Harry Potter and the New Order
By: JA_Japster
Obligatory Disclaimer:
The Harry Potter series is property of its respective owners and all that other good stuff that prevents me from being sued. All original characters are property of mine, blah blah blah, and have a nice day.
Chapter Two: Three Charges, Three Life Sentences
Hermione
And so there I stood.
I took comfort in the fact that I was not alone. Ron's widowed wife, Luna, and the rest of the Weasley's were somewhere in the vast sea of spectators, supporting me. They were perhaps the only ones present who did not wish to see my client, their friend, locked up for the rest of his life. While Mr. Weasley had publically spoken harshly against Harry's vigilante actions, I could tell, somewhere deep inside, he was proud of the man who had avenged his son's death. They all were. Justice, to them, had been served.
Now it was Harry's turn to face judgment.
"Bring in the prisoner." Fudge barked, and a team of Aurors scrambled to carry out his bidding.
I held my breath as I listened to the growing sound of footsteps. Silence reigned, the rhythmic footsteps echoing ominously throughout the chamber. The doors opened. Then, for the first time in five years, I saw him. They seated him. I nearly screamed.
The "added security measure", as Cornelius Fudge called it, was respect for how powerful Harry had become during the time since he had left Hogwarts five years ago. His arms were securely shackled to the witness' chair by lengths of chain that looked magical in nature, and an ugly formless mask with only slits for eyes had been fastened over his face to prevent him from speaking. Any movement of the hands or words spoken, Fudge had explained to pacify my outraged protest could allow Harry the chance to escape...or worse.
Other security measures emplaced for the duration of the trial was a full entourage of the Ministry's finest Aurors. Stationed directly outside of the courtroom, they searched everyone who entered the chamber. Not a single wand, not even the Minister's, was allowed inside the small, impenetrable fortress they were building for the occasion.
I watched Harry out of the corner of my eye, horrified that I no longer recognized my best friend. Underneath the chains and the mask, he looked like a monster taken straight from a muggle horror movie. The only semblance of the old Harry Potter, the Harry I knew, were the hint of emerald that poked through the mask, staring intently at me. For a brief moment I longed to be near him, to comfort him, to reassure him that his case was in the able hands of a completely inexperienced, amateur novelist who did not know the difference between civil litigation and a murder charge.
I felt like crying at the hopelessness of it all. Maybe later, when it was all over; when Harry was shipped off to Azkaban, leaving me feeling responsible for not saving him from that hell. But not now. Now, I needed to be strong and try my best, like anyone would expect of their best friend.
The trial began and the nervous chatter died down immediately. The head of the Wizemagot, still Cornelius Fudge, seemed to take vindictive pleasure covering the charges being brought against my client. I could understand Fudge's intense loathing for Harry; he had after all almost unintentionally ruined Fudge's ambitious career twice, but my blood still boiled watching him smirk as he placed unnecessary emphasis on each word.
Having been given a briefing a week before the trial, I was familiar and yet completely unprepared for the presented charges. According to multiple witnesses, Harry had entered Azkaban to interrogate two men suspected of Death Eater activity and the murder of one of my and Harry's closest friends: Ron Weasley. As was procedure, he surrendered his wand and entered into the interrogation chamber with two ministry officials to supervise the interrogation. He waited until the suspects were brought in and chained down. That's when everything went to hell.
Without using a wand, Harry stunned and rendered unconscious both ministry officials, and then killed the two defenseless Death Eaters with two Killing Curses. Ignoring the alarms, Harry then proceeded to march down the aisles of Azkabans, stopping at the cells of other incarcerated Death Eaters, killing the occupants, then moving on with the cold, meticulous rhythm of a butcher. He made it all the way down the second tier, twenty dead prisoners in his wake, when the guards finally overcame him.
Three charges, three life sentences.
The first was using wandless magic, a practice outlawed by the Warlock Confederation of 1757. Wands, as everyone knew, were magical tools used to amplify and channel the user's innate magical abilities, more or less like a muggle bullhorn. Using magic without a wand was as incredibly difficult as it was dangerous and unpredictable. An unfocused, improperly cast spell by a potent wizard or witch could cause unheard of destruction, to others and themselves. There were horror stories of wizards of old accidentally engulfing themselves, and their village, in flames while attempting to light a candle without their wand.
The second charge was the assault on ministry officials. While the two officials inside the interrogation chamber had only been stunned, several of those that had attempted to subdue Harry had been subject to a number of vicious, but non-lethal, jinxes and hexes and were still recovering in St. Mungos.
The third charge, and the only one that could warrant a death sentence if the counsel chose, was the use of an Unforgivable Curse, not once, but twenty times on twenty different individuals. I was aware of the facts concerning Unforgivable Curses, thanks to a Death Eater in my fourth year as ironic as that may seem, and also knew how unwavering the counsel was on this issue.
I had trouble believing these charges. It was Harry Potter they were talking about after all, the Boy-Who-Lived; someone who fought against the dark arts, not used them! Sure, Harry was a powerful enough of a wizard to accomplish what they were accusing him of- he had proven that countless enough times having survived his school years- but he was an Auror for heaven's sake! Someone who upheld the law, not broke it.
But then I stopped to think, stopped to remember the sadness and rage I felt at the news of Ron's death four weeks ago. I remember how when I was at Ron's funeral, gazing at his coffin as it made its descent into the ground, I would be willing to do anything to avenge his death. At the moment, my thoughts were just that: thoughts. The Harry she knew, on the other hand, was a man of action, something which five years had not changed apparently. Storming into Azkaban suddenly seemed very characteristic for a man who threw caution to the wind and broke into the Ministry of Magic to rescue his godfather all those years ago.
But the uses of the Unforgivable Curse? Harry had always despised the dark arts, just like his father. He once confessed to me during our sixth year about what exactly happened during the fated battle in the Ministry of Magic after I had been knocked unconscious; how he had used an Unforgivable Curse on Sirius' killer, Bellatrix. No matter how justified it may had seemed at the time, there was no escaping the shame and guilt that he had done something despicable and evil. Weeks later, he told me, he still had nightmares.
So why now?
I involuntarily found myself answering the question. A slew of memories unconsciously came forth. Memories of Harry yelling in incoherent rage at being left in the dark, memories of Harry's reclusive behavior and apathy in the weeks following Sirius' funeral, memories of Harry's duel with Malfoy during our seventh year which left Malfoy bloodied beyond recognition.
"How do you plead?" Fudge's impatient voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"Not guilty." I replied on Harry's behalf, for obvious reasons. His case was hopeless, pleading one way or the other would make little difference.
Fudge sniggered mockingly, and I realized that he was not the only one. Other members of the Wizengamot obviously shared Fudge's belief in Harry's obvious guilt, and so did much of the audience. He reached into a folder and withdrew several sheets of parchment.
"I see, Miss Granger, that you filed a plea of insanity on behalf of your client, Mr. Potter." Fudge said, glancing at the parchment with undisguised disgust.
"Yes, I did." I said, my voice firm.
"Please explain."
"Mr. Potter's mental sanity was obviously destabilized at the news of his good friend, Mr. Ronald Weasly's death. When he learned of the capture of two people linked to Mr. Weasley's death, my client, clear judgment clouded by anger, sought vengeance."
"So you admit that Mr. Potter did in fact kill thirty-five people at Azkaban?" Fudge asked. "You're not going to suggest that Mr. Potter's twin in fact murdered those people and then miraculously disappeared?"
I breathed deeply and silently counted to five before I could trust myself to formulate a civil response. "I think the evidence speaks for itself."
"Well then," Fudge said gleefully. "This shall indeed expedite matters." He ruffled his papers importantly.
"Mr. Potters record as an Auror also outlines a career built on the apprehension of multiple Death Eaters." I continued. "Never during his career did he resort to lethal force to bring them in even though it permitted. The sudden massacre of Death Eaters, several of which whose arrests he participated in, seems out of character for a man who's co-workers describe as 'dedicated'."
"The act of using Unforgivable Curses and murder completely contradicts who my client is," I finished. and can only be explained by a lapse of sanity."
This, I was happy to see, created a slight stir in the crowd as neighbors exchanged quiet murmurs.
"Miss Granger," an elderly witch sitting beside Fudge said. "There is much proof pointing that these murders were a spur of the moment decision, but the product of methodical planning...something which is a prerequisite of any efficient Auror."
"Mr. Potter did not use a wand to slay the prisoners," continued the wizard sitting on Fudge's other side, "but used an ancient form of wandless magic, a practice which is outlawed. Miss Granger, do you realize how difficult it is to cast a spell without a wand?"
"No." I answered.
"There are only four wizards and two witches over the past five hundred years who have been reported to successfully wield magic without the aid of a wand. Your client is number seven. To be able to cast a simple spell without a wand takes weeks, perhaps months of practice, and the fact that Mr. Potter used magic of the most advanced without any difficulty only shows that he had planned the attack for quite some time. The murders were in fact quite premeditated."
If there ever was any hope, it just went straight out the window. I opened my mouth to speak, to pull a miracle out of the air, but none came. For the longest moment of my life, I stood in silence, feeling the piercing gaze of the counsel, but more importantly, my best friend. At that moment, I knew I, Hermione Granger, top student at Hogwarts, had failed.
Author's Notes:
Second chapter done and third is being re-edited from when it was posted on ff.net. It'll probably be finished with it in a day or so. Thanks for the reviews! Comments, criticism, flames, chain letters, horoscopes, love letters, and spam can be sent to JA_Japster@hotmail.com