*✧･ﾟ:* DEAD TO ME *:･ﾟ✧*
✧━━━━━━━━━━━✧
THANK GOD FOR Hermione, really, because without her, Harry would have been completely lost with his plan. Surprisingly, he had been aided by Blaise Zabini himself, who, once he had gotten wind of Harry's smart yet risky plan, decided to take it upon himself to help as best he could. The Slytherin and Hermione clashed a bit, but both students were so smart Harry couldn't risk not having either one's help.
Magical Law was tricky, but something being difficult hadn't stopped Harry before. Clad in a sharp black suit that Zabini had transfigured from a blue t-shirt and sweatpants, Harry Potter entered the Ministry of Magic with a puddle of nerves in the pit of his stomach and a small stack of parchment in his hand, that of which was littered with notes and tips from Hermione and Zabini.
He checked his watch in a panic; it was 12:34 PM. He was already late; he picked up his pace and prayed that they hadn't done too much just yet. His leather shoes click-clacked on the floor, the sound reverberating about the dark hallways. He could feel the chill of the courtroom even from down the corridor; he wondered if they still had dementors present for trials. Harry's stomached turned; could Indiana even preform a patronus?
When he slammed the doors to the courtroom open, it fell silent at his presence. In the mid-point of the circular courtroom, there lied a tall, roundish black cage-like cell with a person inside, and upon further examination, Harry felt sick to his stomach. It was Indiana, it had to be; between the head of wild curls to the muscles of her legs, he had no trouble recognizing her.
The Judge (who's tag read JUDGE CONIFER) was a pale, bony man, and his jaw dropped open when he set eyes on Harry. All of those in the rows of people turned around to rest their eyes upon him, and although he could feel a swarm of flutters in his stomach from his anxiety of the situation, he carried on, strutting through the aisle like he owned the place until he stood in the front of the courtroom.
Indiana looked like she had been through the mill, that's for sure; her face was pale, paler than he had ever quite seen; her eyes had a look to them that led him to believe she had not slept an inch. Her gray striped uniform fit her well, but it hung low on her collar and from there he could see the black ink of those same tattoos that Sirius had when he escaped Azkaban. She locked eyes with him, those big brown eyes of hers filled to the brim with tears of disbelief. He only allowed himself to stare at her for a moment before he turned back to the judge.
"Harry Potter," Judge Conifer said after a long moment. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"I'm here on behalf of Indiana Jones," Harry said carefully and confidentially, not letting those in the court hear the tremor of his voice. From inside the black cage-like cell, he heard Indiana gasp and place her chained hands over her eyes. "As a witness, and in her defense"
"Mr. Potter, you're not —"
"On page 436 and section seven of A Complete Text of Magic Law by Colin Bradsworth," Harry began, unclipping his bag and setting a rather large textbook onto the table to his right, flipping through it casually. "It states that anyone — with the proper authority — can speak in defense of the defendant."
"Yes, with the proper authority —"
"I do have a Second Class Order of Merlin, do I not?" Harry asked, his hand landing on the text-covered parchment as he turned his head to make direct eye contact with the Judge, who stammered out a few words before responding.
"Well, I — I suppose you do —"
"Right, then," Harry slipped into the seat beside what looked to be the woman in charge of defending Indiana; she wore a yellow pantsuit and had pursed, purple lips. He gestured for the Judge to continue with a single hand, sliding the textbook back over towards him and placing it back into his bag. "Go on, then."
"Alright, well, Mr. Bowman, do continue," Judge Conifer nodded his head towards a pudgy man who reminded Harry of his Uncle Vernon.
"Thank you, Your Honor," Mr. Bowman said, although he kept glancing at Harry nervously. "As I was saying, Miss Jones, how exactly were you involved in the task of murdering Albus Dumbledore that was given to Draco Malfoy?"
"I w-w-wasn't," Indiana croaked, and Harry's head jolted towards her just at the broken quality of her voice. How bad had her nights' stay at Azkaban been? Hagrid had not been this wrecked after he had to go. "D-Draco's my friend. I just wanted to help him, I didn't want Dumbledore dead —"
"You wanted to help him with his task, you mean," Mr. Bowman said pointedly. "You wanted to aid him in the murder."
"I d-didn't want him to kill Professor D-Dumbledore," Indiana said desperately. "But D-Draco was only sixteen and if he didn't do it then V-V-Voldemort would have killed him —!"
"And did Voldemort ever give you a task of your own?" Mr. Bowman continued, pacing in front of the cage that held the younger girl. Harry felt like punching him. "You were, if I am correct, quite high in his ranks, yes?"
"I wasn't," Indiana said honestly, shaking her head left to right rather feverishly. "I wasn't, I didn't matter to him at all. He never tasked me with anything, I just had to represent my family at his meetings."
"So you attending the formal meetings?" Mr. Bowman nodded his head three times as though he were confirming his own question. "The very same meetings that discussed his plans of taking over the Ministry?"
"Y-Yes, I had to," Indiana answered. Harry could not stop looking at her. How could they keep her in such a contraption? Around her wrists were silver manacles, rattling with her every move, but on her left hand, Harry spotted a glinting gold and green ring. He wondered if it had helped keep her sane. "He'd make my mark burn until I showed up."
"Were you often the first to show up, then?" Mr. Bowman asked. "You must have been awfully eager to attend such important meetings."
"No, no, not at all," Indiana denied in a weak and cracking voice. "I h-hated the meetings, he brought his snake — and she'd always slither around my chair —"
"You are a member of Slytherin house, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Would you say you had a good relationship with Severus Snape?" Mr. Bowman asked carefully.
"Not really, sir," Indiana shook her head. "He didn't like me... I'm bad at Potions. He was rude."
"Because he was so high in Voldemort's ranks?" Mr. Bowman asked. "Were you jealous of Severus Snape for being so honored by Voldemort?"
"What?" Indiana seemed taken aback. "N-No, sir, I —" She blinked furiously. "I was not."
"Were you, Miss Jones," Mr. Bowman held up a single finger, turning around and clasping his hands at the small of his back. "close with Albus Dumbledore?"
"Uhm, no, not at all," Indiana replied.
"Had he, at any point, offered you safety with the Order?"
Indiana was silent for a moment, dark eyes flickering across the courtroom. "Yes, sir."
"And you denied?"
Defeatedly, with her eyes frantically snapping about, Indiana muttered, "Yes, sir."
"And how many times did he offer this?"
Indiana said nothing for a prolonged moment. Harry saw her knuckles turn white as they clenched around the black bars of the cell, arms trembling. "Thrice."
"Thrice!" Mr. Bowman exclaimed. "When?"
"...once in my fourth year," Indiana said shamefully. "I didn't know... I — I thought differently..."
"Thought Voldemort was a hero, didn't you?" Mr. Bowman grinned, flashing pointy teeth. Harry watched a few tears roll down Indiana's sunken face. "And the other times?"
"Before my sixth year," Indiana murmured. "And before my seventh year."
"And you denied protection all three of those times?"
"Well — yes, sir, but there's more to —"
"Curious, curious," Mr. Bowman mused wickedly. "Too proud to give in, were you? Suppose the glory of being a Death Eater was just too thrilling to give up. I bet you quite liked bearing the mark that night of his death, letting your old Headmaster know that you didn't need him protection, you'd fulfilled your hunger for power —"
"Objection, Your Honor," Harry stood up swiftly, placing the heels of his hands on the edge of the table to push himself taller. God, please, let this work, Harry desperately thought to himself. Please, please, please. Judge Conifer's pale eyes flickering to him, and after a very prolonged moment of silence, he spoke.
"Sustained."
"Thank you," Harry nodded respectfully, circling around the table to lean against it. "What — Mr. Bowman, was it? — is accusing is not only a bundle of biased taunts, but is entirely incorrect as well as being a load of insufficient evidence. Indi — er — Miss Jones did not find glory in bearing the Dark Mark, nor did she have any type of 'hunger for power'."
"And how exactly, Mr. Potter, are you knowledgeable about how Miss Jones felt about her fate?" Judge Conifer asked, and although his exterior appeared to be casual and indifferent, even Harry could see the glint of curiosity in his pale eyes.
"Because," Harry began with a deep inhale, glancing quickly at Indiana, who was staring at him wordlessly, her lower lip quivering silently; as they clutched the bars of her cell, Harry could see her fingers trembling. "She told me. Directly. Privately. Before Albus Dumbledore's death, that is."
A series of gasps ran through the courtroom, and even Judge Conifer seemed taken aback.
"Did she, now?"
"Yes, sir."
"And do you have the memory to prove this?" Mr. Bowman interjected. Harry saw Indiana deflate a bit.
"Just my luck," Harry replied cockily, reaching into his pocket to reveal the small vial he had been holding onto. "I've got it right here."
Harry carried himself across the courtroom, up towards the Judge's desk to place the tiny, glowing blue vial onto it before strutting back, locking eyes with Indiana to give her a reassuring nod as he did so. Seeing her in such a state made his heart clench, but he had to keep his cool for now if he wanted to get away with this.
"Well, then," Judge Conifer said, gingerly picking up the vial. "Bring in the Pensieve."
A man who was rather heavy-set with beady black eyes and a balding head came into the room, holding a large sort of bowl with what seemed to be glittering liquid sloshing around inside. He placed it in front of the Judge's desk, where Judge Conifer got to his feet to circle around the stand in order to place himself right in front of it. With a single glance at Harry, he poured the memory inside.
After a single spell from his wand, the memory flew out of the Pensieve and into the air, projected itself so broadly that it looked almost like a large movie screen. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Indiana, who's eyes were wide as saucers as she stared at the memory; he could not tell if what he saw in her eyes were hope or fear.
And then, on the memory's screen, the swirls of blue transfigured into two figures; the one on the left, a slightly younger Indiana, and on the right, a slightly younger Harry. They sat beside each other in a dimly lit room, hands clasped together and foreheads pressed together.
Harry looked back at Indiana again; her brows were furrowed and her cheeks were red, but she was still watching closely. All those in the courtroom watched in deafening silence, mostly in disbelief. Harry glanced back at Simon and Mr. Jones; the former's jaw was dropped in shock, and the latter was simply sneering.
"I don't know what to do," Memory-Indiana said in a delicate whisper, tears threatening to run down her cheeks. "I should have just... taken Simon and ran for it."
"You did what you thought was best," Memory-Harry tried to reassure her, green eyes soft as can be as he ducked his head slightly lower to look Memory-Indiana in the eyes. "To protect him. You're not a Death Eater, Indie, not in my book. You're being brave."
"He's terrifying," Memory-Indiana croaked desperately. "You-Know-Who. I can't go to another meeting, Harry, I just can't!"
"You're so strong, Indie," Memory-Harry told her gently, looming closer to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Harry heard those in the courtroom gasp again, and Harry could only pray that this false memory would remain flawless, just as it had been when he, Hermione, and Zabini had created it. Because, of course, a fake memory could never be as believable as a real one. "And one hell of an actress, too. Fooling Voldemort... who would have thought?"
"Not me," Memory-Indiana dryly laughed, her face pink. "Not in a million years."
"It'll all be fine, in the end," Memory-Harry told her, his thumb softly rubbing over her scarred knuckles. Memory-Harry, then, to the courtrooms surprise, pressed a silken kiss to Memory-Indiana's cheekbone. "I promise."
And as the fake-memory faded into nothing, Harry could hear Indiana softly weeping from inside of her cell, her hands clasped over her face. The Judge, as well as Mr. Bowman and every other person inside of that courtroom, looked completely and utterly flabbergasted; jaws were dropped agape and eyes were wide. Harry felt smug as ever; thank you, Hermione and Zabini, he thought to himself.
"As you can see," Harry said loudly, taking the vial from the Judge and scooping it through the pensieve to re-collect the faux memory, his lips unconsciously twitching up into a smirk. "Indiana and I are rather close. We didn't tell anyone; you can, of course, imagine the scandal that would lead to — that it will lead to, yeah?"
"Yes, yes, I can imagine," Judge Conifer nodded hastily, shifting around in his seat as though he were uncomfortable. "Does the Defense rest?"
"I believe so, Your Honor," said the woman in the yellow pantsuit.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," said Judge Conifer. "I am now going to read to you the law that you must follow in deciding this case: To prove the crime charged against the defendant, the prosecution must prove two things to you:
"First, that the defendant desired to be apart of Voldemort's ranks and serve him; and second, that she aided willingly as an accomplice to the murder of Albus Dumbledore," Judge Conifer continued. "If each of you believes that the prosecution proved both of these things beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty. But if you believe the prosecution did not prove any one of these things beyond a reasonable doubt, then you must find the defendant not guilty.
"Proof beyond a reasonable doubt does not mean beyond all possible doubt. It means that you must consider all of the evidence and that you are very sure that the charge is true. Is this understood?"
Those of the jury all nodded, muttering a chorus of Yes, Your Honors as they each were handed pieces of parchment and quills. Harry watched as the jury left the room in one large swarm, and it was only when the Judge called for a break that he allowed himself to rest his eyes upon Indiana.
She was leaning against the back of the cage-like cell, her head leaned back to expose her neck and her eyelashes brushing the tips of her pale cheeks as she shut her eyelids. Her hands were resting at her front, brought and held together by the manacles about her wrists. Harry wished he could free her. Or at least, he thought, to get her out of those damn shackles.
✧✧✧
WHEN THE JURY finally returned to the courtroom, an hour had passed. Harry had been gripping his hair in anticipation, and had even taken it upon himself to cross the room in order to speak with Simon Jones, Indiana's younger brother.
Simon had badgered him with questions about his relationship with his sister, to which Harry only sadly smiled and reassured him that at the end of all of this, he would explain. And it was then that Harry swore to himself that if Indiana was found guilty and permanently incarcerated, he'd take it upon himself to watch out for Simon. He was a good kid.
"Will the jury foreperson please stand? Has the jury reached an unanimous verdict?"
The foreperson of the jury stood; he looked like a nice bloke, Harry thought, but he had this great big scar across the top of his shiny bald head that made him look a bit scary. He was briefly reminded of Mad-Eye Moody as the man spoke.
"Yes, Your Honor," The man had a high-pitched and squeaky sort of voice, which was a big shock to the bespectacled boy considering he had been expecting a gruff voice like Moody had. "After a long hour of deliberating..."
Harry hadn't realized, but he had been clutching the table so tightly he thought his knuckles might snap. The old woman beside him was gnawing at her purple-painted lip, her pointy red nails tapping frantically at her spot. He shifted his eyes to the black, round cell in the center of the room that held Indiana; she had her chin resting on her hands that gripped the black iron bars, and her eyes were staring inwardly at a blank spot in front of her as though she ahd already accepted her fate.
"The jury finds the defendant..." The man really did take his time flipping that damn page. Harry though he'd have to sprint over and do it himself if he didn't move any faster. "Not guilty."
He felt like crying all of a sudden. He wasn't quite sure where the urge came from, but he had to adjust his glasses and blink a few times to prevent it. Harry glanced back at the rows of people and spotted Simon, who had not refrained and was openly bawling like a child — and then, Jack Jones, her father, who looked viciously indifferent.
Indiana, however, had leaned forward to clasp her palms over her eyes; her back was hunched over, the striped uniform clinging to her spine, the dark ringlets hanging in front of her face.
The judge was saying something Harry wasn't quite paying attention to; all he did was get to his feet and cross the room so he was standing directly in front of where Indiana was contained. He wrapped his fingers along the bars and violently yanked them back twice before turning only his head.
"Unlock this, will you?" He commanded harshly. Judge Conifer sent a tired glance to the burly Auror that was at the cages left. He had tousled dirty-blonde hair, a snaggle tooth, but he had a rather lively expression on his face.
"'Freedom is never given, it is won,'" The burly Auror said to Indiana as he brought his wand in front of the cage, tapping it multiple times. Indiana lifted her head and sent a light expression to the Auror, before her lips curled upwards in a sort of grateful smile. "Phillip Randolph said that, y'know. Anyway, congrats!"
"Thank you, sir," Indiana said politely as the Auror opened up the cell and began to unlock the chains that held her. "Where's my wand at? D'you know?"
"Here you are," The Auror slipped the dark-colored wand into her open and calloused palm. Harry watched the pair interact carefully.
"Y'think I can get out of this shit?" Indiana gestured to the striped prison uniform she was clad in.
"Yer brother's got the rest of yer stuff," The Auror explained, gesturing behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, watching as Simon shuffled out of his seat to rush over. In the split second the pair had before the younger boy came bounding over, Indiana locked eyes with Harry and gave him a small smile of what had to be adoration. His stomach fluttered.
"Indie!" Simon exclaimed, throwing his arms around her. "Thank Merlin, thank Merlin! What was Azkaban like?"
"Awful," Indiana shuddered. "Y'know who was in the cell next to me?"
"Who?"
"Lucius fuckin' Malfoy," Indiana answered, to which both Simon and Harry broke out into a chorus of exclamations of their apparent surprise. "Yeah, yeah, later. I need to... cleanse my soul, or something."
Simon laughed and reached into his bag, revealing a folded black shirt and sweatpants. Indiana took them graciously, and as the courtroom began to emptied, she gestured for Harry to follow her as she exited the room.
Outside, unfortunately, they were met with a rather larger crowd of paparazzi and news reporters, cameras flashing and microphones being shoved into their faces. Indiana flinched and brought a hand up to cover her face, wincing and shrinking back. Harry, ever-so-boldly, snaked an arm about her waist and tried his best to weave the pair out of the crowd, but once he realized it was no use, he simply apparated to the next hallway over, where he knew there was a bathroom of sorts.
"Sorry about them," Harry told her sheepishly as the pair of them approached the unisex bathroom. Indiana was fiddling with her folded clothes a bit, not meeting his eyes. "I breathe and they find a way to make a story on it."
"You are just full of surprises, aren't you, Potter?" Indiana asked rhetorically, still staring down at the black clothing in her hands. "How did you manage to pull that off?"
"Hermione," Harry answered honestly. "And Zabini."
"Hermione helped?" Indiana met his eyes at this, long eyelashes practically touching her brow bones. Harry simply could not help but smile down at her; he had never once thought he would be grateful for Indiana's presence, but he wasn't sure what he would do if the jury had found her guilty. Probably break into Azkaban himself and break her out.
"Yeah," Harry said breathlessly. "Yeah, she came up with the idea..."
"And that memory... was that Hermione, too?" Indiana asked slowly, something glinting in her eyes that made Harry think she was expecting a certain answer.
"Not quite," Harry spoke quietly, swallowing and shaking his head. She had an awfully small presence in the prison uniform, and although her dominant and independent personality had been one of the things that had attracted Harry so fiercely, he could not help but enjoy seeing her so timid around him. "That part was my idea."
"I see," Indiana uttered softly, peering up at him through her eyelashes and slowly blinking. She was staring at him as though he had truly captivated her, and Harry wondered how he looked in her eyes. He was glad she couldn't see herself the way he saw her; her ego didn't quite need any boosting, and a catching tiny glimpse through Harry's eyes might make it explode. He gulped, curious as to how long it would take for one of them to close the empty space between them. Neither moved. "I should change."
"Yeah," Harry breathed. "Alright."
"Wait here for me," Indiana told him, and rather than asking it in the form of a question, it was more of a command; like she knew he'd listen no matter her tone.
"Okay," Harry nodded twice, exhaling the breath he had been holding in once she stepped back and turned, pushing open the door to the unisex bathroom and vanishing inside.
When she was out of sight, Harry flopped himself against the nearest wall, tilting his head back to rest on it. He closed his eyes, taking off his glasses to clean them; not because they were necessarily dirty, but because Harry felt like he had to occupy his hands so he didn't barge into that bathroom and snog her to death.
He had expected Indiana to be holding onto the prison uniform when he came out, but her hands were empty and her arms were wrapped around her torso as though she were cold. Some color had crept back into her face, making her look less ill and more lively again.
"Where's the uniform?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Rubbish-bin," Indiana smirked, rubbing her upper arms, and Harry couldn't help but smile back. "Never wanna see that thing again, that's for sure."
"You cold?" He asked her, and before she could begin to protest, he swung his blazer off his arms and handed it to her. He was left clad in a tight white dress shirt, and his lips curved up into the tiniest of smug smiles when he spotted her eyes widen in a fraction of an inch and travel across his chest and arms. "Here."
Harry had cursed the Universe for making his shirt too tight that morning, but he took back his curses and thanked it instead as once he saw Indiana's small reaction. She did not say anything else, only settling for a purse of her lips with a pretty blush across her cheeks as she took it from his hands and draped it over her shoulders. It was not necessarily oversized on her, but it hung low over her hands and fell to her mid thighs.
"Thank you, Potter," Indiana said quietly. "They would've tossed me away if it weren't for you."
"Yeah, well..." Harry said sheepishly. "You can call me 'Harry,' y'know. Thought I told you that."
"My minds been a bit preoccupied," Indiana shrugged, and he watched as she pulled his blazer closer to her body. "Y'know. Azkaban, n'all."
"Was it bad?" Harry asked her softly, dropping his voice so low it may have been a whisper as though he couldn't have anyone overhear. Indiana visibly swallowed, glancing to her right.
"Hell on Earth, Harry Potter," She muttered, tugging to blazer closer to her one final time before starting to walk. Harry followed like a stray puppy, spying Simon at the end of the hall. "Hell on Earth."
SHE SPEAKS!
EARLY UPDATE CHECK!!!! i felt bad for leaving you all where it ended last chap so... here we are lmao
ok so i was going to have them kiss, but i feel like they're still in this place where they're like what even are we and indiana literally just got out of mf prison so idk it didn't feel like the right time... but DSJHBH i've had the fake-memory thing planned for AGES pls tell me you liked it
thank u for reading ily
-s <3