying Neville’s anguished screams. His own joints felt like ants were crawling through them, vibrating to the point, he wanted to claw away at the skin and fascia of his kneecaps and ankles. He squatted back against the wall, moving as far away from the cage as he could.
“Nev? It’s gonna be okay!” He called out shakily to his friend who was now contorting impossibly on the hard ground before him. Harry’s gut lurched, and he felt the bile rising in his throat.
“AAAAGGGHHHHHHH!” Neville screamed out again, and thick hair erupted through every pore on his skin from his face, to his chest and hands, down to his feet. The transformation finally came to an end, and Neville, the man, was gone—replaced by the chestnut colored wolf whimpering before him.
“Nev?” Harry inched closer to the cell door, “Are you still in there?”
The wolf cocked its head to the side, as though contemplating an answer. He howled loudly in response, and considering he didn’t lunge at the silver-laden bars, Harry concluded the wolfsbane was doing its job.
Settling back against the stone wall, Harry settled in for a long night of waiting and one-sided conversation.