Two figures knelt to either side of his seat, their heads bowed, as was proper. Only a select few showed him the full respect he was due, perhaps it was time to stop being so lax. It would seem they had forgotten in his time away.
But not these two.
"Reports?"
"My Lord. The Sirius Black trial went as expected. There was nothing I could have done to delay it any further without drawing suspicion upon myself. We managed to see that worthless heap Pettigrew kissed. He wasn't privy to any of our major plans but I thought it prudent to avoid the risk."
"Well done. And your identity?"
"Uncompromised, but pressure is mounting. Dumbledore is attempting to gain backers before bringing his war request before the Wizengamot. With the ICW nearly involved already, I suspect the more neutral members will be hesitant. If the ICW moves in to direct the war effort, it will be chaotic for a time and it will be much harder for them to pass their self-serving laws."
"Interesting…" He drummed his fingers on the wooden armrest. "Do what you can to delay Dumbledore's work. At least until we have a plan to get me down into the Department of Mysteries."
"Yes, My Lord. If you'll permit me, I believe I should avoid returning here unless absolutely necessary. I have collected enough hair from our guest to make plenty of polyjuice to last me for a few months. It will soon be far more difficult for me to slip out unnoticed."
"A wise precaution. Send word through one of our other agents if necessary."
"Of course, my Lord."
XxX
"It would appear that you do not want to be here. Is that correct?"
"Damn right," Sirius grumbled from his place by the window. "I've survived on my own for years. I didn't need some mind healer then and I certainly don't need it now that it's all over with."
"Nothing is keeping you here," Phillip Jacobson said in that irritatingly calm voice of his. Sirius was positive the man did it on purpose. "Nobody can force this on you. If they did, it wouldn't work. But, if you want your title and Wizengamot seat back, then I have to be able to clear you."
"To hell with House Black," he spat.
Without another word, he stormed from the pretentious office and out into the hall.
He didn't need the same Ministry that had locked him in Azkaban dictating what he had to do in order to live the rest of his life. He could figure out a way to get his title back on his own. Then he could take guardianship of Harry as he'd promised.
He grinned, taking the stairs down two at a time. Maybe he could take a page out of Lucius's book and grease certain wheels with some golden oil. Cissy said she was still connected to certain…elements. Maybe an apology would earn him some of her help.
After all, what was the point of being ridiculously wealthy if you couldn't stick it to those bastards at the Ministry every now and again?
XxX
Harry took the stairs two at a time as he rushed down to begin his 'lesson' with Mrs. Delacour. He rounded the corner into the kitchen to find a dark red apron thrust into his face.
"You're in charge," she said, beaming as he dropped the apron over his head. Her shoulder-length hair was tied behind her head in a small ponytail with a small black ribbon.
Harry smiled to himself. At least Fleur came by her habits honestly.
He turned to inspect the kitchen to find a few of the ingredients already waiting for him on the island countertop.
"It seems like we have everything we need to get started, Mrs. Delacour."
He grabbed the scale and a bowl to measure out the flour, taking care to tap the last few grams into the large metal container. He set the package of flour to the side and scanned his waiting ingredients.
"Do you have butter or shortening?" he asked when he couldn't find either.
"Which would you prefer?"
"Both, if you have them. Are they cold?"
"Should they be?"
He nodded and she sighed, mumbling something about always having melted her butter before. She produced her wand from one of the front pockets of her apron and with a wave brought two containers soaring towards them. With another wave, a slight frost crystallized on the outside. Eyeballing a generous pinch of salt, he dropped it into the flour before adding the fats and beginning to mix.
She watched as he worked, handing him the pitcher of ice water to add bit by bit, before turning the mixture out onto the floured worktop.
"I used to overwork the dough like crazy," he said, kneading with the heel of his hand. "I was used to making bread. It took me a while to get the feel for when it's ready."
He paused.
"You can stop me if you know this already."
She shook her head and smiled.
"With my method, I only use melted butter, pour the ice water in all at once, and use magic to have the dough knead itself. I would never have known the right consistency to stop at." She smiled wider, watching as he worked. "I'm already learning, that is, so long as the final product is up to snuff."
He stopped kneading when the dough felt springy enough and divided it in half.
"We need to refrigerate them for a few hours. After that, we'll be ready to roll out the dough and begin baking. Wildberries don't have a lot of moisture in them, so we won't have to blind-bake the crust for long."
"You make it look so natural," she said.
"I like to bake," he said with a shrug.
He pulled his apron off and placed it on the countertop.
"So long as you follow the same steps, you'll get the same result…To an extent anyway. When you live somewhere where it rains all the time, the humidity can mess you up a little. But even then, it's not as tricky as meat, which needs to be done a little differently each time. Baking is…predictable. It's why I like it."
He turned to her, attempting to suppress the grin he felt trying to overtake his expression.
"Thanks for letting me help. I've been wanting to ever since I saw your incredible kitchen."
"You are certainly welcome anytime, Harry. It seems like I could learn a lot from you."
A few hours later they returned to the kitchen, checking to see that the dough had cooled enough to work with. Once deemed acceptable, Harry rolled it out and demonstrated his method for keeping the thin dough from splitting. He carefully rolled the dough onto his rolling pin, then unrolled it across the pie pan. He crimped the edges before sliding the pan into the oven for a short par-bake.
While the crust baked, Harry followed Apolline's instructions for making the filling, a recipe that had apparently been passed down from her mother.
"I don't know if it's because of our origins or if I just love wildberries," she said, taking a quick taste of the filling from between the lattice before sliding the pie into the oven for its full bake. "But something about this pie just warms my soul." She turned to Harry, a wide smile across her face. "Thanks for making it with me. Neither of the girls likes to cook at all."
"Their loss."
XxX
The relative silence of the front steps of Twelve Grimmauld Place was broken by the sudden arrival of a half-complete string of curses a fraction of a moment before a fuming Sirius Black.
"-cilic, old, power-hungry bastards. And Fudge! What a smarmy cu-"
A tawny owl sat patiently on the railing by his door, an envelope with the waxy red seal of the Ministry attached to one of its legs.
"Oh for fu-what do they want with me now? I just left!" he asked the bird which earned him a blank stare in return. He snatched the letter from the owl's leg and shooed it away before opening the door to his home.
It had grown no more lively in the week he had been living there. A path was worn through the dust on the floors with only a trail leading from the chairs in front of the fireplace to the kitchen, and up to his room on the second floor.
He followed the path through the sitting room and into the kitchen, tossing the letter and his wand on the small table he had placed next to his father's favorite chair. He had found much joy in transfiguring the black leather stiff-backed chair into a recliner, and had placed it just a hair too close to the fireplace.
Routine carried him through the open doorway into the kitchen and up to the single dust-free cabinet. He pulled open the door to expose his much-too-sparse collection of alcohol. He pulled out the last bottle of his favorite firewhisky, grumbling when it came without protestation. He tossed the empty container to the countertop with its many fallen comrades. It rebounded off an empty bottle of bourbon and fell to the ground, shattering into large pieces with a crack that echoed through the empty home.
He stared down at the pieces for a moment, lamenting his decision to leave his wand all the way in the other room. He looked up and surveyed the dirty, stagnant kitchen, most surfaces covered in the same thick layer of dust.
Kreacher could clean the bottle off the ground. And maybe clean in general. Cook too, if he was specific enough about not being poisoned.
But then he'd have to call Kreacher. And see him. And talk to him.
He decided he'd probably rather starve.
Kicking the glass shards to the side, he grabbed the only full bottle left in the cabinet; a bottle of ever-frosted gin. He had never liked gin, especially not the kind that gave you rolling chills with every sip. The cold numbness afterward was nice though.
He moved back to the sitting room and dropped into the chair, popping the top off the gin with one hand. A frosty shudder rolled up his spine after a long drink and he glared at the Ministry's letter, ignoring the sensation.
He glanced at the cold fireplace, the logs inside just a single wand-flick away from a fire hot enough to burn the unwanted trash.
He plucked the letter from the table and set the bottle down in its vacant spot.
Who knows? Maybe it was from one of those people Narcissa had said she would talk to.
That had been an awkward conversation.
He ran a finger under the seal and pulled the parchment from the envelope and unfolded it.
Mr. Sirius Black
(Temporarily Restricted) Head of House Black,
This letter is to notify you that your presence has been requested on Wednesday, August 23rd in small court B405.
The request was made by the prosecuting party on behalf of the minor in question: Harry James Potter.
The hearing will be held at 1 PM to determine whether or not Mr. Potter will be removed from the custody of Vernon and Petunia Dursley.
Your presence is requested, but not mandatory. Unfortunately, further details of this hearing cannot be disclosed. Please see or owl a Ministry representative with any questions regarding the time or process.
Sincerely,
Sandra Bollinger
Department of Family Affairs
Sirius reread the letter in disbelief, cursing the minimalist explanation given. He understood the need to keep Harry's business private, but it left him with so many questions.
Not the least of which being why hadn't Harry sought him out after his hearing to tell him any of this?
His stomach turned at the memory of Harry's third year when he had first made the premature offer to take him in. His face had lit up, overjoyed with the prospect of living with a man he had only just met. One that was fresh out of Azkaban, little better than a walking skeleton. He had been so desperate to reconnect with his godson that he hadn't given Harry's eagerness a second thought.
Tendrils of rage snaked through the magical numbness of the gin, burning the alcohol from his mind. It had to be something major for muggles to be brought to magical court.
Maybe Azkaban would be a little more tolerable if he had actually committed the murder of which he was accused.
Before his anger could pull him from his seat to become the protector Harry should have had, another thought flitted through his mind. He hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Harry at the trial, and he hadn't seen Arthur or Molly sitting next to him. He doubted he was staying with those rotten muggles anymore.
So where…?
"Kreacher!"
A loud crack resounded through the room and the dusty air disgorged a wailing house-elf onto the floor.
"Don't want to help the blood traitor!" it croaked, banging knobby fists on the ground. "Don't want to! Mistress promised Kreacher—promised the brat wouldn't come back!"
His sobs continued as he lay face down on the floor.
"Get up," Sirius snapped. "Neither of us wants you to be here, so let's do this quickly. Then you can go back to whatever rotten bog you crawled out of."
"Such a kind master," Kreacher grumbled, rising to his feet. "Such a thoughtful master."
"Do we have any owls left?"
He hadn't managed to make it up to the higher floors where he and Regulus had slept. Horrible memories made for powerful barriers in the ancient home.
"Must have slipped Kreacher's mind. Owls can hunt for themselves…but only if they are untied."
Sirius grimaced at the thought of a coop full of decaying owl carcasses. Another chore for Kreacher.
"Buy us another. It needs to be fast and smart. I'll let you clean up the old owls using your magic if you choose a good one on your first try." He leaned in close, fixing the elf's giant eyes with his fiercest scowl. "Otherwise, I'll come up with a hundred menial tasks to make my life easier, then you'll have to clean them up by hand."
"Mmm," Kreacher hummed, his voice throaty and wet. "Master is feeling generous today. Must not be feeling well. Kreacher will pick up a potion for Master. Will cure all his ills."
"No potions. Quit complaining and get going."
With another exaggerated crack, Kreacher vanished.
The elf wasn't gone long and soon returned with a large and rather perturbed owl.
"He is fast and smart, as Master requested," Kreacher said, holding a skinny arm out to place the owl on the small table.
It kicked over the gin with one taloned foot and took flight to the mantel above the fireplace. It glared between Kreacher and Sirius alternately, beady black eyes distrustful.
"It's not very friendly."
"Master didn't ask for friendly," Kreacher said, his perpetual grimace as close to a smile as it ever got.
"Get out of here," Sirius snapped.
The house-elf vanished the moment the words left his lips.
He penned a simple letter and turned to the still fuming owl. A few minutes and bloody pecks later, he managed to tie the letter to its leg.
"Find him and deliver the letter. If he has his owl, you don't have to stick around." He wiped the bloody fingers on his shirt. "In fact, if he doesn't need you, you're free to go. Don't come back."
The owl let out a clipped hoot and soared out an open window in the kitchen.
XxX
The late August sun warmed Harry and Fleur where they sat, legs dangling off a short pier into the magically warmed water of the lake. They had foregone their daily trip to their clearing, instead opting to spend a relaxing afternoon by the water.
He stole a glance over at her, her toes swinging through the water, loose trousers rolled up to her knees. She gazed out over the lake, blue eyes unfocused as small droplets splashed into the air with each lazy swing. His eyes were drawn down to her ankles as she kicked, a faded mottled scar around each one marring her otherwise flawless skin.
"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" she asked, startling him from his admiration.
"Am I?" he asked in return.
The week that had passed since she had begun to sense him had done more to comfort him than he ever thought possible. Even his shameful display in the kitchen had been met with aplomb and compassion. During even his most introspective moments, her excitement had been clear whenever he asked what she was feeling from him. As his anxiety about the idea dwindled away, he had begun to take every opportunity to offer her that simple joy.
Besides, he had a hard enough time expressing himself properly to her and her special understanding had become welcome. He was going to miss it when he returned to Hogwarts.
"Not right this minute," she answered, her sky-blue eyes focusing on him.
She smiled her appreciative smile and returned her gaze to the water.
When he wasn't recovering from one nightmare or another, he spent many sleepless nights trying to understand his friend. He had been frustrated, initially, that he couldn't sense her in return, no matter how ridiculous an irritation it was. She somehow seemed to understand just what he needed during his times of crisis and he felt he should be able to reciprocate in some small way.
He just…wanted her to be happy.
"What are you thinking of?" she asked, startling him from his thoughts. "It is not something I often feel from you, and there have been many emotions I do not recognize. Are you thinking of your godfather? Or your friends? It feels like…fondness?"
"Erm…yeah," he answered, fumbling to cover his embarrassment. "Thinking about my friends."
"Have you let them know you are here yet?" she asked. "They could come to visit."
"No. I haven't. If I did, I'd have to explain to Hermione why I'm here. She wouldn't let me get away without an explanation. Ron might not ask too many questions but he'd probably be a bit of a prat about it for a while."
"About you needing to leave your family? That is ridiculous."
"About staying here with you…" he said, trying to fight the heat creeping up his neck.
"About staying with a Veela, you mean," she said icily.
He suppressed a sigh.
Ron was one of those topics that riled Fleur up almost instantly. She had little tolerance for his 'fairweather friend' as she had taken to calling him, and Harry had little success dissuading her from her point of view. At least reminding her that Ron had followed him into the legendary Chamber of Secrets had helped make a little progress.
"Maybe," he agreed. "But even if he was able to get to know the real you, he'd probably still be a little jealous. It's not only because of a Veela thing."
"Mmm," she hummed noncommittally.
He cursed inwardly for stumbling through such a sensitive topic.
Fleur knew she was beautiful, but she always tried to call as little attention to that fact as possible, especially while at home. She had spent most of their summer days in loose trousers and shirts, her flowing silvery hair often tied back by one of her many colored ribbons.
Before he could figure out how to resurrect their conversation, a large owl came swooping out of the sky, landing between them with a beat of its powerful wings. Fleur reached to grab the letter, pulling her hand back with a hiss when the bird snapped at her finger.
She looked up at Harry, wide-eyed. "Very few people know you are here," she said. "That is probably important."
He reached out slowly, the touchy owl following his every movement. He pulled the letter from the owl's leg and let out a quiet breath.
"I think I'll send my reply with Hedwig," he told the bird before scanning the sky. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere."
His familiar had shown up just a few days after him and had spent most of her time pestering him about his lack of letter sending.
He opened the letter and let out a short laugh.
"What is it? If you do not mind me asking."
"Look for yourself," he said, handing over the small piece of parchment.
WHERE ARE YOU?
-Sirius
"Rather to the point, is he not?" she asked, her mouth quirking up into a smile. "Perhaps he could come to visit…"
She trailed off and gestured across herself with one hand.
"Would he be able to?"
"I can ask him," he said, stuffing the letter in his pocket.
"Do. I will speak with Maman about it," she said, rising to her feet. "It will be nice to meet him properly."
Rising, he dusted the back of his trousers and followed her up the path back to the house. It would be nice to see Sirius again but…
The inexplicable clench of disappointment in his chest only served to baffle him. It was as though the end of his idyllic summer had come far too soon.
XxX
Harry sat on a couch in the sitting room between Fleur and Gabrielle, absently picking at a seam on his trousers. Sirius had sent his reply back with Hedwig who had made unbelievable time on her return trip. Armed with passable skill in occlumency, Sirius was on his way. Not only was he on his way to have dinner, but it would be Harry's first opportunity to talk with his godfather about what had happened.
Fleur nudged him gently with her shoulder and he realized he had been bouncing his foot on the ground, the thumps ringing through the room.
Before he could make any excuses, the fireplace roared green and Sirius strode through, grinning.
"Harry!" he said, grinning. "It's great to see you!"
"You too, and not in secret for once."
"A welcome change." He turned to Mr. Delacour, who had made a point to be home early for their guest. "Imagine my surprise when I found out he had been staying with you of all people!"
"I hope you'll forgive me for not mentioning so while we worked together. We thought it best for Harry to be able to choose who knows and when, or at least as much as he is able to, anyway."
"I completely understand," Sirius said. "Well, introduce me to your lovely family."
The introductions were quick and Harry could only marvel and the easy way that Sirius blended into their close-knit dynamic so seamlessly. He still stumbled over his words sometimes when talking to Fleur, someone who had been his friend for over half a year. To come into a stranger's home and enjoy easy conversation from the start was on par with some of the most impressive magic he had ever seen.
They followed Fleur's parents into the more formal dining room that sat off the ballroom. Fleur had shown him the massive table during their tour, but they had eaten every meal at the much more comfortable table in the room next to the kitchen. Proper silverware and cloth napkins had been set out and Harry found himself oddly trepidatious. He had been confident in the cherry pie from their third baking excursion but he wasn't sure it was up to a standard like this.
Sirius kept the conversation rolling through dinner, telling stories of his escapades through Hogwarts. He took care to mention James at every opportunity and Harry hung onto every word. Fleur's parents reciprocated with their tales of being school-aged sweethearts and how they first crossed paths through a private tutor during their final year. Even Gabrielle joined in with a couple of questions, testing her improved English on Sirius.
Harry, for his part, said little, instead drinking in the utter normalcy that pervaded the evening. Even his upcoming custody hearing felt a distant worry throughout the dinner and he let it slip from his mind.
It didn't stay gone for long, however, as following dessert Mr. and Mrs. Delacour made a point of giving Sirius and Harry time alone in the sitting room. The hearth lay dormant and the bare light of a waning moon shone through the windows.
"How in Merlin's name did you end up with the family of the French Ambassador of all people?" Sirius asked, diving straight into the awkward conversation. "I'd have expected the Weasleys, to be honest."
"It just sort of…happened," Harry said, wishing he could draw on whatever confidence it was that allowed Sirius to navigate such difficult waters with ease. "I didn't plan it or anything."
"Why don't you start at the beginning. You don't need to go into specific details if you don't want to. The letter I got told me about the hearing tomorrow and I expect I'll hear enough then."
He smiled a crooked smile.
"I'm not…great, at this sort of thing," he said, shifting in his seat. "Growing up, I always had to hide what I thought if I wanted to make it through the day unscathed.
"I'm glad you got out, Harry. It took me much longer to get up the courage to tell somebody what had happened to me."
The import of Sirius's words slammed into Harry's chest, driving the breath from his lungs. He could only gape for a moment before finding the words to speak.
"Y-you? It happened to you too?"
"Oh yes," Sirius said with a barking, mirthless laugh. "You might call me the white sheep of the family. I suffered under my mother and father's wands often and even more so as I grew older and more rebellious. It wasn't until I was out of Hogwarts and living on my own that I said anything."
He blinked misty gray eyes.
"It was actually your mother I told first. She'd come to check on me after a particularly heavy bender and I just…told her. Nothing much came of it as the war started in earnest not long after and it never came up again."
Sirius shook himself from the memories and refocused on Harry.
"So go on then. How'd you end up here?"
They talked deep into the evening, though Harry opted to keep the more vivid details to himself. Sirius commiserated and occasionally threatened to go after the Dursleys himself, something he had been happy to learn that he would be waiting in line for. In turn, Harry listened while Sirius expounded on an adolescence of loneliness and pain not so dissimilar from his own. Save for the frequent occurrence of a crazy dark wizard.
As their conversation wound to a close, Harry noticed Sirius fidgeting in his seat and looking around the well-decorated room. His foot tapped on the hardwood floor and he examined a wooded landscape painting that hung above the mantel.
"You know, Harry," he said, drumming his fingers on his armrest. "I know it's nice here…but if you want, I can still take you in. I just need to do a bit of work before I can be fully reinstated. After that, I can claim guardianship. I know it won't be too long before you're of age and can live on your own, but I thought…" he trailed off, shrugging. "If you want," he repeated.
"That would be great," Harry answered without hesitation. It was wonderful at the Delacours, but he wasn't sure he would ever feel like he wasn't intruding upon their perfect family.
"It's a promise."
XxX
Mr. Delacour led Harry through the lower levels of the Ministry, his Ambassadorial badge gleaming as they strode down the long, mostly empty hall towards their room.
The only other occupant of the hall stood just outside their door, hands clasped together beneath a long white beard.
"Harry, Sebastian, it is good to see you."
"You as well, Sir," Harry said, pausing in front of the door.
Dumbledore turned the knob and pulled it open, ushering them inside. "Your court scribe will be here momentarily but in the meantime, I have something I would like to discuss with you both."
"Is it so important that it cannot wait until the school year?" Sebastian asked, his normally warm voice frosty.
Dumbledore didn't speak for a moment, instead lowering himself into one of the rickety chairs at a small wooden table. He glanced at the both of them, seeming somehow diminished in the drab room sitting in front of a beat-up pine table.
"I suspect that you will find answers to the questions you have of me."
Sebastian glanced down at Harry. "I'm okay with it if you are," he said.
Harry nodded, then took a seat opposite the Headmaster. Sebastian moved behind him, placed his hands on the back of his chair, and glared at Dumbledore.
"I shall get straight to it then. Harry, I owe you an apology of such magnitude that I have found myself incapable of forming words of sufficient weight."
Harry felt Mr. Delacour straighten, his hands coming off the chair back.
"Erm…what for, Sir?" he finally managed.
"For everything that is happening here today. It is an exceedingly long story. One that I would be happy to share, should you so desire. To be succinct; I am the reason you were placed in your Aunt and Uncle's care."
"But…I knew that. Hagrid told me. That doesn't make this your fault."
"You are kind, Harry, however…" Dumbledore's uncharacteristic pause tied Harry's stomach in knots. "I placed many spells and enchantments around your home to ensure that I would know if those that still followed Voldemort had located you."
He let out a heavy sigh.
"Had I thought to encompass the interior of the home in the enchantments, you would not have suffered so for all these years."
"You couldn't have known," Sebastian said, his tone far warmer than it had been before.
Harry found himself nodding a lie along with the statement. Years of torture and suffering could have been avoided if Dumbledore had thought to turn around?
He clasped his hands tight beneath the table and willed away the tendrils of anger that snaked through his chest.
"That is forgetting the fact that you finished your fourth year in the hospital wing suffering the lingering effects of the Cruciatus," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "I have failed you in so many ways, Harry. I am sorry."
Before Harry had the opportunity to reply, a knock sounded from the door to their room.
"If you'll permit me," Dumbledore said, rising from his seat. "I would like to continue this once you have returned to Hogwarts."
Harry nodded and Dumbledore pulled open the door to reveal a middle-aged witch with black hair tied in a tight bun. She held a quill and clipboard in one hand, and a small metal box in the other.
She opened her mouth for a greeting, then started when she realized who had opened the door.
"Ah, Supreme Mugwump. What are you doing here…Sir?" she asked.
"I was just leaving," he said, bowing out of the room. "Thank you both for indulging me."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving them alone with the Ministry Employee.
"Yes. Well. I am Valeria Cosgrove. I work in the Department of Family Affairs and I will be your scribe today, Mr. Potter."
"It's nice to meet you, Ma'am."
She moved to the seat that Dumbledore had vacated and placed the box on the table with a heavy thunk. She sat down and placed her clipboard in front of her.
"As you are still a minor, there are some extra precautions to ensure your privacy. Have they been explained to you?"
He shook his head.
"The members of the jury, as well as any Ministry employee involved, are given a proprietary memory potion prior to the hearing. After judgment has been cast, a catalyst is then consumed, removing any memories that were created after drinking the initial potion. You may designate that the people you have invited to spectate are not to be given the potion, should you choose."
She looked down at her paperwork and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"I see the only person you have invited to the hearing is Sirius Black. Shall he be issued a memory potion?"
"He should know," he murmured.
She made a quick note then removed the parchment, exposing a blank one underneath. She set it aside and pulled the box over, looking up to Mr. Delacour.
"Are you aware of our memory procedure, Ambassador?" she asked, holding the metal box in both hands.
"I am not," he said, eying the container. "Is that…iron?"
She nodded. "As pure as we can manage. It resists magical tampering were someone to attempt to alter the memory held inside. You will open it and remove the vial inside. Place your memory inside the vial, then return it to the box. Once you seal it, it cannot be opened again until the hearing is underway. That will remove any possibility of someone in my position changing the memory in any way."
He nodded, an odd frown resting on his lips.
She pushed the box towards him, then pulled a small vial from a pocket on her robes.
"This is the memory potion," she said, unstopping the top. "After I drink it, I will scribe your statement for you, then present it and the memory to the officiant. Once we have finished, you are free to either join us in the courtroom, wait outside for the verdict, or return home. Either way, you will receive an owl with your result."
When she finished speaking she dumped the dull pink liquid into her mouth and downed it in a single gulp. She shuddered, then picked up her quill.
"Please, Mr. Potter. Tell me in as much or as little detail as you would prefer about your time living at Privet Drive with Petunia and Vernon Dursley."
XxX
"You have no authority over me!" Vernon bellowed at the freaks of nature assembled before him. The leader, a graying man in a ridiculous pointed hat, sighed and leaned back in his seat.
"We are well aware of your views of wizarding kind, Mr. Dursley," he said, lifting a sheet of paper up to inspect it. "'Worthless freaks' and 'blights on proper society' appear no fewer than five times during your escort to this courtroom."
"After you kidnapped us, you mean," Vernon spat, wrapping an arm around his trembling wife.
"You were taken into custody as we indicated we would should you refuse to cooperate." The man gestured to a group sitting to his right; a group of supposedly normal people that were here to play jury. Probably just more freaks in disguise. "As you can see, we have a jury of muggles to assist in our final verdict."
"They're all like you lot, or paid off," Vernon said, earning a frantic nod of agreement from Petunia.
"Fortunately for us, your belief is not required. We offer you the opportunity to submit to Veritaserum, a truthfulness potion, in exchange for a more lenient sentence. Do you accept?"
The scratching of a scribe's quill filled the silent chamber for a pregnant moment. Then Vernon erupted.
"Trying to poison me now!" he bellowed, thundering towards the seat that held the officiant. A purple stormfront of rage. "I've suffered you lot long enough! You're unnatural! You flaunt your powers and act like gods, without a single thought for those of us beneath you." He gestured back to his wife who had begun to cry while nodding. "I've had enough. You can either let us go, or we blow the lid on this whole sham of a society."
"You wouldn't be the first to threaten to do so," the officiant said, banishing Vernon back to his seat with a word and a flick of his wand. "The accused has refused the Veritaserum. We shall begin."
Sirius sat, stone-faced. He delved deep into the stores of resilience and sheer idiotic stubbornness that had got him through Azkaban and forced himself to stay seated while the trial progressed. Each example and retelling of Harry's time with these…people…only tested the resolute ironclad edges of his resolve.
In another life, he would have enjoyed watching Lily's wretch of a sister and her husband dig their metaphorical graves in front of a wizarding body. In this life…well…
Metaphors can only take you so far.
A single image bolstered his rusting restraint. A mere glimpse of Harry through the closing doors of the courtroom. He stood in the hall, pallid face drawn tight. Sirius had expected to find at least the embers of Lily's temper behind such similar eyes.
He found his own fear instead. The unresolved corrosive blackness that he clutched tight against his chest reflected back in wide green eyes.
So, for Harry's sake, he endured. Each memory shown and statement read boiled violent rage hotter and higher in his blood until that bastard Vernon was only a pinprick in the center of a haze of red.
It ended with sweat-slicked stone and white knuckles.
Vernon's belligerent defenses had faltered against Harry's torturous detailed statement and by the time the trial had finished, for all his bluster and fury, he sat motionless before the jury in his rickety chair.
One of the muggles stood from the jury and spoke.
"It is our opinion that the…erm…wizarding court…is justified in their removal of Mr. Potter from the custody of the accused. We, therefore, approve the transfer of the trial to a…non-magical court."
"You can't convict us," Vernon spluttered, though it appeared to be out of habit more than true objection. "This is a sham!"
The officiant stood and straightened his hat, face grim. "With the Jury's ruling, Harry James Potter is no longer under your care. The Department of Family Affairs will locate a new home for Mr. Potter should no guardianship claims or offers of adoption come through. The accused will be tried before a muggle court with a Ministry liaison present to bring justice within both sections of society.
"This hearing is adjourned. Bring the catalyst."
The Ministry employee bearing the tray of auburn vials passed Sirius by with a nod, allowing him to rise and stride from the room. His threadbare control on his temper prevented him from a final triumphant glance at the Dursleys and he slipped from the room before he could get caught up in any chatter.
He found Harry waiting on a bench not far from the doors, his head in his hands. Sebastian sat next to him, resting his back against the stone wall behind them.
Sirius paused and drew in a deep breath. He doubted Harry would respond well if he stormed up with a scowl on his face. Once calm, he strode forward and greeted them with a cheery wave. The grin that split his features came easy. It was good news he was delivering after all.
"I hope you weren't waiting on some stuffy Ministry employee to tell you," he said, smiling down at Harry's anxious features. "They ruled in your favor. It's over."