~0~ Hey, it's only me! I know, I'm a terrible author, and I really need to sort out this updating thing more often. This chapter might be in two or three parts; it depends on what the length is like when I finish writing it. But just to say, that there will be something happening at the end of year five, which will affect the characters deeply. As for this part, sorry if it's a bit talky, but you'll need this stuff to understand what happens later- same for previous chapters.
Will get to some of the good stuff in the second part. We'll get the actual trial, Hermione and Harry exploring their link, and finding out that Hermione isn't the only one with access to Harry's mind- and it's not only who you're all thinking of!
Thanks again to Nappa for being such a good sport and letting put this trash on his site, lord knows we could all use a good laugh(though I'm not I'd read one of my stories for that.)
Anywho, I'd best be off too carry on writing, and tell the plot bunnies who've been trying to get me to write a 'Harry from the future' fic, to go away. By the way, has anybody else ever thought that Alexis Denisof (Wesley on Angel) would make a perfect grown-up Harry? Nope? Just me? Ah well, back to my sordid little fantasy world. >*_*< ~0~
Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories
"Wake up Harry."
Harry mumbled something incoherent, and rolled over.
"Harry, you have to get up now. It's time."
"Mo'key, gimmie few mimmets." He replied, hugging his pillow closer to him.
"If I leave now, will you go back to sleep?"
"Nuh ah."
"I don't believe you."
There was a sudden shock of cold air against his body, as Lupin thoughtlessly -in Harry's opinion- pulled back the covers on Harry's bed.
Harry, stubbornly, lay there, shivering.
"Stop being so bloody stubborn will you, and for god's sakes, put something warm on, it's the middle of March!" Came Lupin's exasperated response. Harry took a moment, shivering in his t-shirt, before he replied.
"I did have something on. It was nice and warm. And then it disappeared, as if by magic." He grinned slightly.
"And you woke me up in the middle of a really nice dream." Harry sighed; he really didn't get enough of them.
"What are you waking me up for at ..." He paused to look at his magical sundial-come occasionally reliable alarm clock.
"5am! What are you waking me up for at 5am?!"
"Harry." Lupin said softly.
"The trial starts today."
"Oh."
~o0o~
The old Courthouse was probably the largest building he'd ever seen, larger still than Gringotts, the wizarding bank. It was located a lot further down Diagon Alley than Harry had ever been, or had even realised had existed. Gone were the small shops and tiny cafes, to be replaced with what appeared to be mainly government office buildings. Each had a different plaque fixed to the outside, baring the name of the particular division of the Ministry of Magic, that the building was used for. Some of the more obscure divisions, had plaques that reached over two feet in length, that described what they did, such as
"The Department of International Monitoring of Forestry Regulation for the Purposes of Experimental Magical Broom Design." Or
"The Department of National Monitoring of Goods of Humorous Design, and their usage, within the purposes set down in the 'Joke shop' regulations of 1438."
And other far longer titles. The secret headquarters of the Ministry of Magic's Spy division was also here. For a secret though, everyone knew where it was. Groups of tourists outside were having their photos taken next to the buildings plaque.
Perhaps it was the overall simplicity of the title, in comparison to the others, which gave it away.
"Ministry International Five."
Or more simply put
"M.I.5."
Harry didn't get much time to muse on the parallels of muggle and wizard society. Two burly-looking wizards in plain black cloaks, baring a symbol of a Griffin with a wand crossed over it, as a small badge on the left side of their chests. The security wizards for the Courthouse came rushing up to where Harry and Remus had been standing, and quickly began to pull them in the direction of the Courthouse.
Lupin had appeared to be almost as fascinated at the buildings around them as Harry was. He had confessed to Harry that morning, that it had been some years since he was last in the capital of the wizard community. In fact, he hadn't been anywhere near it since Voldemorts downfall. He had been worried that it may have changed so much, he might not recognise where he was going. Or maybe that peoples attitude towards him, would not have changed, some people more than others. Though he would not say whom.
Pulled inside the huge building, which reminded Harry of a picture of a muggle building he's once seen, called 'The Whitehouse', only this one was made from something that appeared to be very red sandstone. Harry was entirely surprised to find that appeared to be even larger inside than out.
Everything was made from different coloured marble, which seemed to shimmer as the light hit it. The dark seaweed green of the floor, lead to two grand staircases, that led upwards with a gentle curve. But how high up, Harry could not see. It made him feel somewhat queasy in fact, not to be able to see the ceiling above him. The walls were made of a similar marble, but were set in alternating blocks of grey and white, in a chequered pattern, which only served to make him feel even queasier.
There were huge velvet drapes, in a rich blue, held apart from equally large windows, allowing the daylight in. The curtains themselves seemed to fade into the never-ending ceiling. It was like a reversed bottomless pit, he had a sense that trying to guess distance of the roof of the building, would be like trying to touch the sky.
There were doors lining the walls on either side of him. They came in all shaped and sizes, and appeared to be made of many different types of materials. From plain wooden ones-though of different woods- to ones made of metals, and some that looked like fabric of some kind. They ran on for as far as the eye could see, for this central room, appeared to be as deep, as it were tall. Periodically people, and many other creatures that Harry couldn't even identify, would burst through or into one of the doors. There were more people, and other things, milling around in what Harry could only describe as a lobby.
Some doors were of an ordinary human sized height, whilst others were many times larger, big enough for Hagrid to fit through without stooping. Whilst some were small and round, and only two feet in height. One door in particular caught Harry's attention. Probably because it was easily the largest one he could see. It was made of a shimmering silver metal, upon which many things were carved. Some appeared to be a language, but certainly none that Harry knew. There was a massive brass doorknob, set halfway up, which was about the size of Harry's head. And the height, at which it was set, was at least three times higher than Harry could reach, even standing on tiptoes. There was a smaller door to one side, made of the same material, clearly there for human use. The only thing that Harry could think of that might have use for the rather large door, was a dragon, and he didn't particularly feel like meeting one of them right now.
The witches and wizards around him, were quite a mixed bunch. Some were clad simply in plain grey, brown or black robes, in a style that was reminiscent of a muggle business suit. These people generally had very stern looks upon their faces. The men were either old and balding, or young, not particularly attractive, and greasy-haired. The women all looked like younger versions of McGonagall. No matter how old they were.
Other witches and wizards were wearing their best dress robes. Unfortunately for one embarrassed looking witch, her best robes were a dazzling pink, that would not have looked out-of-place on a ballroom dancer. There were small, ugly little creatures, in huddles, occasionally disappearing through the small round doors, Goblins. And these ones looked even meaner than the ones at Gringotts. Though, for all Harry knew, they could have been the ones that worked at Gringotts.
But what amazed Harry most of all, was the muggles. Perfectly ordinary-looking muggles all in smart suits, some he could guess were almost certainly lawyers. There was a particularly sharply dressed young man, lightly tanned, with sandy-blond hair, slicked back in a fashionable muggle style, with a very smug look upon his face as he talked to another bunch of muggles. He reminded Harry of a grown-up Draco. Harry didn't like him.
The security wizards pushed them towards a large central oval reception desk. Situated at the foot of the two staircases. Within it was stationed four other security wizards, and to each wizard on the opposite side of the desk, were large queues of people, goblins, house-elves, and several other creatures that Harry had never seen before.
But Harry and Lupin were pushed firmly to the front of the queues, and placed before a very butch, very arrogant security wizard. Harry didn't need to look at him twice to see that this was someone who didn't hesitate to enforce what little power they had been afforded. And probably enjoyed themselves far too much when they were doing it. The small nameplate in front of him read.
"Thomas Mistspellt - Head Security Advisor."
"Name please." He said, though the look on his face told Harry that he clearly knew who he and Lupin were. He also shot a particularly smug look at Remus, who for his part didn't bat an eyelid.
"Remus Lupin accompanying Harry Potter to court one, trial number three hundred, fifty-two." Lupin said in a fairly hushed tone, to prevent anyone overhearing.
It didn't take Harry much longer to figure out that Remus and the butch security wizard knew each other from somewhere, and it was even more apparent that they loathed the sight of each other. What made this promptly clearer, was the vindictive way in which Thomas did not lower his voice to answer. In fact, he raised it.
"Harry Potter for trial three hundre' fify-too? Well yer on me list. Go up ter stairs to t' central court."
By this time, the noise in the entire hall had lowered to the barest of whisperings.
"Harry Potter, did he say?"
"Wasn't that in the Prophet?"
"Was this about him attacking his Uncle?"
Were just a few of the things he could hear. Mistspellt continued.
"Please leave your wands, potions, and any other magical objects you might be carrying, such as port keys, at the desk. Were you can collect them later."
Harry was fuming, but had no desire to get into trouble for cursing the man, and so handed his wand over. Remus, on the other hand, looked about ready to use an unforgivable curse on Mistspellt. No longer attempting to remain quiet about Harry's entrance to the wizards' high court, since that was now ruined anyway, Remus also raised his own voice.
"I am here as a guardian to Harry, to protect him; I require the use of a wand. Since I highly doubt that it is within your capabilities to do so, Misty old friend."
The grin on Mistspellt's face had disappeared. Briefly he blushed in embarrassment, before his features darkened to one of utter contempt.
"It's the rules Remus I am sure that even people such as yourself, understand that, unless you think you and your kind above the rules? Now hand it over!"
The security wizards behind them moved forward a step, backing up the idea of what would happen to them, if they did not comply with Mistspellt.
Lupin hovered for a moment. Before he took out his wand, and levelled it at Mistspellt's chest. The wizards' eyes widened. Remus smiled briefly at the look of fear that had passed over the other man's face. And then he turned the wand in his hand, to point back at himself. Mistspellt leant over, and grabbed it quickly.
"Don't worry Remus. I am sure that we can protect poor young Harry from You-Know-who, should he rise from his grave." There were giggles from a few of the people nearby. Apparently those who did not know that he truly had risen from his grave again.
Perhaps Mistspellt's comment would have been more reassuring, if he hadn't chosen that moment to whisper 'Werewolf', under his breath, as Harry and Remus walked away.
Remus visibly stiffened. Harry was outraged. And was on the verge of calling the Staff of Gaia to himself, to show Mistspellt what he thought of him, when Lupin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. And then steered him towards the right-hand marble staircase.
"Come along Harry, we don't want to be late."
"No we wouldn't want that now would we?" Harry could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice when he answered.
About halfway up the never-ending stairs, the two security wizards behind them stopped, turned, and headed back. And then Harry saw for the first time, a shimmering, transparent wall of yellow light. Lupin nodded for him to continue. He felt a warmth as he passed through it, and then heard a strange 'ping' noise. As Lupin passed through it, the noise sounded again.
"Don't worry Harry. Just a security field. Anyone who hasn't checked in at the desk, for this court number, won't be allowed in."
That was something of a relief. Undoubtedly, a witch or wizard from downstairs will be on their way to inform the Daily Prophet of Harry's arrival. And reporters would be arriving before the day ended. They had hoped to get at least the first week of the trial out of the way, before that happened. But Mistspellt had just ruined any chance of that, behaving very irresponsibly. As Remus told him.
"I'm sorry Harry, grudge against me or no, Misty shouldn't have behaved like that, he should, and I will bloody well see to it that he's fired for this!"
"Misty? Remus what happened?"
"Err ... it was a long time ago, and Misty, I mean Mr Mistspellt ... never really got past it."
It was made pretty clear to Harry at that moment, that Lupin considered that the end of the conversation. He filed the subject away in his mind, in order to bug Remus about it later.
It occurred to him that they had, by this point, been walking for quite sometime. That the marble staircase they were on, seemed to have a continuous, but gentle curve to the left. It was then that he realised that both of the marble staircases probably lead to the same place, the main courtroom. Harry wasn't sure as to whether be comforted by the fact that he was in the main court, where only the most important cases were tried, or not.
His assumption was confirmed a moment later, as they reached the top step. Both staircases opened onto what appeared to be a large waiting area. The floor had changed to a blood red colour. There were a number of functional, but expensive looking tan leather chairs, made for one or two people, scattered mainly along the walls. The walls were no longer chequer-board marble, but warmly coloured oak panelling. Flecks of gold appeared to be imbedded in the wood, making it glistening, as both firelight and sunlight touched it.
Though there was daylight reaching the waiting area from the huge windows, which had started on the ground floor, there were a number of torches, which added firelight, adorning the walls. Two larger, more ornate torches surrounded the two large oak doors, which were covered in an intricate silvery pattern. Though it was a noticeable difference, the two doors reminded Harry of the doors to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The similarity was comforting to him.
There was a handful of people sat down, talking in hushed voices, in small groups. Some were wizards, some muggles. Harry hoped that Professor Dumbledore would not take much longer to arrive, or his lawyer for that matter.
His lawyer, was a kind man by the name of Mundungus Fletcher. Considered one of the best in his day. He had quite a brilliant legal mind, though he had not practised for about ten years. He had told Harry the day he met him, that a lawyer was some one who should have no emotional attachment to their client, but have some faith in them. That this was the best way to help them win. But this time, this case, he would be making an exception. He already had an emotional attachment, since he had once been Lily's mentor. And having listened to Dumbledore talk about Harry on numerous occasions, he had complete faith in him.
The old Scotsman, was fun to be around, like a grandfather in the group, so old he even called Dumbledore 'young man'. He had known James Potter when he was alive, and had worked with him on occasion. He had been training Lily to be a defence attorney; she had shown great promise apparently. And he was an old friend, of both Dumbledore and McGonagall, who referred to as his 'wee young lady'. Remus and Sirius had a grudging respect for him- though they called him 'the old coot' behind his back. And Moody barely looked him in the eye -Harry didn't dare to ask what that was about. And as for Harry himself. He thought that the old man was brilliant. When he wasn't putting the remaining Marauders in their place, or Snape, he was flirting with McGonagall, buying rounds of Butterbeers in Hogsmede, listening to muggle 'rock' music, or almost crashing another of the school broomsticks, as he attempted to learn Quidditch. To prove it's never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.
Dumbledore had once referred to him as one of the 'old crowd', and from what Harry could gather, it was a very mixed bunch. Thinking of them, reminded Harry of Mrs Figg. Or Ms. Figg, as was more appropriate, considering that she wasn't married, and only about forty years old. He smiled slightly, remembering his shock at finding out just how old she was behind the polyjuice potion. He said that she had acted 'old' very well. Remus asked him what made him think she'd been acting.
He wondered what he'd ask her, if he ever saw her again. 'Do you actually like cats?' seemed to be a good one.
A few of the people in the waiting area ceased their conversations when they noticed the two wizards. Fortunately, Harry's fringe was covering his scar at that moment, and those that didn't recognise him from his picture in the Daily Prophet, didn't see his scar- his most easily identifiable feature. Most returned to their conversations, either oblivious to Harry, or now talking about him, and occasionally looking at him.
Harry was about to ask Remus about how long they might be waiting here, before the trial started. Then the sound of laboured breathing caught his attention. It was heavy, thick and exhausted, but it made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. He knew that sound, but the one that followed, a gruff, deep voice, he would know anywhere. And it was coming from behind him, from the staircase; he'd made his way up, just a few short minutes ago.
"What is it with these 'people'? Have they never heard of a lift (elevator for U.S readers) before? ... These bloody people, you'd think that they'd use this abnormality of theirs to their advantage, and put a lift in, but no. Bloody stairs everywhere in this freak town!"
Then a younger, more well educated sounding voice cut in.
"Now Mr Dursley, I'm sure that we can enquire about this matter. Perhaps an appeal under the human rights act?" The voice cut off as a light chuckle followed.
"Honestly Mr Dursley, I doubt that you will have to do this very often. This is just a show trial, a mockery of the court. Having a 'normal' jury, will already work to our advantage. I doubt it will be long before you can return home, with a full pardon. I shall be angling for a public apology too."
"I should say so, after all those months I spent crawling around in the dirt as a bug; I should think that that is the least they can do. I should ..."
But Vernon never finished his sentence, for at that moment he'd reached the last step of the marble staircase.
Harry's muscles had automatically tensed up as he'd heard the laboured sound of his Uncles lungs being made to work hard. He'd heard it before, many times. He knew who it was before they had even said a word.
That breath, hot on the back of his neck, was still fresh in his memory. Hot, and labouring, as it struggled to get out as many fowl-worded insults, mostly about Harry's mother and father, as possible. Whilst Harry was held down, forced to listen and then ... more things he didn't want to think about. A shiver of the past ran through him, as he turned to face the demon of that hellish place in his life. He felt Remus standing, shifting, tall and proud behind him. The shiver past.
There on the landing, was a red-faced and panting Vernon. A slight irony hit Harry.
He can hit me for three times longer than it takes to get up those stairs, and barely even breaks a sweat. He only breaks for tea and biscuits, but he can't manage a few flights of stairs?
His Uncle visibly grimaced. But it looked more like he'd just received a slightly higher-than-normal telephone bill, than had been confronted with the main witness in an attempted murder trial. For that was what it was. Dumbledore had said they would not be sparing and would make sure they would press for the highest punishment for such a crime. No 'out' in 8-10 years, no parole, and defiantly no early release for good behaviour.
His Uncle looked different somehow. As though he'd aged twenty years since he'd last seen him. He'd actually lost weight. Perhaps a dung-beetle diet had done him good. His neck was visible for the first time since Harry had known him, most of his hair was grey, and there were deep shadows under his eyes suggesting many nights of sleeplessness. All in all, he was a rather pathetic sight. Not at all like the giant, power-welding man Harry remembered in his dreams. But there was still enough of that power about him, enough to make sure that Harry felt alert, and ready to move at the slightest provocation. His auror training had been sharpening his reflexes, and he definitely would not allow his Uncle to lay a hand on him again.
There was somewhat of a smug look on his Uncles face. And that did not sit well with him. Vernon seemed to be unjustly self-assured. Though when Harry saw Vernon's lawyer standing beside him, the same young, faux-tanned, blond haired individual Harry had seen downstairs earlier, he could understand why. The lawyer looked at him in such a way that made Harry feel like he was the one on trial, guilty, and like a very small child all at the same time. Vernon's lawyer was confident. And that was definitely unsettling.
"Come on Harry." Remus said softly, as he placed one comforting hand on his left shoulder, and gently pulled him away to the other side of the waiting room.
Once they had reached the point furthest away from relative, they took the nearest seat, and Harry let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and tried to slow the beating of his heart. And Remus looked at him questioningly. He nodded that he was all right, though the shock had probably shown on his face. They hadn't thought that he'd be meeting his Uncle, anywhere other than the courtroom, and then with quite some distance between the two. The security at this place was even more lax than they had previously thought. Maybe Harry would bring the Staff with him next time, he'd like to see Mistspellt try and take that away from him.
A few moments after they had sat down, Harry saw a familiar mop of blond hair appear above the top step, it paused for a moment, and great gasping of air could be heard. A moment later his now tank-sized cousin appeared. Attempting to breath whilst eating a king-sized mars bar. Three more poked out of his jacket pocket, along with a grubby hanker chief, a set of keys that was obvious by the way the pocket bulged, as it clung tightly to Dudley's' massive stomach. Harry couldn't quite believe that Dudley had managed to get the buttons closed on his industrial sized suit jacket.
"He must have three stomachs. That can't be healthy." Remus whispered beside him. Harry was left to watch his cousin, now wondering just how healthy a boy that big could be, now that he could no longer be dismissed as 'just big-boned'. Dudley ambled towards a chair, having not yet noticed Harry, which was occupied by a pretty young witch, perhaps a few years older than Harry. Dudley just looked her up and down, his eyes lingering in places that they ought not to be. Before a loud fake cough from his father clearly alerted Dudley his mistake. He was ogling a witch after all.
Great, the fat-lump's discovered the opposite sex. God I pity them.
Dudley had averted his gaze from the witch, though his eyes occasionally strayed, that was until he saw Harry.
A look of pure hatred instantly swept across his face. That was something of a shock. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a genuine emotion on that boy's face. But the one he saw there now, could rival Draco's' own brand of Slytherin-style glares. Dudley hovered for a moment, apparently stewing in his hatred for his cousin, thinking of a million and one things to say. It gave Dudley some energy, and he no longer went to collapse into the nearest chair, but moved towards Harry.
Vernon and his lawyer didn't make an attempt to stop him, but by now they were deep in conversation, and didn't notice a small moon casting them into a shadowed eclipse, as it moved across the waiting room.
Dudley moved with more purpose than he ever had when enjoying a 'hunting Harry' game with his gang. When he was about halfway across the room, Remus rose to intercept. But Harry grabbed his arm.
"No, it's all right. Let him come. He has something to say, and he needs to say it."
Remus nodded, a flash of pride was reflected in his eyes. And he moved to stand behind Harry, in a protective gesture. One he seemed to make a lot of recently.
Though Harry knew how greatly Sirius cared for him. It was Remus who was most able to express that emotion for him. Not that Harry blamed his Godfather in the least. Sirius spent more than half his time pretending to be Hogwarts' newest school pet. And the time that Harry could spend with him, he was more often than not having curses thrown at him by his Godfather, in his 'extra' classes. Remus though, had quickly become the most popular teacher at Hogwarts, amongst Gryffindors especially. Every Thursday night, Remus would come up to their common room, a few house elves trailing happily behind him, with plates of cream cakes. And then he'd stay until eleven 'o' clock, regaling them with a another story about the Marauders, their schemes and their pranks, and when these more often than not went wrong, of what a young Filch would make them do during detention. But what most people looked forward to, especially the girls, were hearing more tales of how James Potter famously romanced Lily Evans from their fifth year onwards, or at least, attempted to.
Though at times Harry felt a little embarrassed by this, he was nice for him to hear about his parent's lives. He felt he had a better measure of the people they were, a lot of questions were being answered for him. And Remus would not hear a bad word spoken about Sirius. In fact someone who had made an ill-timed comment, found themselves sent out of the room, and told not to come back. Remus had said that they shouldn't judge a person, by what anyone other than those who knew them closely said. That was more than enough indication for some of the Gryffindors to cotton on that all was not right with Sirius being put in Azkaban, and that he might be innocent. Remus even spoke of Peter Pettigrew with a fond affection for the last wheel of their group.
"Do you know what you've done to my parents, freak?"
Harry sighed. He'd been waiting for a confrontation like this for quite some time. And had come to the conclusion that it would be pointless to try and argue against whatever Dudley might have to say. And taking one look at his cousin, he judged that it would probably be unhealthy for Dudley not to get things off his chest. A chest that appeared to be heavily burdened. For a moment Harry felt concern, just how healthy could his cousin be? And though he wasn't particularly fond of his cousin, he felt no need to see him have a coronary.
So he stood there, silently, and took it. His cousin trembled with barley contained rage, and for the first time in his life, he appeared to be genuinely sad. Dudley said many despicable things, but with intelligence Harry had never thought he possessed, Dudley was careful not to implicate his father.
Harry had deserved everything that he'd gotten, or so Dudley told him (not mentioning Vernon as a part of it). And he deserved even more. That thanks to Harry, they'd been forced to spend time in the wizarding world. And had found out more than a few choice facts about Harry. They now knew that Harry was the cause of Cedric Diggory's death, that he was famous. And that the reason behind that fame was that his name was intrinsically linked to the deaths of two individuals. Dudley even made it clear that those weren't the only names he felt Harry's should be linked with. Harry's parents were thrown into the mix. At that, Remus started, quite ready to pound Dudley's face into a bloody mess, but Harry put a hand up, holding Remus back and silencing him. But Dudley wasn't finished; he played his last card.
"Mum left us. Because. Of. You. She ran off. My mother ... she left, she left us both ... she won't even talk to us ..."
The silence stretched between them. And at that moment, Harry didn't know what to feel. Had he torn apart yet another family? Had he been the cause of Dudley losing his darling mummy? Or had he opened her eyes to the truth? Set her free in some way? Free from an ungrateful son, a violent husband? Right then, Harry could only think of something Ron had started to say recently. 'It's all a bloody mess, but at least there's still doughnuts in the fridge'.
Dudley's heavy breathing slowed, his face becoming less beetroot in colour, his shoulders relaxing as if a great weight had been lifted. And it was then that Harry realised, that all the other things Dudley had said, meant nothing to his cousin. All that mattered, all that mattered to Dudley, was that only thing he'd probably had ever loved, had gone. And feeling some measure of loyalty to his father, meant that it was Harry he blamed. Blamed because he needed somebody, anybody, to take it.
There was a brief flicker of regret on Dudley's face, one that showed Harry far more than his cousin had intended. Harry wouldn't be angry with him anymore, he understood. And if when Vernon was sentenced, Dudley wanted to reach out and try to be family. That would be okay. So he took the first step. Putting a hand to Dudley's shoulder, in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner, he said slowly and clearly.
"I'm sorry that she left Dudley. But you know why she did, and I won't apologise for that." Harry's eye's flickered to Vernon, who'd stopped talking to his lawyer, and now appeared a little concerned at whatever Harry might be saying to his precious Dudders. Dudley craned his head to follow Harry's gaze, and turned back, but at no point had he attempted to remove Harry's hand.
"Dudley, she didn't leave you, she left him. You know that, and you know that you don't have to stay either. If you ever want a friend, a real one, let me know."
Dudley blinked, but turned and walked away.
As he rejoined his father, a mask of smugness covered his face, and Vernon appeared satisfied.
"I'm proud of you Harry. That took a lot of guts."
"Thanks."
The arrival of six security wizards coming up the marble staircase, soon diverted their attention. Between their ranks of two columns, of three wizards, were two other wizards in plush velvet robes. One wore deep blue robes, and possessed dark blond hair. The other wore blood red, with black hair. And just behind them, was a wizard with vibrant green robes. He had black hair, which was slicked back, greying at the temples. A small, but precisely trimmed three-point goatee nestled on his chin and upper lip. Two gold rings, set with diamonds and rubies, adorned his left hand. And a dark brown leather band was wrapped around his right wrist. These straps were also present on the right wrists of the two wizards in front of him.
The closer that they came, the more details Harry could see on the bands. It was plain, except for a golden coloured blob in the centre. No, it was a shape, an image, closer still. And then it became clear. It was a phoenix.
Harry looked at the three men with a renewed respect. These men were members of the Order of the Phoenix, a small but important group within the Auror force. For the most part they were not known to the public. Though they did not shy away from allowing people to know who they were. Only the most powerful wizards need apply to this group, or the most intelligent. It was unsurprising that a Judge over-seeing this particular trial, would be a member, but it could lead to some questions as to how unbiased the Judge might be. If Harry had any questions himself, they were answered a few moments later.
The man in green, the Judge, stopped just before Harry, halting the procession with a wave of his hand. His gaze shifted quickly to Remus, who bowed his head briefly in a respectful nod.
"It has been a long time Remus." When the Judge had spoken, Harry recognised in it the same subtly of power, in a voice that never needed to be raised. He'd only heard that in a few people, Dumbledore and Snape amongst them.
"Indeed it has, Grand Judge Ravencast."
Ravencast? Ravencast, where have I heard that name before? Markus Ravencast?
"Too long Remus. Tell me, will you ever attempt the Task of the Flame again?"
Remus looked momentarily like a shy schoolboy.
"I err… I don't think that it is meant for me. … I heard about Markus, your honour. I'm sorry for your loss."
A flicker of sadness crossed the Judges face, and the power of his baring momentarily slipped, as his shoulders slumped. It was a simple gesture, but one that should a father in pain at the loss of a child.
"Thank you Remus. So, this is young Mr. Potter then." He said turning to Harry. Who suddenly felt very much like he was being inspected for flaws. But he nodded politely.
"I have heard much about you Mr.Potter, much indeed. But I warn you, I will not be swayed in my judgement of your Uncle, based on anything I have heard about you, good or bad. Your fame and standing in both wizard and muggle communities will have no meaning here. This court shall be in the up most fair. But I hand out only the maximum penalty's in this court, and only if I'm sufficiently satisfied by the evidence in hand." He leaned in a little closer.
"All who are guilty will eventually pay, in this life, or the next."
And without another word, Grand Judge Ravencast swept away in a sea of security wizards and fellow members of the order of the phoenix.
As he approached the oak doorway to the courtroom, the silvery patterning on them began to change to a dusky gold, before the doors made an odd creaking noise.
Judge Ravencast stood before them, and the silvery, now gold pattern began to resemble something more like a language. The doors creaked once again, and then swung open.
~o0o~
The court itself was a great surprise. It was completely normal. At least from a muggle point of view. It was basic, little decoration, beyond a picture of Merlin, the founding wizard at the back of the courtroom. Dark oak panelling appeared to be the theme, and large windows to the left side allowed for floods of natural light. Making the room warm, but none the less stuffy.
It appeared to be an old-fashioned muggle courtroom. The Judge and other Phoenix members presided over the proceedings form three chairs raised about a foot above the court, behind a panelled off section at the back of the courtroom. In front of that was the dock, in which the accused would stand, or sit, as was probably necessary in Vernon's case. The dock at least appeared secure, it was boxed in up to waist height, with iron bars running from the rest of the length to the ceiling.
The raised platform to the left held twelve chairs, for the jury members. Small note pads and pencils were placed upon each chair. Two desks were located further down from the back, facing each other, two chairs at each. The one on the left for the Defence, and the right, for the Prosecution. One small, but sturdy-looking chair was placed between them.
Behind all of this was what appeared to be the public gallery. Made of rows of joined seating with an aisle in the middle, which Harry currently walked up. There was a small gate placed between thin railings, which separated the gallery from the main court. Judge Ravencast tapped it, and it sprung open.
So not so entirely normal after all.
Harry followed them through, Remus behind him, and came to a stand at the prosecution desk. After them most of the Jury took their seats. Uncle Vernon was escorted past Harry amongst four security wizards, and locked inside the dock, with a grimace on his face.
There was one feature in the room however, that did not appear normal. Now that he was closer to it, Harry could see that beneath the witness chair, between the defence and prosecution desks, was a circular line. It was faint, but shimmering gold, with a dusky red tint. It was about four feet in diameter, and a pentagram was drawn in the same colour within it. It was quite strange, because although it was a symbol most commonly connected with witches, by muggles at Halloween. Harry had never actually come across it in all of his time at Hogwarts.
It was surprising actually, how well both muggle and wizarding influences worked together. It was a shame that the authorities of the muggle council seemed to think so little of muggles. And though Harry' s experience of them for the most part was not at their best, he felt that they had some qualities many wizards lacked. Like ingenuity and practicality. They had found a way to survive in the world without relying on magic to do it for them.
A steady flow of people began entering into the courtroom. From the last of the Jury, to Vernon's lawyer. Some people he didn't recognise entering with Minister Fudge, other minister's, presumably. A few muggles in suits taking seats on the Defence side of the gallery. Then two people he did recognise, and immediately smiled at their presence, Mr and Mrs Weasley. Their purpose here was for both silent support of Harry, and to eventually give testimony for the portions of those … events, that for obvious reasons, Harry had no memory of. Mrs Weasley smiled nervously at him, raising her other hand to show she was holding a bag- no doubt containing many homemade goodies. A moment later Bill Weasley, dressed in his usual Gringotts attire-a mostly black, fashionably ankle-length robe, black trousers and shoes, and a muggle rucksack, with 'Gringott's' written across it in large white letters, completed the ensemble. He made a silly little Staff-holding gesture, as he grinned at Harry. Mrs Weasley noticed, and immediately hit him on the arm with her bag- spilling several mini pumpkin pies in the process.
The Jury had all taken their seats and had begun talking amongst themselves. All of them respectable-looking muggles. Housewives, Doctors and Dentists Harry would bet by the looks of them. Some of them were looking over at him and his Uncle with a mild interest. One of them made a funny face at him, as though he smelt real bad, and looked away. One of the problems of the joint court system, was that if a wizard was the Judge, then the entire Jury, by law, had to be all muggles. This, as Harry could tell, might pose a problem for him. Tensions between muggles and wizards in matters of law were notoriously high. For those few muggles who were allowed to keep their knowledge of Wizards and magic, and not have a memory charm cast on them, were usually parents of muggle-born witches and wizards. But the few who weren't, and were allowed to keep their knowledge anyway, were usually very bitter towards the magical community. Reasons for this were best known to the people involved. But in the laws sense of fairness, it was considered only right that an equal number of people on an all muggle jury, must be known to either like or hate wizards. Thus, Harry's testimony was likely to have to convince a group of six people who already had a prejudice towards him, simply because he was magically inclined. He wondered how he was supposed to convince them. Show them his scars?
Hagrid and Dumbledore entered, Hagrid raising one if his giant hands in a wave but looking nervously about him. Harry wondered what could make him nervous in a place like this, given that he was at least a couple of heads taller than anyone else in the room. Sirius for obvious reasons could not come. Escaped prisoners might be welcomed 'warmly' back in a court of law, but as of the moment, unable to prove the existence of Wormtail as they were, it was something they'd rather not risk. And 'pets' weren't allowed, no matter how well behaved they were, except perhaps guide dogs.
Mundungus Fletcher ambled in not five minutes later, slightly hunched over on his right side at the weight of his brief case, his tatty, best court robes were pooling on the floor as he walked. He refused point blank to believe that he was shrinking with age. The man himself appeared characteristically untidy, a beard growth so long that it almost qualified as muttonchops. Fletcher would say that all his appearance needed was the love of a good woman, and he'd be both clean- shaven and well fed in no time. Fletcher stopped to talk to Dumbledore for a moment, making a great show of being disappointed that his 'darling Minevera' was not around. Dumbledore had a slightly bemused expression on his face, as he lightly explained that the Professor needed to stay behind in charge of the school while he was away. But, and if Harry wasn't imagining things here (as he sometimes did), Dumbledore actually appeared somewhat jealous of the old mans attention. Harry took his glasses off and gave them a good clean with his robes, and put them back on again. Nope, it was still there; he couldn't blame the expression on Dumbledore's face with a smudge mark on his glasses.
Fletcher finished what had become a one-sided (his side) conversation with Dumbledore, and passed through the gate to arrive at Harry's side, dismissing Lupin with a flick of his hand. Lupin paused, apparently considering making an obscene gesture behind the old man's back, before Dumbledore called his name and he walked away.
Fletcher gave Harry a lop-sided smile, showing a row of slightly misshapen teeth, stained by many years of black coffee, and hand-rolled Cuban cigars. Then he patted Harry on the back several times, hard. Harry's hand flew to his face to prevent his newly cleaned glasses flying off. Stronger than he appeared, was the only thing Harry thought at the time, though in time he would find out just how correct this intuition-which itself was getting stronger- really was.
Fletcher pushed Harry down into his seat so he could now only see Dumbledore, Remus and the others by turning to his right. The old man then began drawing papers form his briefcase in a rather haphazard manner, flinging them onto the table in a somewhat organised mess. Harry looked directly across from himself, and saw Vernon's lawyer, the Draco-like man, doing the same thing, only without the mess.
A final two people entered, before the doors were closed, and the security wizards posted at the exit.
The last two people though, were somewhat of a surprise, he didn't know who one of them was, but the other he definitely had not been expecting. The one that he didn't know, was an attractive older witch, perhaps in her early forties, with long blond hair pulled into a sleek but simple knot at the back of her neck, of which a strand of small pearls adorned. Her robes were clean and a pale blue. They matched her steel blue/grey eyes very well. Those eyes could have been seen as cold, but to Harry they held a lot of warmth. The woman held the hand of the other, tightly with both of her own, and whispered words of comfort and reassurance, though Harry could not hear them. The other person was Aunt Petunia.
Her eyes met Harry's briefly, and he searched them for any clue as to what she was feeling. Try as he might to find some semblance of a maternal instinct in them for him, he could not discern anything, his intuition failed him this time, and all he was left with was the hope of a real blood relative feeling a bond with him. She turned away. Led to a seat by the witch. To a seat on Vernon's side. Harry's hope faded. But only for a moment, when he saw that his Aunt refused to meet the shocked gaze of her husband, Vernon's mouth currently open wide enough, Harry was sure he could rent it out as a plane hanger.
A slamming noise jolted him, and the rest of the courtroom, as Grand Judge Ravencast hit his gavel to call order.
The trial had begun.
And then Harry was hit with a sudden longing to just be back at Hogwarts, talking to his friends, playing Quidditch, or even God forbid, being in a potions lesson. Just being normal, as normal being 'the' Harry Potter ever got anyway. Right now, being hit with a Fungal growth curse seemed like more fun. Harry's head started to hurt.
Grand Judge Ravencast began to speak.
"Today, the twelfth of March, the year two-thousand-two, we call upon the wisdom of our ancestors and our first reasons to guide us, to settle the differences, and bring the true magic of peace to our lands. Blessed Be."
"Blessed be" the court chimed in union.
Which was the traditional opening for all trials, the only thing that had changed about it, in the three hundred or so years it had been in use was the date. The Judge continued.
"Today we are gathered, ladies and Gentlemen, for the preliminary stage in this trial. We will hear the opening arguments from the opposing sides, and hear the first plea."
Harry rubbed his brow, his headache was definitely getting worse, his eyes began to water, and he lost track of what the Judge was saying. He felt Fletcher shifting to stand beside him, and the vibrations he could feel through the floor and his chair told him that the old man had begun speaking.
White-hot pain ripped across his brow, and he put the heel of his hand to his head in effort to push it back, closing his eyes as he did so. The pain started to become more focused, more intense towards a single point on his forehead. He tried to focus his mind back on what was being said, only to realise many minutes must have passed.
"Mr Dursley, you stand accused of serious abuse of a minor, and that you knowingly committed an act of grievous bodily harm, with the intention of murder. How do you plead?"
The pain hurt so much Harry felt that his head might explode from the burning hot knife like pain, twisting itself like a skewer in his mind. He let out a small gasp, as his scar felt like it was being ripped open, and the last words he heard were,
"Not Guilty."
Before the floor rushed up to greet him, with a jarring pain on his left shoulder, a scolding liquid traced a path, dripping in one line down his face, and a deeply unpleasant blackness took him.
~o0o~
Flashes of a single image of terrifying intensity were the only break in the pervading blackness in which Harry's mind was lost. An image that at first viewing was so blurry, he was not certain he had seen it. An image, that came with an increasing regularity, one that was cleared and refined on each 'viewing'. But still they were separated by vast periods in a suffocating darkness. Harry could see nothing beyond it, barely even aware of his own mind. Only aware of the all-consuming darkness and fear, one that burned and bled on his body in the real world.
It was not like the other scar-related dreams, maybe visions was a better word. It was not like the other visions he had had before. They had always been something that was happening right then, and it was always like watching a movie. In which Voldemort was the central character. It was Voldemort's mind, to which Harry was inexplicably joined, but this time, this time it was different. Harry didn't feel like he was watching some horrifying events from the sidelines, he felt as though he was there, looking through the eyes of someone, maybe even himself.
But the first and foremost clue to this being an unusual vision was that he was neither asleep, nor dozing. He had not been on the verge of unconsciousness, when it had happened, this was more like an attack. An attack on his mind, when he should have felt no fear of such an occurrence.
Harry felt the image straying close to his mind, and though it in itself was frightening for all of the things it seemed to reveal, he clung to it, whenever it was close by. The need for colour, sound, smell, and any other sense that he had none of in the darkness, over-rode the instinct to turn away from it.
The image, the feelings it brought, and growing awareness of what it meant, were cleared yet again. He was unsure how often he had seen it now. A man, old with snowy white hair, was always the first thing he saw. The mans face was too blurred to identify who it was, almost as though Harry was not wearing his glasses. But it was clear enough to make out some things. The man's face was lit up with a small amount of amber-tinged light, like that of a street lamp, it revealed that his skin was cracking, and that his hair was receding. He was being dragged along a cobbled street, by men in dark cloaks. Three of them, and Harry was looking through the eyes of one of these men. When he should only have been an observer in this nightmare, now he was a part of it. He could feel his own hands on the man, though they were older and more worn somehow. They dug into material, squeezing and pushing maliciously at the frail form beneath it.
Each time the image played in his mind, Harry became aware of something else. The only sound he could hear at first, was the faint echoing of a deep, cracking voice, sobbing out in a low scream, as time past he became aware of a second voice, deep and cruel, making an order. And then Harry became aware of his own vocal chords saying, or having said something, but what he could not tell, at least in that moment he could not.
Inklings of knowledge were repeated and cleared each time Harry saw the image. And still, despite the terror he felt at the sight, he dragged it towards his mind whenever he felt it near, anything better than that darkness, from which he could neither breathe, move, nor feel any emotion, it was stifling, and brought to mind an intense feeling of claustrophobia. Like being trapped in a metal box, or a cupboard…
The robes he wore were that of a Deatheater, that much he had become certain of. And he felt … pleasure, at the pain he knew he was causing the old man. He could see even through the blur that disguised the actual identity of the man, that there was a look of absolute terror etched into his face.
Harry spun into darkness again for a time, unaware of anything other than the feeling of suffocation, but of a breath on his neck, and heat.
He pulled the image towards himself when he felt it's return, relief however, soon turned to horror. He was once again aware of his hands. Older, larger, papery dry and calloused. One was still digging into the old man's abdomen, pushing painfully at the skin between the ribs, causing breathlessness. The other though, he was now aware was raised slightly at the elbow, and holding a wand. A wand that had recently cast a spell. And as the image was played over and over again in his mind, he knew that the spell that had been cast, was more paralysing than the Imperious curse, more painful than the Cruciatus curse, and less welcome than Avada Kedavra. One so old and terrible, Harry should not of known of its existence, but he did, he knew the words. And knew that only moments ago he had uttered them.
And still yet despite all of this, he bade the image welcome in his mind, pulling it to him, whenever he could, if only for the knowledge it brought, something he knew that in some life he had outside of all this, it would be important. For the moment he could only look at it, he could not bring himself to deliberate over it's meaning; though in the real world that would change. He would begin to fear and fret over who he was, over who he was becoming. Because, by the end of this, he would know that this event had yet to occur, but what he would not know, was if he was looking through the eyes of another, or through his own. Somewhere at the very edge of his awareness, the need to know whether this was in his future, helped to give him the strength to see it. But strength, as always, was reliant on many things. Strength would fade, as it was doing so now. The image and the knowledge it brought, strayed less closely to Harry's prying mind. The strength of will it took to see it, was failing. Longer times he spent in a world of suffocating darkness, praying to be released in any form.
The image came closer again, and with a sense of finality about it, Harry hoped only to have the strength to finally see the face of the one tormented in the image. To see them, and perhaps prevent it from ever coming to pass. But he was not strong enough, he garnered a few more details, Knockturn Alley, that was were it would happen. But when it would happen, could have been but a few months or many years. And the face became no clearer.
He felt heat, and the sudden panic of realising he was not strong enough to fight the darkness, or find solace in the image. He clung desperately to it, wishing, hope against hope for a renewed strength, calling in his mind to anything that might aid him. It seemed that something answered his call. Told him only not to fear the darkness, to rest. But the fear that tore at Harry's heart at the thought was stronger. He could no longer tempt the image to his mind.
He could no longer hold on. He felt himself spinning, spinning into darkness unlike any other, were no life grew, were nothing could simply be. A voice told him once again not to fear it. But he could not take heed of the advice. He was spinning, into an inferno of suffocating heat, bound to it. Bound to it for an indeterminate infinity.
And then he was lost.
~o0o~
Wow! Thanks for actually finishing this chapter! Now you can all go ahead and flame me. Whether it to be to tell me that this is a load 'ol horse poop, or because I don't write quick enough. Hoping it's just the latter, I'm off to get writing. Thank you once again to all those kind people who reviewed, and a special thanks to those people who e-mailed me to check that I was still alive. -This last group especially, who like Nappa and Jeremie, made me wanna write a lot quicker. Ta ta for now, fellow Hp geeks!