4 – Yuletide pt.1
15 December 1972
Hogwarts & Peverell Manor
It was the evening of the end-of-term feast, when Melanthe stood after Dumbledore sat down. “May we have a round of applause for the upperclassmen, but especially the seventh-years, for managing to learn several years’ worth of material in only three and a half months?”
There was thunderous applause, and Melanthe raised a hand for silence. “In honour of that, we are celebrating. And tonight, will be a mixture of magical and muggle dishes, to ensure both sides have what they like, although it is encouraged to test unfamiliar foods. Who knows, you might like it, such as with me and black pudding,”
There was laughter, and then the food appeared on the table. Melanthe saw Lily Evans move to the Slytherin table, and get only a few looks for it. Progress. That’s good. And Regulus moved to the Gryffindor table, making her smile.
“So, Melanthe, are you staying at Hogwarts for Yule?” Minerva asked curiously.
“Unfortunately, no.” Melanthe looked disappointed. “There is Morfin Gaunt’s retrial on the 18th – I demanded a re-examining of evidence by a master Legilimens – then there is the Black Yule Celebration. After that, there is a shopping spree – I am under a secrecy oath, unfortunately – and a meeting with Riddle – why he chose Boxing Day is beyond me.”
“Please tell me you aren’t planning on going alone,” Horace said worriedly.
“I’m not. Orion and Corvus are accompanying me.”
“That is a relief.”
“I’d love to see him try and harm me, though. The Peverell magics are brutal in their defence,” Melanthe muttered quietly.
Horace wisely abstained from responding to that.
After dinner, Melanthe Flooed out to Peverell Manor, sighing in relief as the wards washed over her.
Pallas – the head house-elf – popped in. “Miss Melanthe is home! Do you wish for dinner?”
“Thank you for the offer, Pallas, but I have just come from the Hogwarts’ feast. Some tea would be appreciated, though.” Melanthe smiled as Pallas popped out.
After she had her requested tea, she went to bed.
18 December 1972
Ministry of Magic
“You look tired, Mel,” Charlus said sympathetically when he saw Melanthe sitting in the Peverell seat, hunched over a folder.
“I’m worried about the NEWT students, that’s all. I have four months to teach them the seventh-year material for Dark Arts, because May will be almost entirely revision in preparation for the NEWTs. Defence is slightly better, because at least my predecessors weren’t completely useless, so I could tailor the curricula for each year around what they did know.” Melanthe shook her head.
“Do you even have a moment to yourself?” Charlus exclaimed in disbelief.
“What I do have, I use to study for two masteries,” Melanthe confessed wryly. “But I do have time to think and breathe during patrols.”
“Merlin’s beard, how do you manage to teach and study for two masteries?” Charlus shook his head.
“It’s somehow easier than trying to get three at the same time, trust me.” Melanthe shook her head. “You might want to sit; the press is entering.”
“I’m taking the Stinchcombe seat today,” Charlus confessed. “I cannot stand Doge and Summerisle this close to Yule.”
Melanthe chuckled as he sat down close by. “Spending it with the Blacks as well?”
“Dorea’s insistence, but yes.” Charlus smiled fondly.
Albus banged the gavel once, and the doors closed. “Merry meet, Wizengamot and press. Today is the retrial of Morfin Markus Gaunt, which has been brought to our attention by Lady Peverell. Because I have a… rather unfortunate… history with the Gaunts, I shall step down as Chief Warlock for the duration of this trial in favour of justice, and nominate Lord Ogden as the temporary Chief Warlock.” He stepped down, and a mildly stunned Tiberius took over.
“Thank you, Lord Dumbledore.” Tiberius nodded. “Today is the 18th of December 1972. Presiding over this trial is temporary Chief Warlock Lord Tiberius Ogden, Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold, Head Auror Fleamont Potter, who is doubling as translator if necessary, Barrister Heir Titus Whitlock, and Scribe Heir Kali Brown. Bring in the accused.”
Melanthe and Charlus traded sympathetic looks at Morfin’s state. He was emaciated from his 29-year-long imprisonment, and didn’t resist the Aurors.
“A healer’s report has stated that the accused is capable of taking Veritaserum, but must be constantly monitored,” Tiberius announced. “As such, administer the Veritaserum.”
Morfin didn’t resist, making several of the older journalists’ eyes widen in surprise.
“Your full name?” Tiberius started the questioning.
“Morfin Markus Gaunt.” His voice was raspy and heavily sibilant, but he responded in English, to Melanthe’s relief.
“Date of birth?”
“19 September 1897.”
“Have you ever used magic on the Riddle family?”
“Only when their son came too close to our residence.”
“Why?”
“He made Merope – my sister – uncomfortable, and refused to leave when Father asked him to.” Morfin’s voice was annoyed.
“Would you have murdered him?”
“I was tempted to, on many occasions when I overheard him drunkenly bragging in the pub in Little Hangleton. But I had no desire to end up in Azkaban, so I left before I lost my temper in its entirety.”
“It’s interesting how detailed his responses are,” Charlus whispered to Melanthe.
“Veritaserum – when administered to Parselmouths – does retain its compelling effect, but cannot completely haze our minds over. This means that detailed answers can be given to typically Yes/No questions without prompting,” Melanthe whispered back, before returning her attention to the trial.
“Did you murder the Riddles?” Tiberius was mildly intrigued.
“No.” Morfin’s answer was instantaneous. “I avoided them like the plague whenever possible, and their manor was on the other side of town, where I would never bother with showing my face.”
“If you didn’t, who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Tiberius sighed. “Explain the events of the 29th of June 1943.”
“I had woken up from a nap due to knocking, and so I went to check. I nearly thought it was Riddle, but the eyes were different – an almost unnaturally vivid blue, like Merope’s – and I knew it wasn’t him. I apologised for pulling my wand, said I’d mistook him for his father, and he asked for more information. He said he’d be back. He returned maybe two hours later, furious and calling them every bad thing under the sun, then apologised and asked after Merope instead. The conversation turned to the family history, and we moved to the sitting area. Several hours later, the door was blasted open from the outside while we were talking, and I was hit with a red-orange spell. I remember nothing between then and being shipped off to Azkaban.”
The trial went on, and eventually the Wizengamot were dismissed to deliberate over the results. Summerisle was saying guilty, and Diggle and Doge were his most vehement supporters, but Albus sighed. “I vote for innocent.”
Diggle stared at him in shock. “But, Albus…”
Albus shook his head. “I cannot take a grudge over what was – in hindsight – a perfectly reasonable sentence and course of action with me to my grave, Dedalus. I believe it was time that I examined my biases against certain people – or types of people – in July. I have come to many realisations since then, namely that the world is changing and that we have to change with it, lest we risk becoming relics of less desirable times.”
Charlus led a round of applause. “Well stated. What made you come to that insight?”
“Lady Peverell’s interview,” Albus confessed. “It seems that an outsider’s perspective was truly necessary for me to see that the world is no longer that of my youth. As Lady Peverell pointed out in one of the October sessions, the Grindelwald War has been over for longer than she has been alive, and many people the older members of the peerage have grudges against are long dead. It does not do to dwell on the past, on what could have been. We can move forward, leaving past grudges and slights in the past, and advance, or we can remain stagnant.”
To hear those words from someone that had – for a long time – resisted major changes shocked many of the older members of the peerage to the bone.
Charlus gave Melanthe a proud smile. “There are no words to describe how impressed I am.”
“Someone I knew once told me that our actions and choices show who we really are, far more than our words, abilities, or circumstances,” Melanthe confessed. “And that is a sentiment I aim to live by.”
“Okay, let us take a proper vote,” Tiberius called them to order. “All in favour of guilty?”
Only three wands were raised, predictably Summerisle, Diggle and Doge.
“All in favour of not guilty?”
All the remaining wands went up, and Tiberius nodded, leading the way as they filed back into their seats.
Bagnold looked at Tiberius. “Has a verdict been reached, Interim Chief Warlock?”
“Yes, Minister.” Tiberius nodded. “With a staggering vote of 3 to 88, Mr Gaunt is declared innocent.”
Morfin looked almost shocked that justice – after 29 years – finally prevailed.
Melanthe was the first to stand after that. “As Lady Peverell, I shall be ensuring that Mr Gaunt receives the appropriate medical treatment after his 29-year-long stay in Azkaban. And be very grateful I am not pressing charges on his behalf, but I shall insist on a complete review of any and all cases handled by Robert Ogden during his Auror career, no offence intended to Lord Ogden.”
“None taken, Lady Peverell,” Tiberius reassured her. She had an almost insane level of determination to see the magical world keep up with advancements in the Muggle world, even if merely to help them adapt and blend in better, should they need to, and also to ensure justice prevailed. And he could respect that. “Thus, concludes the trial.”
“My, my, my, Lady Peverell, you certainly are turning tides for us,” Orion said as he sauntered over.
“I am duty-bound to drag the British magical world into the 20th century before it becomes the 21st, Lord Black. And that is a mere 28 years from now,” Melanthe returned with a smirk.
“Shall we be having the honour of your presence over Yule, Lady Peverell? Father has been asking,” Orion asked politely.
“Certainly, Lord Black. Familia ante omnia, after all.” Melanthe’s smirk softened into a smile. “While I appreciate your company, the clinic in Greece is awaiting their new patient. So, I shall see you on the 20th. And do pass on my greetings to Arcturus.”
Orion watched her walk away with a small smile. Oh, I can’t wait for the wedding.