7
Three hours later, Hary made his way to the Great Hall. Snape was waiting for him in front of the wooden doors, an expression of boredom on his face.
"Ready to go, Potter?”
Harry nodded, but at Snape’s glare he hastily added: “Yes, Professor. Thank you for escorting me.”
Without saying a word, Snape began to stride in the direction of the Dungeons, robes billowing behind him.
Harry followed suit, but couldn't refrain himself from rolling his eyes at the professor. Were the dramatics really needed?
Snape led Harry to his private quarters and stopped right in front of the fireplace. Harry grimaced. So they were going to travel by floo, one of Harry’s least favorite ways of traveling.
Then again, Harry disliked any form of magical traveling that didn’t include a broom, so he couldn’t really complain. He took a step forward, arm extended to grab a handful of floo powder, when he noticed Snape’s gaze war firmly on him, his black eyes almost sparkling with repressed energy.
He gulped and took a step backward. "Professor?" He didn't like the stare Snape was giving him.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Potter." the man replied, pinning him in place with his eyes. "I bet you don’t even know how much is at stake right now, do you? Do. Not. Screw. The. Trial. Up."
The man waited for Harry to nod before grabbing the floo powder, throwing it in the fireplace and disappearing in a flash of green flames. What the hell had just happened?!
With a sigh Harry followed his professor to the Ministry.
As soon as he landed in the hall he bent in half, gasping for breath. Traveling by floo had been terrible -as usual- but seeing the Ministry Hall had brought back the memories of when he had visited it last time. Of Sirius. Of his first kill. Of Voldemort.
Maybe he shouldn't have come at all. Maybe it was a mistake to follow his plan and not listen to Dumbledore.
The man had lived through many more things that Harry had: surely he would have understood. Surely he would have been able to help if only Harry had been sincere with him.
Harry couldn't linger on those thoughts for long, though, because soon a strong hand grasped the nape of his neck and pulled him up straight, only for another hand to appear on his back and push him forward, right where the elevators were. He turned his face to see Snape walking beside him, glaring at every person who dared as much as look Harry's way.
Right. It was too late to dwell on what ifs. He had made his decision the moment he had asked Skeeter for an interview.
The journey to courtroom number 3 was way too fast for Harry's liking. With every step he took towards the closed black doors he could swear his heart beat faster. Which was absurd.
He wasn't the one on trial here. He hadn't done anything bad. Well, he had, but no one knew about it…. If you didn't count the Slytherins and Voldemort.
But the Slytherins were under a secrecy vow and they had everything to gain if Harry testified for their fathers, while Voldemort... he was pretty sure Voldemort wouldn't out him like this. So he really didn't understand why he was so on edge.
But you do, his brain supplied. If you testify it will be real. You'll free criminals. Your face will be associated with them.
Skeeter always publishes rubbish, but if you testify in court everyone will know.
You won't be able to go back to being the Golden Boy anymore.
Harry huffed. The logical part of him was right, of course, but he didn't think he could go back to being everyone's savior even if he tried.
He had fought. He had killed. And even if he wasn't proud to admit it, a part of him wanted more, wanted to dive into the alluring feeling dark arts gave him and never emerge again.
Of course, he knew he could never do that. But the temptation... the temptation was always there, in a corner of his mind. Waiting for him to finally surrender himself to it.
Harry fisted his hands. He would resist. He would train without dwelling too deeply into the Dark Arts.
And in order to train he needed the Death Eaters waiting for him in the courtroom to go back to their families.
He took a steadying breath and walked towards the enormous black doors, which were now slowly opening for him to grant him access to the room.
Harry gasped at the scene in front of him. The whole Wizengamot was gathered there, filling more than half of the room. Three people were sitting on high back chairs in the center of the empty space in the middle of the room.
From his position, Harry could only glimpse at their backs, but he knew who the three figures were: Lucius Malfoy’s platinum hair was simply unmistakeable.
Snape began once again pushing Harry forward.
He tried to keep his shoulder straight and his head held high as he marched to the front of the room, where an empty chair was waiting for him. He could feel the eyes of everyone present in the room on his back and on his face, making him want to run out of the room and hide away forever.
Except he couldn't. He only had a chance at succeeding and he couldn’t afford to spoil it.
When he passed Lucius Malfoy on the way to his seat Harry stopped for a second and bowed to the man.
"Mr. Malfoy, it's a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for your help at the Ministry.” he said, for appearance's sake.
He was supposed to be acquainted -or at least on speaking terms- with the man, after all. He just hoped the man wouldn’t blow his cover so soon.
To his surprise, Malfoy waved his hand at him. Harry did a double take: he wasn’t chained to the chair, like prisoners on trials usually were.
He had to concentrate hard to repress a snort. Of course Fudge couldn't risk making an even bigger enemy out of Malfoy than he already was. Mr. Malfoy had the money and the power needed to take the Minister down, after all.
Especially if it turned out he had really been unfairly imprisoned.
"Mr. Potter," the man replied in a silky voice. "I hope you were all able to escape unscathed?"
Well they had... but no thanks to Lucius for sure.
"Yes, sir." he forced himself to say instead. "I am sorry you got caught in the middle…”
God but it was almost impossible to speak without screaming insults at the man. "Draco can't wait to see you again."
Inhale. Exhale. Focus. He could do it. He. Could. do. it.
Malfoy nodded his head. "Of course, of course. Anything for Draco's friends."
The man put so much emphasis on the last word that for a second Harry feared their cover would blow in their faces. Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice.
Harry smiled and dipped his head once, proceeding to walk to his designated place. All in all it had gone better than expected: Malfoy had played along well enough not to raise suspicions. Now he only had to convince the whole Wizengamot of the men’s innocence.
His gaze fell on Dumbledore, his purple robes standing out in the sea of red. His eyes weren't twinkling.
***
The three Death Eaters’ trial went exactly as expected: they all declared themselves not guilty, rebutted any accusations of being Death Eaters, complained about the Ministry's way of handling things and threatened to file a lawsuit against Fudge.
Hearing them talk, one would have thought Fudge was the one on trial before them. It was scary, really, how they were able to twist their words to make their stories believable. Politicians, Harry thought.
At last it was Harry's turn to testify. He was told to sit on a hard-looking wooden chair that faced the Wizengamot’s members, while his back was turned to Mr. Malfoy and his two… colleagues.
The thought of them being behind him made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
A glass of water suddenly appeared in front of him. Harry eyed it for a few seconds, but didn't move to take it in his hands.
"You must be thirsty, Mr. Potter, and you are going to talk for a while.” Dumbledore said in his grandfatherly tone. "Feel free to drink as much as you want."
Bells suddenly rang in Harry's head. Nobody had been offered anything to drink during the trial. It was overly suspicious.
Dumbledore and Fudge might want to dose you with Veritaserum.
"I am fine, thank you." he replied, wondering if he was being petty for nothing. Dumbledore had always been gentle towards him, and it was very unlikely that he would betray Harry like this. Still, he didn't reach out for the glass.
Fudge suddenly stood up, addressing their audience. "We are now going to listen to Harry Potter's testimony. Mr. Dumbedore, please proceed with your questions.”
Harry saw a flash of emotion in Dumbledore's eyes as he looked at the headmaster, and soon his throat began to tingle unpleasantly.
"State your name, please." Dumbledore commanded. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he found that no matter how he tried, no sound would leave his lips.
He frowned. What had just happened?
"Trouble speaking, Mr. Potter? Try some water." Fudge suggested, leaning slightly forward in his seat.
Harry gritted his teeth but moved to do as told. As soon as the second gulp of water washed down his throat, the unpleasant tingling disappeared and he discovered he was suddenly able to speak again.
“State your name, please.” Dumbledore repeated. Before Harry could even process the request, his mouth moved on its own.
"Harry James Potter."
His eyes widened comically as the situation began to sink in. He had been dosed with Veritaserum.
Voldemort had been right.
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. There was no need to panic. Voldemort had taught him a way out of this specific predicament, but he would have to keep calm and think.
Unaware of Harry's feelings of betrayal, Dumbledore continued with his questioning.
“How long have you and Draco Malfoy been friends for?"
Well, that was a very to-the-point question. Before his mouth could beat him to it and reply with the truth, Harry concentrated his attention on the charm of the snake barely visible from under the sleeve of his robes. He kept his voice as low as possible and his head bent forward, so that no one would hear him hiss his reply.
‘We have been friends for a few days, but we’ve been enemies "For a very long time.”’
Oh. It looked like Voldemort’s suggestion had just saved his arse.
"Could you be more specific, Mr. Potter? When did you start to consider Draco Malfoy a friend?"
‘Never. And I began hating him more "at the start of Fifth year, Sir."’
So far so good.
Dumbedore sat back in his chair with a dumbstruck expression on his face. Harry resisted the urge to smirk.
It took a few minutes for the headmaster to recollect himself and ask his next question.
"Did Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott and Mr. Parkinson come to your help the night you and your friends broke into the Ministry?”
Harry hid a smirk. ‘I wish "They did,” but they didn’t.”’
Parseltongue was coming easier now, and he could easily switch to English and back without even glancing at the snake pendant.
An uncomfortable silence stretched for a few minutes. Harry raised his head to see Dumbledore frowning at him..
I bet you thought Veritaserum would stop me didn't you? Harry thought, fighting harder now to avoid his lips curling up in a cruel smile.
"Then tell us, Mr. Potter, what happened that night?”
Harry instantly sobered. Now, that was a tricky question. It would require a long and elaborate answer and time to make sure the story he told fell in line with the lies and rumors he had spread,
"Well, Sir,” he began "Voldemort sent me a vision of him torturing my Godfather Sirius Back. I tried to contact him through the floo, but he didn't answer, so I panicked." He closed his eyes, trying to slow his breath to ease the lump he felt in his throat. "I tried to floo here to the Ministry, but Umbridge stopped me. She called the Slytherins and Snape to her office and began crucioing me, but we- me and my friends- managed to get free and fly to the Ministry on the back of thestrals."
He heard a collective gasp from his audience.
“Thestrals, Mr. Potter?" a woman Harry recognized as Amelia Bones asked him. "Where did you find them?”
“In the Forbidden Forest." he replied, shrugging. “I've been able to see them since the happenings at the Graveyard, where Vold-“
"Continue your story of the Ministry, Mr. Potter." Fudge thankfully cut in, stopping Harry's blabbering.
"We arrived at the Ministry and went to the Department of Mysteries, where I thought Voldemort was torturing Sirius... but he wasn't there. Nobody was.
I found a prophecy with my name on it instead, but as soon as I grabbed it, Death Eaters suddenly appeared.”
At hearing those words, Dumbledore immediately straightened himself on his chair and Harry braced himself for the question he knew was coming.
"Was Mr. Malfoy amongst those Death Eaters?”
Harry scowled. ‘Of course he was!’ He wanted to scream the words out, but miraculously managed to hiss them in parseltongue at the last minute. ‘He was leading them! "He wasn't" there to save me, that's for sure!’
He could feel his nails biting into his palms with the force he was clenching his fists. He hoped he wouldn't bleed.
Dumbledore suddenly looked ten years older.
"Go on"
"We fought. I was barely aware of the spells I was throwing and of who was surrounding us. We ran into another room. There was an archway in the middle.
Then the Order appeared and the fight began once again. I was aware that my Godfather was there, too, along with Mr. Malfoy, Mr.Parkinson and Mr. Nott. And then..." his words were cut off by a traitorous sob escaping his mouth. "Bellatrix killed Sirius, pushed him through the veil, and…” he broke out in another sob.
Panic was slowly rising in his guts: if they didn't stop him soon he would have to explain what had happened in the Hall with Bellatrix and Voldemort.
Parseltongue had helped him until now, but there was no way he would be able to recount a believable story without giving himself out. He had to think fast!
"I'm sorry" he blurted out. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused, I am sorry for Sirius’ death I'm s-"
"That’s quite all right, Mr. Potter." Amelia Bones said in a soft, pitying voice.
Hamy needed no pity, but he was happy she had stopped his ramblings. "I think we have all the information we need, do we not, Mr. Dumbledore?"
Harry felt like kissing her. If Dumbledore agreed they would all be free to go.
"Yes, yes, I believe Mrs. Bones is right."
Dumbledore rose to his feet, turning his back on Harry to face the Wizengamot. "Those in favor of freeing Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Parkinson and Mr. Nott without further charge, please raise your right hand."
More than three quarters of the assembly moved to do as told.
Dumbledore's frown deepened. "All those opposed, please raise your right hand."
Only a few hands rose.
"Those who abstain from the vote, please raise your right hand." Only a couple of people moved, and Dumbledore's frown turned into a scowl.
"The Wizengamot has decided: Mr Parkinson, Mr. Nott, Mr. Malfay, the Wizengamot found you not guilty of the charge of being supporters of Lord Voldemort. You are free to go."
As everyone started to vacate the room, Harry felt someone’s stare on the back of his head. He turned around to find Dumbledore staring intently at him.
"Do you have anything else to tell me, my boy?” the man asked, lightly petting his white beard.
Harry bit his lips. Oh, he had so many things to tell Dumbledore! But this wasn't the right place or time.
‘Tom outsmarted you, professor. He won. Other than this, "I have nothing to add, Sir."‘