Check mate.
“Hey Harry,” Ginny greeted sweetly when her head popped in through the door, “Mum wanted me to give this to you. Said you should wear them tomorrow to give a good first impression.” She handed over a bundle of, as it turned out, some of his cousin’s enormous clothes, freshly ironed.
Hadrian smiled at her gratefully and hid behind the appreciative façade his irritation at Molly’s blatant disregard of privacy. Or even decency.
Honestly, who just went through someone’s else’s clothes?
Nevertheless, he didn’t let his irritation show and smiled at her gently.
“Thanks, Ginny.” He laid the clothes on the armchair by the fireplace before turning back to the still loitering girl.
The fierce red-head opened her mouth.
“I just wanted to wish you good luck, Harry, for tomorrow. Not that you’d need it, with Dumbledore there and all.” She chuckled lightly, “Still, good luck.” A quick, chaste kiss was pressed against the boy’s cheek.
However, before Hadrian even really comprehended what had just happened, the girl was all but fleeing the room again, “And don’t be too nervous, even Hermione said they can do nothing. You’ll be great.” She called over her shoulder before vanishing from sight.
Dumbly, Hadrian brought a hand up to his kissed cheek and rubbed lightly.
He had lipstick sticking there.
Uncomfortable, sticky lipstick. It was just so… so itchy and weirdly sweet smelling.
He didn’t like it.
Not at all.
Someone gagged.
Loud and overblown and theatrical.
“Merlin, Harry, can you not do this with my sister? Especially in front of me.” Ron’s disgusted voice reached his ears.
Rolling his eyes fondly, Hadrian turned to the male red-head.
“I didn’t do anything,” he defended himself before pointing to the still open doorway Ginny had just vacated, “she just kissed my cheek. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Whatever, just, if you want to go out with my sister, don’t hurt her, or I’ll make you regret it. Making all these kissy-gooey faces on front of me counts to that.” As if to reinforce his statement he gagged once more before laughing and winking at him salaciously.
Hadrian didn’t say anything. Nor did he do anything. He simply stood there, his hand still on his poor cheek. Meanwhile, he was sure his face had scrunched up lightly.
He and… Ginny? A shudder ran down his frame.
It was not only that he remembered their disastrous few months together the first time around, but also because, well, it was Ginny; a red-haired, fierce and independent woman.
Not that anything was wrong with these traits, mind you, but the problem was that Lily, his mother, had been described like this.
And considering how often he was compared to his father…
Also, he much preferred blonds.
Or people who were not children of a woman who’d declared herself Hadrian’s substitute mother…
Hadrian’s lip curled in aversion, “No thank you. Ginny is so not my type. So you won’t have anything to worry about.”
Ron snorted, “sure, whatever you say, mate.”
Shrugging, the man started striping, not paying the other boy in the room any attention. He took off his new, actually fitting, clothes in order to put on some comfortable sportswear.
The sportswear was also fitting him perfectly.
It was divine.
And it was only when he was about to start with his daily workout — already way better than when he first came back — that he realised that it was strangely quiet for sharing a room with Ron.
A look to the red-haired’s side of the room revealed him already cocooned up on his bed, eyes closed and spit slowly running down his chin, fast asleep.
The low snort that escaped Hadrian’s lips seemed to echo around the quiet, old room.
Some things, it seemed, never changed. No matter where or when.
And later, when Hadrian sat panting and sweating a river on the ground, barely able to hold himself up but still extremely satisfied and with the knowledge that he’d done something — achieved something, even something as little as working out and feel better — Ron was still fast asleep. Just like the rest of the house.
Everything was quiet, dark. Sleeping.
Enveloped in their dreams and safe within Morpheus’ arms.
Only he was awake.
Awake and silently cursing himself for staying up so late even though he had the hearing early tomorrow morning. It didn’t matter that he knew nothing would happened; it was still vital he be receptive and not dead on his feet.
Otherwise these pompous chess players would just actually find a reason to snap his stic— wand. His wand.
And he obviously couldn’t have that.
Therefore, with much effort, he dragged himself up on his dead feet and stumbled his way into the nearest bathroom where he set upon falling bonelessly into the bathtub.
xXxXxXx
The green eyed man could feel a tick develop in his eye every time someone opened their mouth to, once again, comment upon the upcoming hearing.
Honestly, he could only hear the words hearing, don’t worry, Dumbledore and little misunderstanding so often until he would make a little misunderstanding happen that would actually call for the hearing they were so set on giving him. Or rather the fully fledged trial they ended up doing.
And no, Hadrian’s superb mood had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his body had had the great idea to fall asleep in the bathtub. No, absolutely not.
And it also certainly had nothing to do with the fact that apparently the whole, churlish Order had decided to attend this breakfast. Because, apparently, this was the last time they would see him. At least, that’s how they treated him.
Pathetic.
But no, obviously his great mood was to be credited to the delightful dream he’d had of nicely gleaming black tiles in a dark corridor with a heavy door at the end.
It was, after all, perfectly clear that having a dream he’d had hundreds of times before and knew the origin of would irritate him this much.
The aching of his neck or twitches in his back had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Nothing at all.
Sudden, loud screeching made a hush fall over the crowded kitchen.
Hadrian had stood up.
“I’m going to change real quick.” He said towards the Weasley parents who, along everyone else, were staring at him wide-eyed, startled, “Afterwards we can go to the Ministry, Mr Weasley.”
By the time Hadrian’s feet had already crossed the threshold, the noise in the kitchen was slowly, hesitantly, starting back up again. And when he was half-way up the stairs Mr Weasley’s perplex voice reached his ears.
“You don’t need to hurry, Harry.” Mr Weasley said reassuringly, “The disciplinary hearing will only commence in a few hours. We’ve got time.”
“If it’s no trouble, I’d like to be there early.” A fake smile, “I want to give a good first impression, don’t I?”
The man spluttered, “But of course, it’s just… isn’t that bit too early? I mean, hours —?”
“Well,” he ducked his head as if embarrassed, “I’ve never been to the Ministry of magic before. And I thought that… maybe… I just wanted to see how it all worked and what it looked like. I’m mean, it must be huge and… you work there, sir. You could show me everything.” Large, green eyes looked at the shifting man, “I don’t want to trouble you, sir. If you’d rather we go later then that’s alright —“
“Oh no, Harry, it’s alright,” Mr Weasley cut him off. Finally, “I don’t mind if we go now. It’s always nice to see such young lads like you interested in the workings of the government. Maybe I could even show you my workplace if the time allows it.”
“That would be great.” Not really, nor will it be possible, still, Hadrian sent Arthur a thumbs up and a brilliant smile before vanishing up the stairs.
xXxXxXx
Mere minutes later quick, fleeting footsteps carried the man downstairs again and to the front door were Mr Weasley, wearing Muggle clothes, was pacing, hands twisting nervously.
The moment the man’s eyes fell upon Hadrian’s form, they went wide as saucers.
“Well lad, looking like that I’m sure you don’t have to worry about a good first impression.” He complemented amazed, “Not even someone like Malfoy will be able to say anything against it.”
Of course he couldn’t, Hadrian thought wryly, after all, this is something his son would wear.
Externally he simply smiled anew and, remembering the way they had traveled the fist time, once again decided to do something about it. Even if he was not sure it would work, seeing how much of a fan Mr Weasley was.
“Are we able to apparate directly to the Ministry? Or do we have to floo?” He asked innocently before putting on a confused face when the man opposite of him began to flounder.
“Well, uhm, I guess I can, uhm, side-along you. We’d need to leave the wards either way.” Hadrian thought that Mr Weasley looked a bit dismayed, but in the end couldn’t really find it in himself to care.
If the man wanted to go out into the Muggle world, then he could do it, just not when they had to go to an important appointment within the Ministry or when he used Hadrian as an excuse.
Therefore, he simply straightened out his pristine formal robes, patted the little white peony flower in his pocket and followed Mr Weasley, leaving the grim house within its impressive wards behind.
A soft, gentle hand on his arm was the only warning Hadrian got before his body was torn into its separate atoms and squeezed through space only to be put back together again in a totally different place.
Gone was the clear morning sky with its velvety clouds, now exchanged for a peacock blue ceiling in which gleaming golden runes kept moving and changing.
The faint rustling of leaves and rumbling of a car every now and then had also made place for the rustling of papers and the flaring of the fireplaces.
“This way,” said Mr Weasley.
Without further words, they joined the throng of wizards and witches, wedding their way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases; still others were reading the Daily Prophet as they walked, all the while skilfully evading anyone and anything in their way.
“Over here, Harry,” said Mr Weasley once more, and they stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates.
Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying Security, a badly-shaven wizard in the same peacock-blue robes as the ceiling looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet.
The check in went by smoothly, and only by the end, as they were already turning away again, seemed to wizard to recognise Hadrian for who he was. Thankfully, Mr Weasley simply cut him off and dragged Hadrian with him.
On the way to the lifts the red-haired man excitedly pointed out everything he could see; greeted acquaintances and made small talk with colleagues.
And then, every time the lift halted, no matter if it was at ‘Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau’ or ‘Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services’ where they eventually stepped out, Mr Weasley could always say something about each level.
He would explain what exactly was done there, why it was needed and maybe even some funny stories or quotes.
It was endearing; how excited and bubbly the normally more reserved man was.
Therefore Hadrian did feel kind of bad for not really paying attention. But how could he? There where so many dead people walking.
Rufus Scrimgeour was screaming at a young Auror.
Amelia Bones was purposefully striding through a heavy door.
Broderick Brode sat at his desk, working without a care in the world.
Merlin, it was… it was too much.
So all Hadrian could do was nod and smile. Nod and smile, nod and smile.
And, oh wow, Mr Weasley and Kingsley were so inconspicuous. It truly was a wonder how anyone could ever think that they were in a secret vigilante group together. Completely incomprehensible.
Anyway, eventually, finally, while Mr Weasley was proudly showing him his immensely tiny and cramped office, a memo zoomed in through the open door. It continued fluttering about until the man snatched it out of the air and unfolded it.
Mr Weasley blanched.
“Down in old — but they told me — Merlin’s beard!”
Mr Weasley looked at his watch and Hadrian could see relieve flooding his face. His shoulders, which had tensed, loosened again and slumped down before his posture went rigid once more.
Obviously, he’d gotten the note that the time and place of the hearing had changed.
“Quick, Harry, we have to be there in five minutes already!”
He left the office in a run, Hadrian hot on his heels, but far more dignified.
“Why would they have just changed the time?!” Panted Mr Weasley, trying to catch his breath while the lift slowly descended into the endless depth of the Ministry of Magic. “Thank goodness we got here so early.
“Those courtrooms haven’t been used in years.” He continued to spat angrily, frowning at Hadrian, “I can’t think why they’re doing it down there — unless — but no —“
The lift doors rattled open. And like lighting Mr Weasley was shooting out of them, hasting down the bare, windowless corridor and down a flight of stairs; Hadrian all the while behind him.
“Quick Harry, down here, down here,” he panted, taking two steps at a time, “The lift doesn’t even come down this far… why they’re doing it down there I…”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to dungeons one would find in any old castle.
Rough stone walls were only illuminated by the feeble light the torches in brackets emanated. Dark shadows ghosted everywhere, only sometimes disrupted by the gleaming of iron bolts and keyholes on heavy wooden doors.
“Courtroom … Ten … I think … we’re nearly … yes,”
Finally, Mr Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest and looking at his watch.
“Thank you, Mr Weasley,” Hadrian dusted off his robes before squaring his shoulders and forcefully controlling his breathing, “I’ll take it from here.”
He pressed down on the heavy iron door handle and stepped inside the courtroom.
This was it.
xXxXxXx
Standing in front of the whole Wizengamot was… something.
He knew it would end well.
He knew what they were trying to do.
He knew what was going to happen, and yet…
Dark stone walls only lit by torches caged him in. Empty, monstrous benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures who looked down upon him with judging, unforgiving eyes.
They had been talking in low voices, but as the door swung close behind Hadrian an ominous silence fell.
With slow, yet steady, steps he walked towards the chair in the middle of the room.
They echoed in the silence. Loud and evenly.
He kept his back straight and his breathing low.
Eventually, he sat before them, looking up at them from his low chair with chains dangling from the arms, clacking every time he so much as moved.
He felt… small like that. Vulnerable and like he’d done something wrong, even though he hadn’t.
But exactly that was the point of the whole thing, wasn’t it?
These people, they needed to sit higher up, didn’t they? They needed to have a high seat, so they could look down on every one who sat where Hadrian sat today.
They needed it to show them and everyone that they were mightier, better, more powerful. That they were great and he, well, he was guilty, and weak, and powerless.
There was no way he could compete with them.
That’s what they wanted him to think.
That’s what they wanted to believe themselves.
Or why else should they use this method of intimidation if not because they were scared. And wanted to break poor, deranged Harry Potter.
He crossed his legs and… and hunched his shoulders, watching them with concealed disinterest in his green, green eyes, all the while recalling all the feelings and emotions, thoughts and needless fears he’d had the first time.
There were about fifty of them, as far as he could see. All wearing the same plum-coloured robes with an elaborately silver ‘W’ on the left-hand side of the chest and all staring down their noses at him; some with very austere expressions, others with looks of frank curiosity or even bafflement.
The Minister, Cornelius Fudge, looked especially peeved by his presence.
“Very well,” he said at last, “the accused being present, let us begin. Are you ready?” He called down the row.
“Yes, sir!” Called the eager voice of the missing Weasley brother. Hadrian didn’t spare him a glance, instead opting to continue to stare at the increasingly uncomfortable looking Minister.
“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, and the sound of a quill scratching on parchment filled the room at once.
“Into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statue of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whining, Surrey.
“Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley.“
He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, “The charges against the accused are as follows:
“That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statue of Secrecy
“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whining, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Hadrian over the top of his parchment.
Not really, “Yes” said Hadrian.
“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”
“Probably, yes.”
Fudge glared harder.
“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?”
“… Yes.”
“Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?”
“A Squib.”
At Fudge’s — and literally everyone else’s — incomprehensible gaze, he elaborated.
“My cousin is a squib, sir. And since we grew up together he already knew about magic. As far as I’m awa—“
“You produced a fully fledged Patronus?”
Amelia Bones cut across him in a booming voice. He swallowed his irritation, trying to keep calm and relaxed.
But honestly, what was it with those working in the Ministry and always interrupting everyone?
Smiling tensely, he answered, “Yes. Yes, it is fully fledged. But as I was say—”
“Impressive.” She interrupted him once again, staring down at him, “a true Patronus at this age… very impressive indeed.”
Some of the wizards and witches around her were muttering again; a few nodded, but others were frowning and shaking their heads.
Hadrian rolled his eyes. Fudge spluttered.
“It’s not a question of how impressive the magic was,” said Fudge in a testy voice, “in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain view of a Muggle!”
Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement.
He heaved a big breath.
“Sir, my cousin is still a Squib, not a Muggle — as I’ve already informed you. Not that that changes anything since I also would have produced my Patronus if there had been Muggles around.”
Fudge’s smug exclamation and the crowds loud murmuring went ignored by the teen; he continued talking — and definitely wouldn’t let anyone interrupt him now.
“But of course you are right, sir. It is indeed not a question of how impressive the magic was but rather why I did it.”
The Minister’s expression changed to one of annoyance.
Yes, that’s exactly what Hadrian himself felt. However, instead of showing this like the Minister did, he hung his head in seemingly embarrassment.
“But I must confess I am rather confused.” He mumbled now, and ‘dared’ to glance up at the judging Wizengamot before immediately adverting his eyes again, “You see, no-one saw it fit to explain to me how all this works, so I have really no idea if this is normal. However, in the Muggle world, when there has —“
“Mr Potter,” a high pitched voice interrupted him once again, “it’s truly tragic that a boy as young as you suffers under such illusions and sickness, but we are not such low Muggles. And you are not in the Muggle world. I assure you, we wizards and witches are quite different from them.”
Wow.
Really, wow. It truly was impressive how much hate and repugnance could be put into a simple, little word.
Truly impressive. Still…
“I assure you, Madam, I am aware that we are wizards, not Muggles. However, if you would cease interrupting me, then you might find out what I was trying to say.”
Dolores Umbridge humphed derisively but didn't comment any further because of Amelia Bones' reprimanding look.
“If a crime has been committed in the Muggle world,” he continued, ”then the authorities investigate basically everything; the scene of crime, the prime suspect and bystanders, the circumstances in which the crime happened, and so on.
“In all those instances it is tried to find out the truth, thereby either incriminate the main suspect or exonerate them.
“And only after all that and more is done, the main suspect is either spoken free or a law suit is filed. If that happens then the offender is allowed a legal backer in front of court. The court — in consideration of the overall circumstances of the crime — then decides on a penalty, which can range from a monetary fine to a life-sentence in prison.
“At least, that’s the way it’s done in the Muggle world but obviously, the wizarding world does it differently, no? So it would be really nice if someone could explain it to me…” He trailed off, unsure.
But this time when he finished speaking, there was no derisive muttering from the benches above. And when he hesitantly looked at the superior, powerful Wizengamot, an ocean of confused and frowning faces greeted him.
It was quiet.
Not even Cornelius Fudge or his undersecretary had anything to say.
Madam Bones cleared her throat.
“I don’t think we need to explain to you how our system works since you just summed it up quite well, Mr Potter. But I have to wonder, if you weren’t sure how we do such things in our world, then why didn’t you ask anyone to explain it to you before coming here?”
She raised an eyebrow at him judgmentally. He swallowed heavily for effect before seemingly 'drawing upon his Gryffindor courage' and gazing headstrong into her eyes.
“Whom? Whom should I have asked, Madam?” He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, “My family are Squibs that have never set foot into the wizarding world; they couldn’t have helped me even if they wanted. And no-one else I asked about it explained it to me either. They all just told me not to worry about it and to let the adults handle it. But then I wonder which adults?”
Hadrian’s voice grew in volume. “No-one explains anything! And now I’m sitting here, in front of the entire Wizengamot on a full scale trial, without any help whatsoever! With no-one to defend me, as is my right and the law! All because of underage magic because someone couldn’t control their subjects!”
A low muttering broke out at that.
Gone were the unforgivable eyes and sneering faces. Oh, some were still sneering, of course, but barely and seemingly just because they had to.
They still frowned, yes, and they still judged him and disliked him on principle — be it because of all the stories the very reliable Prophet published or because they thought he’d vanquished their Lord — but it didn’t matter anymore. And especially not now.
Amelia Bones, he noted, was opening her mouth, but was talked over by the esteemed Minister.
“Now listen here, boy! It is in no way the Ministry’s fault you couldn’t be bothered to hire an attorney,” The man seethed, “and now you better stop wasting our precious time by trying to evade the consequences of your actions. And trying to blame us, the Ministry, for you breaking the law! Preposterous! I won’t let you or Dumbledore get away with this.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but what has Headmaster Dumbledore to do with any of this?”
“Isn’t it obvious, boy? First you and Dumbledore try to unsettle the public by saying You-Know-Who is back, and then you try to take over the Ministry by saying I am so incompetent I cannot even control mindless Dementors!” Fudge throttled out. A vein pulsated worryingly strong on his forehead and, oh, wow, Hadrian seriously had to wonder if he had a Basilisk as an ancestor, because such a venomous gaze could really only come from such a being.
But then the Minister’s words caught up with him and he suppressed his pleased smirk. Instead he just furrowed his brows some more.
“I don't know why you believe I want to take over the Ministry, sir, but... Dementors, sir?” He asked innocently, intrigued, “If you already know about the Dementors that attacked my cousin and me then why am—“
“Dementors?” Interrupted Madam Bones again. But this time, instead of looking at the teenager, she looked at Fudge screwedly. “You didn’t mention that there were Dementors, Minister.”
Immediately, the vicious fire behind these gleaming blue eyes vanished. Fudge swallowed. He discreetly dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief before he squared his shoulders and opened him mouth determined.
“The boy broke the law,” he stated, not answering either of the posed questions, “he endangered us all with his wilful ignorance of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the Statue of Secrecy. We cannot let this go unpunished. This boy and Albus Dumbledore think themselves above the law, so it is our duty to show them that that’s not the case.”
Some people nodded along, others, who had been frowning before, now looked at the Minister of Magic incredulous.
“Minister Fudge, I must digress!” Madam Bones immediately interjected, “While you are right that nobody is above the law, you seem to not be aware of the fact that neither are you, Minister. If there truly were Dementors, then we must know this! How else are we supposed to judge rightfully if we do not have all the facts. And please, do leave the Headmaster of Hogwarts out of this. He has nothing to do with this case.”
Fudge opened his mouth, sputtering.
His face was slowly but surely turning a deep red color — wether in asphyxiation, because of his shallow, quick breathing, or in anger was yet to be seen. Though, Hadrian was pretty sure that it was a little bit of both.
“Dumbledore obviously convinced the boy to—“
“None of that.” Madam Bones cut him off immediately. Obviously, she was as done with Fudge’s pathetic excuses as Hadrian. But, different than him, she had the ability to do this. He, on the other hand, would probably be thrown into Azkaban for that alone because he’d hurt the Minister’s — much too big — ego.
What a shame.
“As you said you were going to handle the investigation yourself, I want all your investigation results, now, Minister. I want the testimonies, the reports of the Obliviators and Aurors you sent, as well as Mr Potter’s memories of the whole debacle.”
Now, wasn’t that interesting? And so delightful Hadrian had to hide his face because he couldn’t fully conceal his satisfied grin.
Fudge looked so pale he looked sick. His heavy sweating and laboured breath only added to the image.
“N-now, now Amelia, my dear, that won’t be necessary.” He eventually managed to stutter out. However, he faltered even more under Madam Bones steady, unrelenting gaze. “He b-broke the l-law. We all k-know this.”
The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement narrowed her eyes, “Do we? Must I remind you, Minister, that Clause Seven of the Decree of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that all magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch him- or herself, or any witches, wizards, or Muggles present at the time of the —“
“I am familiar with Clause Seven, thank you very much, Madam Bones!” Fudge almost snarled. But only almost. And obviously wanted this topic to end, but Madam Bones was unyielding.
“So until we know for certain if Dementors threatened these two boys or not, or if there was another legitimate reason he had to produce a Patronus, then we cannot be certain if Mr Potter broke the law.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, “Now, Minister, the reports.”
“Uhm… I… ah —“
BOOM
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
All mutterings ceased, as well as Fudge’s hilariously pathetic response. Simultaneously, the head of every Wizengamot member turned and craned to look at the person having entered the courtroom.
A sudden, booming voice ended the silence.
“Witness for the Defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”
No-one spoke while the old man was striding serenely across the room wearing midnight-blue robes and a perfectly calm expression, as if he didn’t just barge into a trial he had no business in.
Not that he let this bother him. His long sliver beard and hair gleamed in the torchlight as he drew level with Hadrian and looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his very crocked nose.
Fudge looked as livid at his entrance as he looked relieved.
It was truly pitiful. And a bloody miracle how such a man could become the Minister in the first place.
Closing his eyes briefly, Hadrian gripped the arms of his chair in a white knuckled grip, ignored the clacking of the chains and then looked up at Dumbledore, hope shining in his wide eyes.
“Headmaster Dumbledore? I didn’t know you were also an attorney and could represent someone in court!” He exclaimed in false surprise. He had to play this right. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Just like the last time, Dumbledore didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead his serene gaze rested upon the sweating Minister above him. However, it was not the Minister that spoke up.
“Headmaster Dumbledore,” greeted him Amelia Bones, “as Mr Potter’s witness for defence you should have been here fifteen minutes ago. Besides that, I must share Mr Potter’s sentiment: I didn’t know you were a qualified attorney either. Though, considering the boy wasn’t aware of the fact it seems to me that you are, in fact, actually not permitted to be here.”
Albus Dumbledore just inclined his head benignly and twinkled at the stern witch.
“My dear, I assure you everything is perfectly alright.” He turned his head back to Cornelius Fudge; obviously dismissing the woman who had seemed to have taken charge over this whole farce of a trial. Dumbledore… didn’t seem to be aware of it. Well…
“Cornelius, it was only by a happy mistake that I arrived three hours early and heard just in time that the time and place of the hearing had been changed.” He chastised the man lightly, almost jovially, “Alas, it is of no matter. Now, what are the charges?”
Fudge snarled, “the charges have already been stated, Dumbledore. And if you had been on time you would be aware of them.”
“And were the charges really so severe that this trial has to be held in a high security courtroom? A courtroom that was last used when Voldemort’s followers were sentenced to repentance their horrible crimes?”
The witches and wizards in the benches flinched, started murmuring once again while Dumbledore and Fudge had a staring match.
A match in which spineless, lousy Fudge had absolutely no chance in.
Hadrian just played his role as nervous child and looked between the Headmaster and Minister wide-eyed before eventually, his fearful eyes landed once more on Amelia Bones.
Their eyes met.
“Headmaster Dumbledore, please sit down. This case of Underage Magic has already been blown out of proportions as it is. Now —“
“I may be wrong —“ starts Dumbledore pleasantly, but even though it was obvious he was going to continue, Amelia Bones just continued talking; with absolutely no regard to Dumbledore.
“— since the Minister obviously doesn’t have the required files — which are always needed for a trial — on hand, we’ll just have to improvise.”
Now, she turned his stern gaze unto Hadrian himself. He swallowed. Hard. For show.
“Mr Potter, I know the process of extracting memories is unpleasant and I apologise for making you go through this experience a second time, but — as you were already told and experienced it before — it is quick and an effective way to prove the truth as memories cannot be forged without anyone noticing.”
A small, tiny hiccup coming from the sea of black-clothed members echoed through the room and, trying to be subtle, the Minister dapped his sweating face with his handkerchief.
Madam Bones meanwhile swished her wand and a hole opened in the floor, from which a fairly large — okay, a huge — pensive was elevated.
Then she turned back to the ‘teenager’ in the middle of the room and nodded her head encouragingly.
Hadrian did his best to seem nervous, to seem fearful but also hopeful. However, he was sure that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite conceal the satisfied gleam in his eyes.
He stood up slowly, hesitantly, and winced when the chains once again clacked loudly.
Step by step he walked towards the pensive, always one foot in front of the other, until, eventually, he had to stop when he reached the magical instrument.
“I-uhm… I… actually have no idea how this works or what I’m supposed to do.” He finally admitted ashamed, “I’ve never done this before?”
Eyebrows rose in sync.
“You don’t?” Surprise coloured her voice, “but it was done for you, right? When the Aurors and Obliviators came after you performed magic on the night of the second of August?”
“Amelia, it is to my understanding —“
“That you should be quiet, Headmaster.” Madam Bones looked more and more cross, “I asked Mr Potter, and since you were not there, nor are his legal backer, I advise you to keep silent and sit down.”
Dumbledore’s constipated face was hilarious. Madam Bones’ forcibly welcoming face when looking at him was also hilarious.
But he couldn’t laugh. Not now.
Breath and concentrate.
Antsy, Hadrian shifted from foot to foot, “No. Ma’am.” He quickly added, “No-one came to my relatives after it happened. I only got the letters that I was expelled from Hogwarts and that my wand is to be snapped. But no-one ever came.”
She blinked.
“What.”
Uh-oh, seems like someone is in trouble. And it sure wasn’t Hadrian.
“So you’re telling me that we’re having this whole trial — with the whole of the Wizengamot present — just on the accounts that Mr Potter used magic while underage and in a Muggle inhabitant area.” The witch continued on as if on a war path, “And then, even just knowing this, Minister, you did not think it necessary to sent Obliviators to make sure that this breach of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statue of Secrecy would not lead to serious problems and maybe the discovery of magic? As you previously stated was so important?”
The way Minister Fudge was chewed out in front of all these people, how he himself tried to crawl under his desk in shame while at the same time obviously wanting to protest in indignation; Umbridge’s too wide, too innocent eyes and least, but not any less noteworthy, the many shining eyes of the Wizengamot member’s and their futile attempt to hide their mirth — beautiful.
It truly was an honour to be allowed to observe this lovely spectacle.
A look to the side had a… a ‘cough’ escape Hadrian. Dumbledore looked… well, he looked kind of like a constipated fish out of water.
Several times he opened his mouth but closed it again instantly — obviously, he thought better than to attract Amelia Bones’ wrath onto himself.
Oh, he just knew he would cherish this memory for years to come. Maybe even share it…
Eventually, though, Madam Bones was finished and Minister Fudge reduced to a stuttering mess of indignation.
She turned back to him, and if a small, smug smile graced her painted lips then no-one had to know.
“I apologise, Mister Potter. Not just for my most unprofessional behaviour just now, but also because of the confusion. Like I stated before, the way we normally operate is quite similar to the way you described the Muggle proceedings. Unfortunately though, it appears that there have been some… preconceptions, that now allowed for this whole mess the spread and overcomplicate everything.
“Now, to resolve this — no doubt highly stressful — situation, we’ll just use your memory of the event. It’ll show exactly what reason you have had to use magic while outside of school.”
Just as Hadrian opened his mouth to once more play his role as the naïve, innocent child, Madam Bones beat him to it.
“You just have to think of the event you want to show us, bring your wand to your temple and concentrate while you draw it out and put it into the pensive. That's all.”
He just nodded in understanding and squeezed his eyes shut. Just for show. Then he brought his wand to his temple, like instructed, and made sure to struggle a bit while extracting the right memory.
So the memory from the first time, where his Patronus had still been the stag Dumbledore expected it to be still.
The moment his memory touched the swirling liquid of the Pensive, a flash lit up the whole courtroom before darkness descended upon it. The few remaining murmured and muttering of the Wizengamot ceased instantly.
The next moment, rattling could be heard. Long, hoarse rattling. Breathing.
More than one person blanched at the sound.
Footsteps running and arguing voices could be heard next.
And then, finally, “lumos!” — the wand tip ignited.
It ignited and revealed floating cloaks with shadows as faces and darkness as feet.
Dementors.
A panicked “Expecto Patronum!” made several relieved sighs slip out of terrified mouths — only to be turned into fearful gasps when the Patronus didn't form. Didn’t work.
It showed not that he formed the Patronus. Not immediately. But it was enough.
It showed what Fudge had not wanted them to see or be true — a legitimate reason for Hadrian to have used underage magic and also breach of the Statue of Secrecy.
He had won.
Eventually, light returned to the room and illuminated the pale faces of two people, and shocked and disbelieving faces of everyone else.
Madam Bones cleared her throat.
“Well,” she started, “Dementors. In a Muggle suburb.”
“But… but… it can’t be… real!” The Minister’s pitiful stuttering was silenced by a mutual glare of every person sitting this room.
Actually, Hadrian mused, not everyone. After all, the esteemed Madam Umbridge glared at him, not the Minister. But, oh well, not like he cared.
“I would be quiet if I were you, Minister.” The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement cut him off once more, “I think we have seen enough to seriously question the competence of some people here. And to be clear, I’m not talking about this justified case of Magic from Mr Potter.”
Fudge stayed quiet. What a progress.
“Well then, onto the charges,” Madam Bones continued, this time aimed at the whole Wizengamot, “those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?”
Hadrian looked around at all the wizards and witches not raising their hands, who then raised them when the question of conviction came; Fudge, Umbridge and three others. None of whom dared to look him into his green green eyes.
The boy let a small smirk smile grace his features.
Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though something large stuck in his throat, then lowered his own, shaking hand.
He took two deep, fortifying breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, “Very well, very well… cleared of all charges.”
“Excellent,” said Dumbledore briskly, shrining to his feet, pulling out his wand and causing the chintz armchair, which he'd previously summoned, to vanish. “Well, I must be getting along. Good-day to you all.”
And with that, he swept out of the room, as though he had done anything to help Hadrian or had been forced to be here in the first place. After all, it’s not as if Hadrian had to do it all by himself.
Well… actually… no, he hadn’t. All he really did was point out a few tiny, little things and the ministry personal did the rest themselves.
Hadrian’s forced grin grew just a tick sharper. Not that anyone noticed. But with that, he also swept out of the room. And the Dungeons. And the Ministry- not caring if there was anyone waiting in order to pick him up.
Once he reached Diagon Alley he, once again, visited the Owl Post Office to deliver his already prepared, most anticipated, letter.
He took the little peony out of his pocket, secured it inside the envelope and sent it off.
…
Hello Magic,
the tense and anxious atmosphere finally dissipated with my unambiguous release. Though, I still fell like a prisoner in my London house. This Grim place just gives me the creeps, like I’m being watched all day. The only release seems to be my refreshing midnight stroll every now and again. Without it I would certainly go crazy.
Have a good night, Your Basilisk
…