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The morning briefing always took place in the same meeting room, despite there never being enough chairs. Harry and Ron found themselves half sitting on the windowsill, notepads at the ready on their thighs, but still looking attentively at Robards.
‘Next up,’ Robards growled, ‘it’s not a formal process yet because we just need a bit more evidence to push her over the threshold for a charge, but I’m hoping that will come from the voluntary interview she’s agreed to - anyone happy to have a chat with Dolores Umbri-’
‘Me,’ said Harry, so loudly that every Auror in the packed room turned to look at him. He’d stood straight up, even raised his hand in a very Hermione-esque manner, and his notebook had fallen to the floor.
Robards looked him up and down. ‘Personal, is it?’ he said gruffly.
‘A bit, yeah,’ said Harry.
‘Understatement,’ whispered Ron beside him.
‘All the more reason for you not to do it, Potter,’ said Robards, looking back at his notes. ‘Any other takers?’
‘Oh, go on,’ Harry pleaded, before anyone else could chip in.
‘Honestly, sir, Harry really sets her off. Drives her mad. Something about his face, I reckon, she always looks like she wants to slap it,’ said Ron. ‘I reckon it’d work in our favour. She might be a bit more forthcoming if it’s him.’
Harry thought this argument did not actually help their case as much as Ron thought it should, but somehow Robards seemed to consider. ‘If you piss her off and she walks out without saying anything, we’re back to square one.’
‘Historically there’s been a battle of wills, Sir, I don’t think she’d give in,’ said Harry.
‘Can confirm, she really has it in for him,’ added Neville.
Robards gave a long sigh, gazing at Harry with a slight frown, chewing his tongue slightly.
‘Begging you,’ said Harry in a last ditch attempt, which caused a ripple of laughter through the room.
‘You can do the preliminary,’ he said, ignoring the delight that immediately crossed Harry’s face, and the slap on the back from Ron. ‘Once she starts to panic and asks for legal representation, it’ll be handed over to someone else, but you can do the digging and let her incriminate herself.’ He pointed a large, hairy-knuckled finger at Harry. ‘Don’t fuck it up.’
So, somehow, the next day they found themselves heading into a small, grey room, settling into chairs opposite a very unpleasantly familiar woman dressed head to toe in pink. She had not, apparently, been expecting to recognise the people interviewing her - the toadish smile froze on her face as Harry sat.
‘I’d like to begin by thanking you, Dolores,’ he said cheerfully. ‘If it weren’t for you, Dumbledore’s Army never would have been formed, and who knows where we’d be?’
She gave a simpering, tinkling laugh that Harry immediately remembered with a rush of hatred. ‘Oh, well, I suppose a gang of rebels was always going to thrive, weren’t they?’
‘Yes, they were,’ said Harry simply. He looked at Ron. ‘Lot of Order of Merlins handed out, weren’t there?’
‘Dozens,’ said Ron. ‘Pretty much everyone in the D.A, I think.’
‘I didn’t hear about any old Inquisitorial Squad members getting any, did you?’
‘I didn’t, Harry, no.’
‘No.’ He looked back at Umbridge, who looked rather unsettled, though still rather like a swollen toad, as though she were touching a webbed foot to a lily pad to see if it would take her weight. He looked back at Ron.
‘Did you get an Order of Merlin, Ron?’
‘I did, Harry, you?’
‘Yeah, First Class.’
‘Nice! You deserve it.’
‘Cheers, mate. Do you have one, Dolores?’
Ron pulled out the quick-quotes quill and set it on the parchment beside him; Umbridge giggled at it. ‘Boys,’ she said, with revolting sweetness. ‘I don’t think there’s any need for all this! This is a voluntary chat, not a trial! I would like to help - shed some light on some difficult decisions that were made, explain some of the nuance in the-’
‘Would you like legal representation?’ Ron asked. ‘You were offered it, and you said it wasn’t necessary.’
‘It still isn’t,’ she said simperingly. ‘I’m sure this will all be cleared up with a quick chat. I have a long history working with the Ministry and serving many Ministers-’
‘Oh, we know,’ said Harry, raising his eyebrows. ‘And we’ll get on to that. But can I clarify that you understand that you’re here to explain yourself before you are held on suspicion of multiple crimes? The most serious of which include murder?’
‘Don’t forget the war crimes, Harry,’ added Ron.
‘Oh, how could I, Ron? There are so many.’
That tinkling, girlish giggle was back. ‘I appreciate that’s what it may look like, but I think you’ll find-’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like legal representation?’ he asked again.
She gave a sickening little smile. ‘Mr Potter-’ she began sweetly.
‘It’s Auror Potter, actually,’ he said coolly. ‘You'll remember that it’s been a long held ambition of mine so I’d really appreciate it if you recognised my new title.’ Beside him, Ron shifted to subtly cover his mouth as though thinking, though Harry could feel him trembling with restrained laughter.
Umbridge lips were pursed in a quivering, forced smile. ‘Auror Potter,’ she seemed to say with great difficulty. ‘I’m sure you of all people can understand what it takes to survive in certain... situations.’
‘You’d think we’d gone through different wars, Dolores,’ he said mildly. ‘Ron and I managed to get by without committing crimes. I was worried a criminal record would affect my chances of being an Auror, you see.’
Ron took a sharp breath, and Harry resisted exchanging a smirk with him. He was rather enjoying himself, and Umbridge could clearly tell. She was glaring at him with utter contempt.
‘I think it’s clear that you and I were in significantly different positions, Mr Potter-’
‘Auror Potter,’ he corrected.
She ignored him. ‘The fact is, I was significantly high up in the Ministry as it was, under immense scrutiny from the new regime. To have disobeyed orders would be-’
‘Ah, we were only following orders,’ said Harry heavily. ‘Echoes throughout history, that phrase, doesn’t it?’ He pulled over the manilla file. ‘For the benefit of the quill, I’m showing Dolores Umbridge Evidence 4(a).’
‘As you can see, Dolores,’ said Ron, ‘this is a list of every muggleborn or so-called undesirable that was trialed by you between the first of August 1997 and the second of May 1998.’
‘What you can’t see from that list,’ she said, refusing to look at it, ‘is how much I was able to help-’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t bother with that line of defence,’ said Harry. ‘We’re collecting dozens of eye witness testimonies - one of which happens to be mine. You’ve forgotten, haven’t you, Dolores? The day your office was broken into and Runcorn set those muggleborns free? I think it’s common knowledge these days that it was really me, isn’t it?’
It was very clear from her expression that she had not forgotten. ‘Look here, Mr Potter,’ she said coldly.
‘Auror Potter,’ he corrected again. He turned to Ron. ‘What’s the next piece of evidence we were going to discuss?’
‘5(23A),’ said Ron cheerily, pushing it forward.
‘Oh! My favourite!’ said Harry. ‘Now, don’t lie to me, Dolores, you know we both hate that. Take a look at this photo. Do you remember this man?’
‘I would like to request legal representation,’ she said, folding her arms.
‘Glad the message has been able to sink in,’ said Harry cheerfully. ‘Well! We’ll pause things there then while we sort you a lawyer.’
Ron smiled genially at Umbridge as Harry collected the quill, and with that, they left her, scowling so fiercely that Harry wondered if one could accidentally magic the cruciatus curse. Not that it mattered even if she could; he was already happily slamming the door behind him and Ron.
‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ said Ron as they walked away the interview room, high-fiving.
‘I really, really, did,’ said Harry, tilting his head back in gleeful satisfaction. ‘I’m going to enjoy the trial more. I’ll catch you up for lunch - just got to write a quick letter to Professor McGonagall.’
***
Several months later, Harry sat in the Wizengamot court room where he had once had his own trial. Here, he had to temper his jubilation; as tempting as it was to cheerfully wave to her as she sat, shackled, in the very chair he had once been in due to her actions, he instead kept his vindictive pleasure to himself. It had been several days of listening to a litany of horrific crimes that she had overseen or participated in.
He sat, now, in the witness chair and thought painfully of Arabella Figg. He had just given his prepared witness statement, and now Umbridge’s lawyer, Alan Whittaker, stood before him, ready to cross examine. Among the Wizengamot was a line of witches and wizards Harry knew were press, their quills quivering in frenzy, their eyes fixed on the proceedings.
‘Mr Potter, you have given an account of the alleged crimes of my client from your schoolboy days, as well as a dramatic recount of an alleged crime against Mary Cattermole. I would like,’ he turned to the Wizengamot, ‘to leave cross examination of that particular event to Mary Cattermole. Because I have a question for Mr Potter that I feel sheds light on the circus this trial has become.
‘My question, Mr Potter, is more of a statement really. We have heard far more dramatic accounts of accused crimes and real harm. Your accusations of meddling in a minor accidental magic trial, and some corporal punishment at school which, while distasteful, was arguably permitted, seems rather weak in comparison. I put it to you, Mr Potter, that your visceral dislike of Ms Umbridge has unduly influenced you to take the stand today, in the hope of unfairly swaying our gathered and honourable Wizengamot to rule in a harsher way, discounting any possible-’
‘This is not the case,’ interrupted Harry, whose frustration bordered on boredom. He understood that the lawyer was doing their job - or at least, he tried to remind himself of this.
‘Is it not, Mr Potter? Your account of corporal punishment - compelling, certainly likely to tug on heartstrings, but entirely within Ms Umbridge’s remit and authority-’
‘I don’t know about you, but even if I was permitted to hurt children, I wouldn’t, much less torture them.’
‘And yet despite the apparent horror of these detentions, you persisted in aggravating, rule breaking, insubordination, earning you yet more detentions - this does not strike me as the actions of a scared child.’
‘You are correct.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the prosecution’s lawyers looking at one another in bafflement. His cross examination was clearly not going in the direction he hoped.
‘You were not scared?’
‘Not particularly. I don’t think that makes her actions right, though.’
Harry was acutely aware of the press quills writing furiously, a few whispers and mutters from the gathered Wizengamot. The back of his hand was prickling.
‘You seem ambivalent about these events, Mr Potter, if the-’
‘Not being scared is not the same as being ambivalent, I was angry. I am angry. I still bear the scars of what she did to me, that is well beyond what even those who agree with corporal punishment would think is reasonable.’
‘Even in the alleged event of your being threatened with an unforgivable curse by Ms Umbridge,’ Whittaker persisted, ‘it does not seem to have stayed with you, even within in your own account you did not, even at the time, seem afraid-’
‘My friends were afraid for me, they were directly affected, they were visibly scared-’
‘But you were not?’
‘I’d been through worse, and was more concerned with a danger to a loved one, so no, I was not particularly concerned.’
‘There seems to be a pattern, Mr Potter,’ he said with sarcastic grandness, ‘of your being in harms way but being unconcerned; I appreciate your reputation for being brave, but-’
‘If you want to call it bravery, fine, I would suggest that at the time I was particularly vulnerable.’ He wished, desperately, that the press were not there.
‘Well which is it, Mr Potter? You seem to want to have your cake and eat it too, either Ms Umbridge’s actions were of no great consequence and therefore not particularly harmful, or you were a vulnerable child who was scared, but not sufficiently enough to report it to any adult at the time-’
‘What adult?’ Harry asked, but the lawyer ploughed on.
‘You have held on, Mr Potter, to a festering grudge against Ms Umbridge, long held since she placed you in detentions you deemed too harsh in consequence for the rules you admit to breaking. Your schoolboy resentment grew further when you realised that she was present in the government that persecuted you, and so to punish her for not being able to join your rebellion - as is the case with the majority of the wizarding population, I might add - you have exaggerated and dramatised her alleged crimes. In fact, from what I hear, you greatly enjoyed baiting her during her voluntary interview with the Auror department, despite her explicit willingness to help. But you cannot have it both ways Mr Potter. You cannot position her as a terrifying dictator and also someone of little consequence to you.’
‘Because the whole - the reason-’ Harry stopped himself, searching for the words, taking a breath. Whittaker looked smug. Umbridge had allowed herself to smirk. The press quills had never moved so fast.
‘The reason,’ Harry continued slowly, ‘that she hasn’t traumatised me or stuck with me or whatever else you want to call it is the same reason I consider her so deeply vile and dangerous. She is the epitome of the banality of evil. She is mundane to her core. She does not stand out to me as anything other than the - the -’ he struggled for words again and gestured vaguely, ‘-symbol of the rot that had set into the Ministry before the takeover. She kept all the cogs turning and then eventually took charge of one horrible part of the machine but at the end of the day she is the same pathetic woman that was so threatened by children that she felt the need to hurt and abuse them, that thought she could bypass laws to use an Unforgivable on them, that believed she would be rewarded for sending Dementors after them. If we don’t recognise the corruption that had already set in, we allow people like her to climb the ranks and end up doing all the other mad shit-’
‘Auror Potter, please refrain from swearing,’ interrupted Madam Marchbanks.
‘Right, yes, sorry - and there’s another thing!’ said Harry suddenly, finding himself, quite without thinking, pointing at Umbridge, ‘it’s Auror Potter, now, thank you, and your absolute insistence that I could never be one only spurned me on-’
‘Auror Potter,’ Madam Marchbanks said again, in a placating tone.
‘-And I haven’t stuck to my lifetime ban from Quidditch either,’ Harry got in quickly. There was a slight ripple of suppressed laughter.
‘Do you, Mr Potter-’ said Whittaker, a slight edge to his voice.
‘Auror Potter,’ corrected Harry. He could hear sniggers again, but was unsure of their sympathy.
Now there was a definite edge to his voice. ‘My apologies, Auror Potter. Do you accept that you have a grudge against Dolores Umbridge?’
‘I think it would be weird if I didn’t,’ said Harry bluntly.
He could certainly hear pockets of laughter now.
‘No further question, Minister,’ said Whittaker, smiling as though he had won.
Harry felt uneasy; there were many in the gathered crowd that were grinning, and he strongly suspected that he’d made a complete tit out of himself. He’d got too personal, certainly. He climbed the steps back up to his seat.
‘Well done,’ whispered Ron, as Mary Cattermole was called to the chair.
‘That was a complete effing disaster,’ Harry said.
‘No it wasn’t-’
‘I got all sarcastic and shitty with him-’
‘I know, it was brilliant,’ said Ron gleefully. ‘She doesn’t look so confident now, does she?’
It was certainly true; Umbridge’s face looked similar to that of a large toad that had eaten a lemon.
Harry was vindicated, four days later, as Umbridge was sentenced to life imprisonment. In his lengthy sentencing speech, Kingsley, to Harry’s great surprise, mentioned him.
“...On the subject of Harry Potter, you instructed your lawyer to minimise the very real harm you did to him and his friends when they were children. I suspect you did this for several reasons. The first, and biggest, that you knew that his popularity in our society would turn public opinion against you, when they heard of your abuse of him. The second, that you hold a deep and real dislike of him, which is clearly mutual. The final, is that I suspect it gives you a perverse pleasure to harm the most vulnerable in our society. Children are inherently vulnerable, and it is clear to me and my fellows in the Wizengamot that you identified Auror Potter, who had only recently experienced significant trauma, as a child that you could abuse without repercussion. You instructed your lawyer to mock his bravery and resilience against you, but it was clear to many of us that his lack of emotional response to you is in fact reflective of the vulnerability that he had. You felt, as part of your defence, that this would suggest a biased vendetta against you. On the contrary, it highlighted, as Auror Potter put it so well, the insidious banality of your evil.’
‘Told you,’ whispered Ron.
Harry looked at her, her head bowed as she glared at the floor, her shoulders tense. His swell of savage pleasure returned, he barely thought about how embarrassed he was about what Kingsley had said about vulnerability, all he wanted was to stand and shout at her. I’m an auror, he wanted to say. I’m an auror, you said I couldn’t, but I did. You lost.
You didn’t break me.