Brian Hendrickson Normal Brian Hendrickson 4 3 2002-11-08T01:07:00Z 2003-09-08T20:33:00Z 8 5209 29692 247 59 36463 9.3821
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. Horace Rumpole, AKA "Rumpole of the Bailey" and all related characters and situations were created by John Mortimer. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Haggridd for his most excellent Beta skills and steadfast moral support.
CHILD'S PLAY
Chapter Seven
"…and a little child shall lead them."
Isaiah 11:6
"I suppose I do owe you an explanation, Mr. Rumpole. You've worked very hard on my behalf and I think you deserve to know the whole truth."
"Are you sure that's a good idea, Harry?" Ron asked warily.
"Before you say anything further, Harry," Rumpole interjected, "I should warn you that attorney-client privilege extends only so far. If a barrister has any foreknowledge of future criminal activity-"
"I just want you to understand," Harry interrupted, "that no one else was responsible for my breaking out of prison. I don't want anyone else to suffer for my actions." A thought suddenly struck Harry and he reluctantly handed the baby back to Hermione. "Is there anything on your desk back at your Chambers right now, Mr. Rumpole?"
Rumpole eyed the magician suspiciously. "A legal brief concerning a certain Mr. S. Fasen of Kent, arrested for interfering with a young boy in a Piccadilly Station lavatory."
"Right." With that, Harry vanished. Ron had quietly moved into position just in time to rescue the bottle of plonk that Rumpole had brought as a gift to the new parents before it dropped from the barrister's hand. Ginny quickly slid a chair behind Rumpole just in case his legs gave out, but somehow he managed to remain standing-at least until Harry reappeared and handed him the brief from his desk. It took a couple of good stiff belts from Rumpole's present before he was in any shape to listen to Harry's explanation.
Harry patiently recited his entire history, with occasional interruptions and observations from the others. He even decided to explain about Hogwarts and how Hermione had come to them from a parallel universe.[1] Rumpole took another couple of stiff belts for that to go down more easily.
"I suppose," Harry admitted, "technically speaking, I am breaking the law."
"But if he has," Hermione interrupted, "then so has Lucius Malfoy and his no-good progeny!"
"I assure you, Mr. Rumpole," Harry concluded, "that we don't worship Satan, we don't kidnap children off the streets, we don't make blood sacrifices, and we don't dance naked about stone circles in the dark of night."
"Can you imagine, Mr. Rumpole?" chuckled Molly.
"Looking at you, Mum," laughed Ron, "I imagine he's doing his best not to."
"Harry is a husband and a father just like you, Mr. Rumpole," Hermione concluded the recitation. As she sat in her hospital bed nursing her infant son, Rumpole fancied that Mrs. Potter resembled some old master's interpretation of the Madonna and child. "We're simply ordinary people who've been granted an extraordinary gift."
Harry was basking in the glow of new fatherhood and it was clearly difficult for him to take his eyes away from his newborn child. Silently Harry cursed Lucius Malfoy for robbing him of these precious moments with his son.
"Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father."[2] Horace Rumpole's eyes began to dew a little as his mind turned back to the pride and the joy he felt when he first held his own son, Nicholas. "The brains of the family," Rumpole had always called him, now a Sociology Professor at the University of Miami in the U.S. and perhaps the only significant contribution to Western Civilization to come out of his marriage to She Who Must Be Obeyed.
"And you say our beloved the Honorable Mr. Malfoy, M.P. is one of you as well?" Perhaps it was the Château Thames Embankment starting to take effect, but the old barrister's brain was finally beginning to click again.
"That's the strangest part about this whole thing." Harry said, "He's one of us and yet he insists on persecuting people with magical abilities. He doesn't even seem to realize that by hooking up with Gilderoy Lockhart and his church, he's actually helping to sponsor a sanctuary for our people."
"Doesn't realize?" mused Rumpole with a wry smile. "It hardly sounds like the Lucius Malfoy we all know and love, does it?"
Hermione's ears pricked up. "You think he knows what Lockhart is up to?"
"I should be very surprised if he hasn't known all along."
"But what's his game?"
"Power, my dear Mrs. Potter," Rumpole informed her, "Remember what I said before about providing both the problem and the solution?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "He whips up anti-witchcraft hysteria all over the country. He drives magic users underground, only to provide them with sanctuary-" Harry slapped his forehead with the realization. It was all starting to fall into place. "-in order to bring as many of them as possible under one roof!"
"'Elementary, my dear Watson.'" Rumpole was like a schoolmaster patiently leading his pupils toward what should normally be a foregone conclusion. "They are a mind-boggling source of power. All he has to do is plug into the wall socket."
"That's why he needed my journals!" Hermione gasped. "It wasn't just Dennis and Crabbe and Goyle and Lockhart! He wanted to set up his own school of magic."
"More like 'indoctrination center' knowing Malfoy." Harry corrected. "You can learn to use and control your powers-so long as you use them for the greater glory of Lucius Malfoy-or you can take your chances with the angry mob he's stirred up against you. Talk about 'Hobson's choice'!"
"Talk about 'stupid Hermione'!" she said to herself. "I'm supposed to be the one with all the brains! I should've worked it out ages ago."
Harry kissed his wife on the forehead, then sat down next to her on the bed and gently caressed his son's cheek with his finger. "You did have other things on your mind, darling."
A hospital orderly opened the door and looked right at Harry. His eyes grew wide but he quickly recovered his composure. "Sorry! Wrong room."
Rumpole was suddenly struck by a thought.
"Harry? Apart from the people in this room, who knows you're here?"
"Dr. Pomfrey-but I'm sure we can trust her."
"What about nurses, technicians, orderlies?"
"A few of them. Why?"
"I was just pondering why Mr. Malfoy was so insistent that Harry be locked up while his wife was giving birth."
Harry sighed. "He wanted me to break out of jail!"
"Just the proof he needs to show that Harry really does use magic," Ron agreed "but where does it get you? Not much point in tossing Harry back into the Nick if they know he can leave any time he wants to."
"True enough," Rumpole mused, "but it might be the one thing that finally turns the public against him."
"And Harry can't expose Malfoy without incriminating himself even more," sighed Hermione.
"He's probably got people his watching the place." Rumpole pointed out. "Harry, kiss your wife and your son good night and get back to your cell on the double!"
Ron, Molly and Ginny pulled out their wands.
"I'll take care of the orderly," Ron said. "You get the nurses."
"If you happen to run into Mr. Malfoy or any of his supporters," Rumpole told them as they were leaving, "remember to act appropriately outraged that Harry "missed" the birth of his son. It might help with our case in the long run."
The orderly who had peeked in on them was just dialing the pay phone.
"Mr. Malfoy--?" he said just as Ron tapped him on the shoulder.
At the other end of the phone line, Lucius Malfoy grinned at his son, Draco. This would be the proof he needed to get that meddlesome Harry Potter out of the way for a long while. He could hear someone muttering on the other end of the line-it might have been "obliviate"-but he couldn't make out what they were saying. "Hello? Hello?"
Finally the orderly spoke up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I thought I saw Harry Potter here earlier, but it turns out I was mistaken. I'll call you if I really do spot him."
Before Malfoy could reprimand the man for wasting his time, he had hung up.
*******
"In view of Mrs. Potter's condition," Mr. Justice Featherstone decreed from the bench, "the court hereby grants the defendant's request for a recess. Shall we say, a fortnight?"
"Thank you, my Lord. I should also like to request that your Lordship reconsider our second application for-."
"Out of the question, my Lord!" Claude Erskine-Brown leaped to his feet.
Sir Guthrie heaved a sigh of exasperation. "I have already ruled on the matter of bail for your client, Mr. Rumpole."
"My Lord, might I point out that my client-who has never had so much as a parking ticket in his entire life, I might add-was led away in chains while his wife was giving birth to their son! I would suggest that these proceedings constitute a far greater threat to society than does Harry Potter!"
"Outrageous, my Lord!" bellowed Sam Ballard, the lead prosecutor.
"On that, my learned friend and I can agree, my Lord!" Rumpole shot back.
The judge loudly banged his gavel for silence. "That will do, Mr. Rumpole. This court is not unsympathetic to your client's circumstances. I will allow Mr. Potter supervised visits to the hospital to see his wife and his son."
That's the way, Guthrie old darling, Rumpole smiled. I knew you had a backbone in there somewhere! But for my client's sake, we still have to put on the show, don't we?
"Visiting his wife and child in manacles with two of London's finest standing over him, truncheons ready?"
"Take it or leave it, Mr. Rumpole."
"If your Lordship pleases," Rumpole bowed humbly.
"Very well. This court is in recess. We will resume in two weeks."
"Be upstanding!" The bailiff called as Sir Guthrie left the courtroom.
"A very impressive performance today, Sam."
"Soapy" Sam seemed caught off guard. "Really, Horace?"
"Oh yes. I never saw Lucius Malfoy's lips move the entire time you were speaking."
"Have a care, Rumpole," Ballard growled, "God is not mocked. For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
"Galatians 6:7, " Rumpole noted. "Well as long as we're doing our Sunday School lessons, how are you on the Gospels? 'Take heed that no man deceive you. For many shall come in my name, saying, I am Christ; and shall deceive many.' Matthew 24: 4,5," Ballard had no answer. "Here endeth the lesson."
******
"A small victory, Harry," Rumpole reassured his client in the visitors' room, "But a victory none the less."
"I know why Malfoy is after me," Harry sighed, "and your colleague Mr. Erskine-Browne seems to be in it only for the publicity-but what's Mr. Ballard's story? What's he got against me?"
"You really want my opinion, Harry?" Rumpole chuckled, "From one old heretic to another? Instead of accepting the universe as it is, contradictions and all, 'Soapy' Sam Ballard (like most of us) has the audacity to insist that the place actually make sense. Personally, I think the Greeks and Romans had the right idea. Their Gods are just as moody, capricious and unpredictable as we are. Old Zeus takes a fancy to some kid named Alexander one day and lets him conquer the known world, then the next thing you know, the old boy wakes up with a hangover and the city of Pompeii is covered in molten lava."
"So? What does that have to do with me?"
"For persons like Sam, religion is an all-or-nothing proposition. Either every word of the Bible is literally true-the world was created in six days beginning the 24th of October, 4004 B.C.-or it's all meaningless, even the bits about 'thou shalt not kill' and 'loving thy neighbor as thyself'. They build their faith like a house of cards. You take one card away and the whole thing falls down." Rumpole lit up another cigar. "For awhile in the late eighties, Sam Ballard devoted himself almost exclusively to cases of 'Satanic Ritual Abuse'-all that business about 'recovered memories'. You know, out of the clear blue sky waking up one morning to recall that your family was the real-life version of the cast of Rosemary's Baby. It became an obsession with him-but not because he was particularly interested in helping abused children. I think what he was really doing was looking for tangible proof of the supernatural."
Harry was finally beginning to grasp Rumpole's meaning. "If he could prove that Satan exists, then by his logic, that would also prove that God exists."
"You are his 'Holy Grail', my dear Harry," said Rumpole. "By convicting you he will have, at least in his own mind, made his prima facie case for the Almighty. The Bible is true-at least his version of it. God is on his throne and eventually the bad guys will get it in the neck just like it says in Revelations."
******
"Harry Potter is going to be completely exonerated," Hermione said into the phone. "Once this trial is over he's going to be in even greater demand than before. So if you don't act now, he may not be able to do your little show." Hermione and the baby sat in the nursery of Potter Manor in the big old rocking chair that Molly had given them. Even with all of Harry's troubles, it still felt good to be home.
As he nursed at his mother's breast, little James Ronald Potter looked up at her with a puzzled expression. Apparently, she was playing some strange game known as "Hardball" with the man on the telephone. He wasn't quite sure how the game was played but it seemed to involve getting the man "over a barrel". He did understand that whenever Mommy was playing, she thoroughly enjoyed herself-so much so that she almost forgot to burp him when he had finished eating. James was a big boy, however, and took care of it himself.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, trying not to giggle at her son's outburst, "I didn't catch that." She kissed the boy on the forehead and began gently rocking him to sleep. "How much? Well…" She considered for a moment. "I suppose we could do that, given that it's for charity and all… All right. Give my regards to Her Majesty. Good-Bye, your Royal Highness!" Her son's eyes had closed and he was now fast asleep, so Hermione gently laid him in his crib and covered him with the little quilt that Molly had sewn for him.
Later, as Hermione prepared for bed, there came a loud creak from outside in the hallway as if someone was climbing the stairs. She tensed. Ginny had been rather moody of late so Hermione had insisted that she take the night off and go out with her friends. She was all alone in the house-if you didn't count the resident ghosts.
The door opened and a man's silhouette appeared in the doorway.
"I know you," Hermione gasped, "You're that desperate criminal who escaped from Newgate Prison!"
The figure stepped into the room and closed the door.
"You're going to tear my clothes off and ravage me, aren't you?"
The figure moved closer.
"What makes you think I'd do something like that?"
Hermione pointed her wand at the door, locking it.
"Because you're not getting out of this room until you do."
Harry Potter scooped his wife into his arms and carried her to bed.
*****
Hermione awoke as she felt Harry getting up. "It's not morning already, is it?"
"I just want to spend a little time with my son." Harry said softly. "I hardly get to see him."
"He's fast asleep, Harry," she pointed out, grabbing his arm. "I have to feed him again at two o'clock. If you'll wait a little while, you can see him when he's awake."
"You're just too clever for your own good, you know that?"
"I know." She stretched out her arms to him. "Now come here. You have no idea how much I've missed making love with my husband."
"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea."
There was a knock at the door.
"It's almost midnight!" Hermione said, checking the clock. "Who on earth could that be?" She got up and put on her robe. "You'd better stay up here Harry. Just in case it's someone who doesn't know about your 'conjugal visits'."
"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Potter." Perhaps it was because he could no longer use magic, but the Reverend Gilderoy Lockhart didn't look nearly as immaculate as usual. In fact, he seemed rather ordinary looking. It wasn't anything specific. His suit was neatly pressed, his tie was straight, his hair was combed, but for some reason he just didn't have the "sparkle" that he had before. The irresistible magnetism was gone. Added to this he seemed tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. "I have some information that I guarantee will get the charges dropped against Harry."
"I assume you're not here out of the goodness of your heart." Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "What do you want in return?"
"It's very simple. I want my powers back."
"So you can go back to conning little old ladies out of their life savings and pretty young girls into the sack, all in the name of the Almighty?"
"Of course, we must all stand on principle. That's ever so much more important than clearing your husband's good name so he can stop sneaking out of prison every night." He called up the stairs. "You'd better stay where you are, Harry. Malfoy's got people watching the house."
"And you're not worried about them seeing you here?" Hermione was growing impatient.
"Without my powers, Lucius Malfoy doesn't really care what I do."
"How can I be sure that whatever you've got will really help Harry?"
"Well, for one thing," smiled Lockhart, "I know what you could do to me if it didn't."
"Good point," she agreed. "So? What is it?"
Lockhart shook his head. "Oh no. You don't get anything until after I get my powers back."
******
A few minutes later, Lockhart grinned as he levitated the coffee table off the floor.
"Satisfied?" Hermione checked to be sure all the drapes were closed as Harry came downstairs to join the discussion. She could imagine Malfoy's people outside jumping to the conclusion that she and Lockhart were having an affair behind Harry's back.
"Perfectly." They sat down at the dining room table. "Did you ever wonder how Gregory Goyle managed to figure out which spells to use in order to molest Miss Herringbone?"
"I'll grant you," Harry agreed, "that if brains were gunpowder, between the two of them, Crabbe and Goyle couldn't blow the top off of a tube of toothpaste. You're saying that someone else showed him what to do." Harry considered the alternatives. That would seem to leave only two possibilities: Dennis or you."
Lockhart grinned. Even without his powers, there had still been a hint of the old Gilderoy present. Now he practically glowed. He turned to Hermione. "I don't mean to sound conceited, Mrs. Potter, but when I'm with a young lady, they wouldn't want to have their memories erased, if you know what I mean."
"So, it was Dennis."
*****
Seated behind his office desk in Westminster, the Honorable Lucius Malfoy, M.P., was disappointed to learn that Harry, Hermione, and Harry's barrister, that Rumpole fellow, didn't seem the least bit shocked when he asserted that Mrs. Potter was being unfaithful to her husband. In fact, they seemed quite amused. (Lockhart's amusement he had taken for granted.) Lucius was far from amused when Mr. Rumpole announced that they were planning to press charges against his son, Dennis for sexual assault and statutory rape.
"I suppose you could say it was an experiment," Lockhart said, practicing his testimony for the jury. "Dennis and his friends wanted to see just what they could accomplish with their newfound powers. Of course, neither he nor the others knew about the faulty memory charm. Now it's just a matter of time before the girl remembers everything."
Mr. Rumpole was on his feet playing barrister. "Why didn't he say something when Mr. Goyle was caught? Mrs. Potter could have just as easily taken care of both girls."
"Admit that the son of a future Prime Minister made such a careless blunder?" Draco looked ready to dig a hole in the ground, jump in and pull the dirt over his head. "He reckoned he could watch Mrs. Potter do a proper Memory Charm on Marcia Herringbone, then discreetly deal with his own problem later-but when Mrs. Potter played her little trick on all of us, that kind of put the kibosh on his plan."
Lucius's face was slowly turning purple. "What about evidence?" he demanded. "Are you planning to march down to New Scotland Yard and just tell them that Dennis used magic to rape a young girl?"
"Why not?" Rumpole asked. "Harry's on trial for witchcraft. The more the merrier!"
"If the police don't want to deal with witchcraft," Hermione said, "I'm sure we could come up with a more palatable scenario for them-a 'date-rape drug', for example? I can make the lab results say anything I want them to. Not to mention the fact that we'll have the testimony of Draco's minister to back us up."
"The poor lad came to me and confessed everything in a moment of contrition," Lockhart said in his most pious voice. "To be honest, it was more like locker room bragging, but that's neither here nor there. Of course, normally I would never even think of betraying a parishioner's confidence, but since there was such a heinous crime involved-"
"And being neither Roman Catholic nor C of E," Rumpole reminded them, "Reverend Lockhart is not bound by the Seal of Confession."
"Truly one of Nature's noblemen, aren't you?" Malfoy sneered.
Always the smooth operator, Lockhart simply observed, "I do what I can."
"Let's cut the crap, Malfoy." Hermione's patience was running out. "You drop the charges against Harry and I'll erase the girl's memory just like I did with Marcia."
"Father, I-" Dennis began.
Malfoy shot his son a, "We'll talk about this later" look.
"Agreed."
"Actually, Mrs. Potter," Rumpole interrupted, "If the charges were simply to be dropped for no reason, it might make people suspect that 'the fix was in'. Given his status as a public figure, Harry needs a clear victory in court."
"There will still be those who believe that Harry is a servant of the devil." Lucius said with a sardonic smile.
"There will always be those who are willing to believe the worst of others." Rumpole pointed out. "That can't be helped. But for the rest of them, being found 'Not Guilty' by a jury will be more than sufficient."
"You have my word," Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "Harry Potter will be totally exonerated."
"He'd better be," Hermione insisted, "Otherwise the deal's off. Now, who's the girl?"
Hermione definitely didn't like the evil smile that suddenly formed on Draco's lips.
"You mean Lockhart didn't tell you?"
Somehow, in the deepest, darkest depths of her soul, Hermione knew the name even before he said it. It was so totally in character for Dennis "Draco" Malfoy-Even so, it still felt as though she had been kicked in the stomach when he actually said it.
"Ginny Weasley."
Apart from her husband, Ginny Weasley was Hermione's best friend in the whole world-the little sister she never had. To trifle with her innocence was like stabbing Hermione directly in the heart. They had always daydreamed about the future: James and his future brothers and sisters happily playing with Ginny and Ron's children in the big backyard of Potter Manor, all of them raised as one big loving family. The girls even let themselves fantasize about the possibility of James falling in love with a pretty redheaded Weasley girl and the two families uniting officially. There was no reason that it couldn't still happen. She could give Ginny back her innocence-at least for a little while longer. There was no reason why she couldn't still meet a nice boy someday…
The tears were burning in Hermione's eyes.
For one brief moment, Harry was certain that his wife was going to use the Avada Kedavra curse. Instead, she calmly walked over to Dennis Malfoy, whispered the word, "Bastard" and resolutely thrust her knee into his groin.
*****
When Harry's trial resumed, the prosecution rested its case without calling any further witnesses. Mr. Rumpole then called the Reverend Gilderoy Lockhart to testify to Harry's excellent character. (The papers all noted how utterly charming and sincere was his testimony.) Rumpole then called David Copperfield and Lance Burton to testify that the illusions they thought were supernatural in nature were in truth highly sophisticated electronic and holographic tricks devised by Harry's "engineer" Ron Weasley. Ron had showed them the "secrets" of his creations in strictest confidence, counting on their honor as Harry's fellow magicians not to reveal them. (They both tried to hire Ron on the spot, but he politely declined.)
The jury took less than thirty minutes to render its verdict.
"Harry James Potter," Judge Featherstone intoned in his most officious voice, "you have been found 'Not Guilty' of the charges brought against you, and you may leave this court a free man. And may I add, on a personal note, my most humble and sincere apologies for the terrible ordeal to which you and your family have been needlessly subjected these past few weeks. I am deeply ashamed of the Home Secretary's office for allowing this farce to continue for as long as it did. Perhaps now my grandchildren will begin speaking to me again." He turned his attention to the visitors' gallery. "Mr. Malfoy, you can be sure that I will have a word or two to say to the Parliamentary Ethics Committee regarding your conduct in this matter. This court is adjourned!"
******
It was sheer pandemonium outside the Old Bailey, as Harry emerged triumphant before thousands of his loyal fans.
"First of all," he told the crowd and the assembled press, "I would like to thank my barrister, Mr. Horace Rumpole, for all his hard work in fighting these ludicrous charges."
Accepting his ovation graciously, the old barrister then did his best to disappear into the crowd-but not before receiving a hug and a kiss from his client's wife and the Weasley women.
"I should also like to thank the Weasley family, in particular my dear friend Ronald Weasley, for their unwavering support during this difficult time." Ron and Harry shook hands as Ginny, Molly and Victoria embraced him. "Of course, I cannot let this occasion go by without thanking one of the two most important people in my life: She is my best friend, the mother of my son and the woman who owns the other half of my soul-and if my wife ever finds out about her, she'll kill me." The crowd roared with laughter. Hermione's face was redder than any Weasley's head as Harry pulled her to the podium. "My wife, Hermione!"
Once he could be heard again over the din of the crowd, Harry continued.
"Perhaps most important of all, I wish to thank the children. Their unwavering faith in me has been a constant source of strength to all of us. So, to all of you out there who never stopped believing, I can only say… HIT IT!"
Seemingly from out of nowhere, Ron suddenly produced an electric guitar. A bass and a rhythm guitar appeared in the hands of two young men dressed as prison guards. Apparently nobody had noticed the drums and amplifiers, which had been set up on the courthouse steps. Harry grabbed a microphone and threw off his coat. Underneath, he was wearing an old fashioned prison uniform covered all over with the Broad Arrow. Ginny and Victoria Weasley and several other female dancers planted in the crowd shed their own coats to reveal sexy female versions.
"Warden threw a party in the county jail,
The prison band was there and they began to wail,
The joint was jumpin' and the place began to swing,
You should've heard those knocked down jailbirds sing,
Let's rock!
Everybody let's rock!
Everybody in the old cell block,
Was dancin' to the Jail House Rock!"[3]
The BBC, ITV, all of the American television networks and several others from around the world stayed on live for nearly three hours to cover what many considered to be the most incredible performance of Harry Potter's career.
*****
A few months after the trial, Harry and Hermione received word that their friend Horace Rumpole had passed away.
It had happened just as the old barrister would have wanted, Harry fancied. Rumpole had just finished presenting the defense case to the jury in the matter of a certain Darell Timson, who had been doing his part to bring the family into the twenty-first century by getting himself nicked for a bit of computer hacking.
By all accounts it had been as eloquent a defense as had ever been heard 'round the Old Bailey, one of the best old Rumpole had ever put on. Rumpole then had sat down at his table, leaned back, closed his eyes, and was gone. Appropriately enough, his last words on this Earth were, "My Lord, the Defence[4] rests."
Harry and Hermione were invited by Rumpole's former protégé, "Portia", (Mrs. Phillida Erskine-Brown, Q.C.), to join with some of his friends and colleagues at Pommeroy's Wine Bar to drink one final toast of Château Fleet Street to the memory of the celebrated Old Bailey hack. The crowd was a merry mix of fellow barristers, solicitors, former clerks, and an even a few villains whom Rumpole had managed to keep out of the nick. Naturally the largest delegation belonged to the Timson family, who provided the refreshments. Patriarch Fred Timson joked that they had "fallen off the back of a lorry". No one was quite sure whether or not he was kidding.
Rumpole's passing seemed particularly hard on his wife, Hilda, Hermione noted. She Who Must Be Obeyed seemed far less formidable than Rumpole's descriptions of her. In fact, she looked old and frail. Word was that she would soon be leaving for America where their son, Nicholas and his family would care for her.
Perhaps it was Mr. Justice Sir Guthrie Featherstone, Q.C. who summed it up best. "Old Rumpole may be gone, but I am sure that we shall meet again. For I know that on the Day of Judgement when I stand in the dock before the highest court of all, and the Almighty asks, 'Who speaks for this man?', a familiar figure clothed in a shabby robe made of 'stuff', not silk, and wearing a moth-eaten old periwig will rise to his feet and say, 'Rumpole for the Defence, my Lord'. I think you will all agree that the odds of getting into Heaven for all us poor sinners will have improved dramatically, because no matter how low our former estate, no matter how vile our sins may have been-" At this point for some reason Sir Guthrie threw a particularly guilty look at his wife, Marigold. "-old Rumpole will be there to argue mitigating circumstances."
Harry could have sworn he'd heard "Soapy" Sam Ballard mutter, "God help us!"
Featherstone raised his glass. "To Horace Rumpole. Never plead guilty!"
"Never plead guilty!" the crowd responded.
*****
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on.
Standing in the doorway, covered by an oversized mackintosh and a kerchief was Mrs. Minerva Smith, née McGonagall.
"Mrs. Smith?"
"May I come in, please?"
Harry led her into the sitting room and offered her a seat by the fireplace.
"Thank you."
"Harry?" Hermione yawned. "Who is it?" She was carrying little James as she came down the stairs. "Mrs. Smith?"
"I'm very sorry to disturb you at this ungodly time of night, but I'm afraid that you and your wife are the only ones I can trust."
"It's a strange state of affairs when you trust your enemies more than you do your friends, Mrs. Smith."
"The irony is not lost on me, Mr. Potter." Finally, she took a deep breath. "My father taught me that you should always judge a person by his deeds, not his words. Whatever disagreements we may have had in the past, your deeds tell me that you are a man of strong principles-kind and compassionate." She took hold of Harry's hand. Her voice was choked with emotion. "I realize that I've done nothing to deserve-"
Harry knelt down in front of her.
"Mrs. Smith, I promise that we will do everything we can to help you."
The old woman was almost in tears as she looked at the Potter's baby, aching to hold it. Hermione gently placed her son in the old woman's arms.
"So many memories…" she whispered.
She took a moment to get control of her self.
"It's my wee Jamie-my grandson. Lately he has begun to show signs of… unusual abilities."
"How unusual?" Harry sat down in the chair opposite while Hermione stood next to him.
"He's able to move things from across the room without actually touching them."
"And you want us to-?"
"I want you to protect him."
"From whom?"
"From his parents-they're terrified of their own child! They think him possessed by demons-and from Lucius Malfoy, of course! I can't believe it took me so long to see the truth! Neither he nor Reverend Lockhart are truly men of God. They wish to only exploit others for their own gain."
"I'm not entirely sure we can help you, Mrs. Smith…"
Harry patiently described their mission to open a school for young witches and wizards where they would be taught to use their powers wisely and for the benefit of all mankind. At the moment the school was still little more than an idea, but they were moving forward with their plans. They had found a small farm in Scotland, which initially they hoped to turn into a summer camp.
"Once we have an actual place to bring the children and really start the process of learning," Hermione explained, "we can begin sorting out the ones who have the potential to be teachers down the road."
"This is a long-term project, Mrs. Smith." Harry said, "It may not all come together within our lifetimes, but we will have at least planted the seeds."
"But what of my wee Jamie?" she begged.
Harry made a couple of phone calls.
"Once the purchase of the farm has been finalized," he told Mrs. Smith, "Bill and Charlie Weasley and their families will take charge of the site and begin the necessary work to turn it into a summer camp. Your grandson can live with them and begin his education in magic. The Weasleys are the warmest, most caring people you could ever meet and they have the patience and the experience to teach your grandson everything he needs to learn."
*****
"How can I be sure that I'm doing the right thing, Mr. Potter?" Mrs. Smith said through her tears as she watched the car carrying her grandson disappear into the night. "I say I love him, but I've just taken him away from his own family."
"Love is patient," Harry quoted, "Love is kind."
"It does not envy," Mrs. Smith continued, "it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres..."
Harry Potter gently put his arm around her.
" Love never fails." [5]
End Of Chapter Seven
[1] If you missed it, just go back and re-read the previous chapters, for Pete's sake!
[2] Lydia M. Child
[3] Words & Music by Jerry Leiber & Mike Stoller
[4] Since we are quoting, this is the British spelling of "Defense".
[5] 1st Corinthians, 13:4-6