Chapter Five of 'Chrysalis'- Braced For the Enemy

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Five—Braced for the Enemy

Theo takes one last, critical look at himself in the mirror, then shrugs to settle the shoulders of his dark robes in place. No one would expect him to wear bright, cheerful colors, not less than a month after his father’s death. And Theo, much as he hated to agree with his father on anything, does have to admit that anything lighter than grey makes him look absurd.

He’s as ready as he can get when they’re entering a Ministry space where Theo fully expects to see Dumbledore.

He keeps a hard smile on his face as he turns around, hearing footsteps clattering up the stairs. Facing Black with anything less than that is just asking for trouble.

But Theo’s forgotten that there are two Gryffindors living with him now, and Harry jumps straight through the doorway of Theo’s bedroom and then pauses, blinking at him. “Wow, you look intimidating.”

Theo coughs and does his best to adjust his facial expression, shrugging a little. “There are going to be enemies of Black’s there who want to see us fail,” he says. And people who aren’t enemies but still want to see us fail. And will be looking for ways that they can snatch Harry away from me.

“Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” Harry looks around Theo’s bedroom with interest. He has his own rooms, of course, and hasn’t seen more than a quick glimpse of Theo’s since the first night when Theo gave him a tour. “Wow, you have a—” And he falls silent and turns bright red.

Theo turns around, curious, to follow Harry’s gaze. It’s not like he’s drawn his fantasies about Harry on paper and pinned them up to the wall. And he doesn’t have the heads of his enemies hanging there, either, much as he might like to.

Harry is looking at his bed.

Theo twitches a sly smile at Harry, who clears his throat without taking his gaze away from the mound of pillows against the headboard or, what Theo thinks matters more, the sheer size of the mattress, twice the length and width of one at Hogwarts. “That’s, uh,” Harry says, and his eyes dart to Theo.

He doesn’t ask the question that seems to have formed full-blown in his head, but he’s no doubt imagining things now that a few minutes ago he wasn’t. Theo, feeling mischievous, reaches out and takes Harry’s hand in his own, locking their gazes as he lifts Harry’s hand to his lips.

Harry flushes brighter red, and then yanks his hand away and turns to race down the stairs. Theo can see the back of his neck under his curling hair is just as flushed.

Theo follows, laughing quietly.

*

He’s not laughing by the time they Floo into the Ministry through one of the fireplaces in the Atrium. Black is wearing a light illusion that turns his features into a copy of a distant cousin’s in one of the Nott portraits. Theo isn’t worried about him being recognized, though if he keeps tugging and yanking at his dress robes with that comical scowl, he’ll get frowned at.

No, it’s Harry who’s going to get them recognized, and by his resigned expression, he’s already guessed what it will be like.

All it takes is one Ministry worker glancing casually in their direction and gasping loudly to make a wave of stares and shock ripple across the Atrium. An Auror bustles towards them at once. Theo manages to keep himself from jumping in front of Harry, but not from gripping his wand inside his left sleeve.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, where have you been?” exclaims the Auror. He’s an older man, grey-haired; Theo doesn’t recognize him. He reaches straight for Harry’s left arm. “You’ll have to come with me, young man, you’ve given us all weeks of worry—”

The moment his fingers brush Harry’s sleeve, a sharp shock runs through his body, and the Auror gasps and yanks his hand away again. He stares at Theo. Theo feels a prickle of irritation. Of course Harry couldn’t be responsible for defending himself from a stranger. The Boy-Who-Lived should just let anyone who wants to touch him, apparently.

“Mr. Nott! What is the meaning of this?”

“Enemies are hunting Harry,” Theo says coldly, tilting his head back to look down his nose at the Auror despite being shorter than he is. “Ones who wouldn’t hesitate to grab and Apparate him somewhere less than friendly. I’m sure you understand.”

The Auror gapes at him for a moment. But he doesn’t have time to voice an objection. Other people are arriving and voicing plenty of them.

Theo stands cold and indifferent in the face of it all, but he does notice the way that Black looks more and more like he wants to bolt, and Harry is turning pale. He hates being scolded as if he’s doing something wrong, Theo thinks. With Harry’s childhood, Theo can understand why. Being scolded probably meant being denied food or locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

The more Theo knows of the Dursleys, the more he wants to kill them.

But that rage accomplishes nothing productive right now, so he simply turns the glare on the people around them and waits and waits until a harassed-looking Amelia Bones appears on the edge of the crowd of Aurors, scattering them with words as sharp as the flicks of a whip. She glances at Harry for a second, and her eyes widen, but then she divides her gaze more equally between him and Theo. “Mr. Potter,” she says. “Mr. Nott. Where is Mr. Black? I understood that you were escorting him to his trial.”

“We wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t get ripped apart on sight,” Harry says. His voice wavers a little, but steadies as he continues speaking. He always does best when he’s defending someone other than himself, Theo thinks. “Since so many people still think he’s guilty.”

“And the Ministry hasn’t advertised the trial for obvious reasons,” Theo says sweetly, rejoicing in the way that Bones blushes.

“Yes, well.” Bones glances at Black and seems to understand the situation, maybe because, even disguised, Black looks a lot like himself if you know what to look for. (Is it Theo’s fault that Notts and Blacks have interbred again and again? It is not). “We should go to the courtroom. The Wizengamot’s been summoned.”

“Amelia!”

Theo sighs a little. He did hope they would get to the Wizengamot courtroom without meeting Dumbledore. A foolish hope, he thinks, even if Dumbledore will probably pretend to have bumped into them “accidentally.”

Sure enough, Dumbledore bustles up, smiling, but his eyes fixed on Harry. “Amelia, I was just on my way to talk with Cornelius, and I heard the most fantastic rumor. I hope you can help me understand the source.”

“What rumor is that, Albus?”

Theo hides a smile behind one hand. Bones sounds the way Madam Guy did when she spoke of Fudge, but Bones obviously can’t do anything about Dumbledore the way Madam Guy arranged to do about the Minister, so she just speaks with strain that makes her voice hover on the verge of cracking.

Dumbledore bends down, as if he intends to pat Harry on the head. But Harry gives him a calm, even look, and the Headmaster reverses direction at the last moment, standing and turning to Bones. “That Sirius Black is to be given a trial. I wanted to know why. Surely he was given a trial once already?”

“He wasn’t, Albus. I expected you to know that, when Black was your protégé in school.”

Theo raises his eyebrows. So there’s some resentment towards Black there, as well? He can only hope that Bones won’t let it get in the way of giving Black a fair trial.

Theo does want a fair trial for him, because it’s the only way of making Harry really happy. And he thinks Black is smart enough to realize that doing something like claiming custody of Harry and telling him that he could never see Theo again wouldn’t go well. Theo holds out no hopes about Dumbledore or anyone else who might claim custody.

“I—forgot, in the aftermath of the war,” Dumbledore says softly. “I just wanted to put it all behind me.”

Black glares at Dumbledore hard enough to draw attention. Dumbledore frowns at him and shakes his head. “It’s reckless in you, Sirius, very reckless,” he says, although he at least lowers his voice so that the situation isn’t made more reckless by other people overhearing. “You could have come to me if you wanted to move your trial forwards.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

A sharp bang sounds next to them, and Theo jumps. Madam Bones has aimed her wand at the ceiling, and a wreath of smoke hangs in the air, flowing from the wand’s end.

“Gentlemen,” Bones says sharply, her eyes moving from face to face. “I submit that Mr. Black would be more comfortable in the courtroom.”

At least Dumbledore pauses, smooths down his robes, and agrees. Black looks ready to snarl and hurl insults, but Harry reaches up and curls one hand around his arm, tugging him in the direction of the courtroom. “Sirius, please,” Theo hears him whisper.

It twists Theo’s heart that Harry has to whisper like that, that he can’t just ask and have Black pay attention to him. But he focuses his attention calmly ahead and keeps moving. Maybe, after the trial, Harry will learn that he doesn’t have to do that kind of thing.

*

The courtroom is packed, not that Theo expected any different after the word about Black’s trial got out. Reporters lean over the shoulders of Wizengamot members and secretaries, cameras lifted and ready to flash, although they break off in confusion when no one recognizable to them as Black enters the room. Theo smiles to himself and sit down next to Harry in one of the chairs reserved for witnesses.

Black takes the central chair, which strips the illusion of Nott features away from him, and the chains coil up and around his arms. Harry tenses next to Theo, and Theo reaches out to squeeze his hand and calm him down.

He doesn’t quite get there before Harry’s magic lashes out and the chains break into pieces.

More than one person shouts in confusion, and several Wizengamot people stumble to their feet. Dumbledore is looking at Harry and stroking his beard thoughtfully. Fudge is spluttering. Once again, Bones has to create a veritable firework with her wand before people will shut up so they can hear what she’s saying.

“We are here for the trial of Sirius Black,” Bones snaps. “Not his immediate execution, not his swift return to Azkaban. And that means that we don’t need the chains on the arms of the chair to bind him, either. That happens only with condemned criminals brought out of Azkaban to testify at the trial of another.” She glares around the room. “Does anyone want to contest that?”

“But Black is guilty, Amelia.” Fudge has taken on a patronizing tone, which Theo hopes he regrets when Bones withers him with one glance. “We all heard that he said it after he blew up that street and killed Peter Pettigrew.”

“Peter Pettigrew died thirteen years ago,” Bones says, a question in her voice.

“Yes, of course he did, Amelia, don’t be ridiculous—”

“Then why does his body look as if he died less than a month ago?” Bones asks, and whips her wand down. An illusion of her own drops on the far side of the courtroom, showing Pettigrew, the tattered waste of flesh, leaning against the wall.

As people scream again, Theo grips Harry’s hand. Harry is squeezing back. Theo has to admire both the skill of the illusion and the way that Bones decided to present this. She wanted to do something no one could deny, that was obvious.

“Pr—preservation charms,” Fudge starts.

“It’s always been the Ministry’s stance that Pettigrew’s body was destroyed during the explosion Black supposedly caused, except for his finger,” Bones retorts. “And yet, here he is. Except for his finger, I think you’ll find.” She folds her arms. “And Black has volunteered to speak under Veritaserum, which no one bothered administering the first time.” Her gaze travels to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looks genuinely upset; Theo will give him that. But he keeps glancing at Harry and then at Black as if he’s thinking more about how to control the situation, and that lessens Theo’s sympathy quite a lot.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Bones says, and takes a small step towards him. “Why was Sirius Black not given Veritaserum, or at least the opportunity to take it?”

“His guilt was so obvious,” Dumbledore murmurs. He avoids Black’s eyes now, but is looking more directly at Harry. “Or at least, I thought it was. From the way he was laughing and saying it was all his fault…”

“And so he spent twelve years in Azkaban on the basis of a few words.” Bones shakes her head. “I know that we let standards slip during the war, but I never knew it was that for.” She looks personally insulted.

Theo decides that he could like her. Maybe. She seems infuriated by Black’s lack of a trial, but she never bothered to look up the documents before, even when the Ministry declared Black a fugitive or that he should be Kissed on sight.

“Black can’t have consented to take Veritaserum!” Fudge goes right on grasping at straws. “That’s something he has to do in front of the entire Wizengamot!”

“I consent to take Veritaserum,” Black says, and gives Fudge a grin that makes him turn pale. Theo thinks that his reputation as a mass murderer does come in handy sometimes. Harry already told him that he used it to keep his relatives somewhat in line last summer.

“It takes a month to brew—”

“There’s always some on hand in the Ministry, Cornelius,” says a stern-voiced woman with dark hair that hangs in a braid absurdly far down her back. “I sent Angela to fetch some ten minutes ago.”

A door opens across the courtroom, and a younger woman wearing the robes of a secretary scurries in, carrying a vial filled with a clear potion.

Fudge glares at her, and at the Wizengamot member who spoke up. Then he sits down in his own seat and waves an ungracious hand. “Let the trial begin, then,” he says, and kicks up his feet on the chair in front of him, which nearly means kicking someone else in the head.

Theo makes a note of the face of the man now glaring at Fudge. He doesn’t know him, but having more people eager to humiliate the Minister also means having more people on their list of potential allies.

Black opens his mouth at once when Angela comes towards him with the Veritaserum. Despite the fact that his eyes go glassy the moment the potion hits his tongue, Angela still flinches away and practically runs back to the gallery, as though Black is going to rise up from the chair and murder her.

“State your name,” Bones says, rapping a quill against her palm with no discernible sound.

“Sirius Black.”

“State the crime for which you went to Azkaban.”

“The supposed betrayal of James and Lily Potter.”

Harry squeezes Theo’s hand. Black’s voice has some anguish in it, for all that Veritaserum is supposed to make the subject essentially emotionless. Theo squeezes back and whispers, “It’s okay,” after a quick look at Harry’s face.

Harry nods and closes his eyes to compose himself. Theo thinks that’s good. There are too many people watching them right now who would try to use any emotion Harry showed against them.

“The supposed betrayal,” Bones repeats, but she hasn’t asked it as a question, so Black sits staring straight ahead. She sighs and says, “What is the truth of what happened that night in October in 1981?”

Theo thinks for a moment that the words “that night” might be vague enough not to prompt any kind of recitation from Black, but apparently Halloween 1981 is always uppermost in his mind. He promptly spills the truth about how he convinced Harry’s parents to choose Pettigrew as Secret-Keeper over him, because he thought he would be too obvious a choice, and then tried to murder Pettigrew when he discovered that “the rat” had betrayed them.

The Veritaserum can’t keep the hatred out of his voice when he speaks Pettigrew’s name, either.

Bones rubs a hand over her eyes and sighs wearily as Black’s words stumble to an end. Then she turns and looks at Fudge. “Do you still have questions about the matter of Black’s guilt or innocence, Cornelius?” she asks.

Fudge splutters some more. Theo is getting a lot of entertainment out of that, and thinks the Ministry should probably sell tickets.

Unfortunately, Fudge finds his voice quickly enough. “N-not properly brewed! There’s no way—there’s no way that everyone missed this for twelve years! The Veritaserum wasn’t properly brewed, and Black lied to all of us!” He nods, apparently having found something that will fit in with his worldview.

“Really?” Bones looks at the vial of clear potion that the woman named Angela is still holding. She stands up, looking reluctant. Most people in the courtroom are muttering now, the way they have been since Black started talking, but they fall silent and look at Bones in interest. “So you’ll be ready to take the potion yourself and answer questions under it, Cornelius?”

“W-what?” Fudge turns the color of flour.

“Because you think it was improperly brewed, it won’t make you tell the truth,” Bones says, and smiles sweetly at him. “And you are the one questioning the skills of the brewers attached to my Department.”

“Magical Law Enforcement,” Theo whispers when Harry leans close to him. He did tell Harry that at one point in the past week, but he can’t blame Harry for forgetting. Everything about getting Black ready for the trial has been a whirlwind.

“I—no need for that, Amelia.” Fudge shrinks back as Angela walks towards him, with more determination in her stride than Theo would have expected. It seems, from the way Angela’s eyes gleam, that she’s yet another person the Minister has angered. “I—I suppose that we have to accept—”

“That my godfather’s innocent?” Harry asks in a clear voice. “The way I tried to tell you after third year?”

That throws the courtroom into chaos. Theo sighs a little. This was not the plan.

But he and close to a hundred other people heard Black declare his innocence under Veritaserum. And some reporters are already running out of the courtroom to write it up and owl it to their papers.

There won’t be any covering this up. There won’t be any “accidentally” getting Black Kissed by a Dementor.

Things aren’t ideal, but Theo will take any contribution he can make to Harry’s happiness, any way it happens.