House of Black

Chapter One

"Late to your own hearing, are you girl?" Madam Bones glared down her thin nose over at Harriet, her square-jaw and short, gray hair making her look right menacing despite the tiredness in her eyes. "You may think you own the wizarding world, Ms. Potter, but I assure you that is not the case."

"I..." Harriet swallowed thickly, her words caught in her throat not for the first time that morning. "I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

"That the time of the meeting was changed?" Madam Bones quickly supplied. "An owl was sent to your residence ahead of time."

"I'm sorry." Harriet apologized again, knowing little else to do with herself. They'd sent the owl to Privet Drive no doubt, but it wasn't as though she could simplyexplain to them that she'd been snatched up by the Order and living in their secret headquarters ever since the attack. "I live with muggles. They don't like owls. Or me. They must have taken the letter and thrown it away..."

Madam Bones raised her hand to quiet her, not caring for Harriet's explanation in the slightest. "You'd do well not to tell any more stories, Ms. Potter."

"Take your seat," Fudge ordered, taking great in joy in being able to do so, and waved his wand so that a chair was whisked to the center of the courtroom floor. "I'd rather not waste my morning here if I can help it."

He smiled and a few witches and wizards chuckled and nodded their heads in agreement. Fudge had clearly already made up his mind - had made up their minds about her, too - but something far worse than anything Fudge could say made Harriet's knees tremble.

The chair he'd called made a horrible scraping noise as it traveled to her and a tremor to ran down Harriet's spine at the sound. It wasn't so long ago that she'd seen Barty Crouch sitting in the very same chair, the long silver chains locked to his wrist and cuffing him there along with his fellow Death Eaters on trial. The one's who had tortured Neville's parents...

Those chains were twinkling at her now, beckoning her. She was going to be sick...

Harriet took care to balance herself on the very edge of the chair. She felt hot. Like one of the ants trapped under Dudley's magnifying glass when they were children. There were at least fifty members of the court staring down at her from the pulpit, all with the same appraising look in their eye.

Percy Weasley sat to her right. He did not meet her heated look or give her any sign of recognition, quill poised at the ready to copy down notes for his beloved Minister. He glanced up at Fudge from over his small framed glasses, being especially careful not to let his gaze pass over Harriet. It made her nauseous and furious all at once. "Ready, sir."

Fudge gave an appreciative nod to him, coughed to clear his throat, then called the court into order. "Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harriet Lily Potter, resident of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

Percy copied all of that down quickly. It reminded Harriet of Rita Skeeter and her Quick-Quotes Quill, how it anxiously scribbled away at the parchment for her without Rita having to ever move her hand. Surely Percy could afford one as nice as hers with all the money he was getting being Fudge's personal assistant, his lapdog - from being so much more 'ambitious' than his father.

Harriet thought he ought to be ashamed of himself, but the feeling did not last long. Fudge was nearly finished going through his rather long list of attendees, sweeping away any other concerns she might have had. She couldn't recognize any of the names, aside from his own and Percy's. Her heart was thrumming against her ribs as he finished on a rather soundly 'Logain Pubumpkin'.