The Price

"I have no idea," said Snape coldly. "Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on you reference if ever you apply for a job."

He closed the door behind him with a snap, and Harry felt a distinct feeling of calm come over him. Snape, despite his cruel words, had understood perfectly. Umbridge, however, looked distinctly displeased; her chest was heaving with rage and frustration.

"Very well," she said, and she pulled out her wand. "Very well...I am left with no alternative...This is more than a matter of school discipline...This is an issue of Ministry security...Yes...yes..."

She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty pal and breathing heavily. Harry found that he couldn't care less what she did to him so long as Snape found Sirius and got him out safely.

"You are forcing me, Potter...I do not want to," said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, "but sometimes circumstances justify the use...I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice..."

Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face.

"The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," said Umbridge quietly.

Harry felt like laughing. Voldemort was probably ten thousand times more powerful than her, yet Umbridge thought she could break his will when the Dark Lord could not?

"No!" shrieked Hermione. "Professor Umbridge - it's illegal -" but Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty, eager, excited look on her face that Harry had never seen before. Harry was afraid now, but for Hermione; he gave her a small, almost apologetic smile to set her at ease. Umbridge raised her wand.

"The Minister wouldn't want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!" cried Hermione.

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry's body in turn, apparently trying to decide what would hurt the most. "He never knew I ordered dementors after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same..."

"It was you?" Harry laughed. "You were the one who sent the dementors after me? And all this time I had thought it was Voldemort."

Umbridge flew into a rage.

"Even after all this time you're still a nasty little liar, Potter!" she shrieked. "But now you're getting what you deserve. Crucio!"

For the third time in his life, Harry felt the pain of a million stinging needles stabbing into his skin, but he had been right in his assumption that Umbridge wasn't as powerful as Voldemort. The curse didn't hurt nearly as much as when he had done it, and his scar didn't even tingle besides. After just a moment or two the curse was lifted and Harry found that he had remained standing. His skin ached, but other than that he didn't feel really all that much the worse for wear.

"Honestly, Professor," he said, scathingly, "can't you even do that properly."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried. "Don't!"

Harry caught her eye and gave her a tiny half-smile. He tried to convey to her that it didn't matter, that he could take it.

"Fine, Potter," Umbridge said, breaking the friendly moment, "if you want to play it that way, we'll play it that way." She waved her wand again, "Crucio!"

This time it was much worse. Harry vaguely heard himself scream and felt himself fall to the floor, but mostly he just noticed the pain. The all-encompassing pain that made it feel as though every inch of skin was being sliced by a potato peeler. There was no thought, this time; no comparison between Umbridge's power and Voldemort's. There was only the pain. Would it never end?

The air in his lungs ran out, but still he tried to scream. Something told him that if he didn't keep screaming he would start to swallow the pain and then it would be inside him and never come out, so he kept at it. Then even that became impossible. A thick, hot, coppery liquid rose out of his throat into his mouth, blocking off the airway. Bits of it spurted out and the curse was lifted, but Harry now couldn't breathe. He was drowning in his own blood. Someone kicked him over onto his stomach and Harry coughed, emptying the blood from his airway. He took two shallow breaths, then passed out on the hard stone floor.

Harry woke up on a hard bed in a dark cell. One quick glance out the bars told him he was in Holding Cell 3 - awaiting trial, potentially dangerous, under medical surveillance. A medi-wizard was standing next to the cot, his wand out, and Harry figured he'd just been enervated. Seeing him awake, the medi-wizard, his nametag said Sean, quickly left, closing and locking the door behind him. The air between them shimmered as several magical wards were activated.

"Hello Mr. Potter," said Sean curtly. "How are you feeling? Breathing all right?"

"Erm...fine thanks," Harry murmured. "I suppose my memory must be a bit off. What am I awaiting trial for?"

"The official charges are for attacking a ministry official, namely senior undersecretary Umbridge," Sean answered. He looked around nervously, "though I doubt they'll go easy on you if you keep spouting dribble like was published in the Quibbler. I'd say your best bet would be to keep your mouth shut."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly. "Do I get to speak with anyone before my trial?"

"You are allowed to request one visitor," said Sean, nodding, "but there are no guarantees and no one will go out of their way to find the person. If you'd like, you can tell me who you'd like to see and I'll start on the paperwork. I'm a little bored here right now."

Harry thought for a moment. His situation wasn't good, and there was only a handful of people who could help, most of which were also on the ministry's black list. Finally, his mind lit upon the same person he had overlooked the day before.

"I think I would like to speak with Professor Severus Snape," Harry said.

Sean raised an eyebrow, but wrote the name down nonetheless. Snape arrived less than an hour later.

"I was told you wished to counsel with me, Potter," the potions master sneered, "I must say that your choice rather surprised me."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know when I'd next have the opportunity to talk to you one-on-one," said Harry, "and I wanted to tell you...I'm sorry. Not just for me, though I have been a bit of an idiot, but also for my father. I should not have invaded your privacy and he should not have, well, been an arrogant little berk. So, that's all really, I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted, Potter," Snape drawled, "and you'll be glad to know Snuffles was nowhere near there."

Harry smiled.

"Thank you, Professor," he said softly.

Snape looked as though he were about to say something, but at that moment two Aurors walked in and announce that the trial was about to start. As they set about opening the door while keeping Harry at wand point, the Potions Master slipped out largely unnoticed.

Harry was escorted down to the same trial room he had been in at the end of the summer. This time when he sat down, the chains on the chair bound him tightly.

"Harold James Potter," someone with a booming voice announced. Harry gave a little start; was that his whole name? He'd never known. "You stand before this tribunal accused of attacking a ministry official. Senior Undersecretary Umbridge has given evidence that she used Cruciatus on you once for ten seconds trying to defend herself, but medical examiners have found that it was used at least twice, and once long enough for an air sac in your left lung to rupture. In light of this inconsistency, you are being given the option to be tried under veritaserum. Do you agree or refuse?"

"I refuse," Harry said softly, but his voice seemed to echo through the courtroom.

"Very well," the voice said. "Would you like to give the tribunal your own account of the events?"

Harry considered this. He had no idea what story Umbridge had told them - except that it involved him attacking her, and telling the truth was completely out. He shook his head.

The voice seemed to falter. "Very...very well, then we have no choice but to sentence you to twelve months in Azkaban Prison. You have also been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If anyone had been able to find your wand, it would have been snapped, but as it has been lost, consider it equally disabled. You may go."

Harry felt his heart lodge in his throat, but stood up obediently when the chains around him fell back to the sides of the heavy wooden chair. The two aurors who had brought him in escorted Harry back out, passed the holding cell to a large fireplace. One threw a handful of floo powder in, turning the flames a bright green color. They all stepped in together and the other Auror called out loudly, "Azkaban."

Dozens and dozens of grates flew by, many more than there had been when Harry had gone from the Burrow to Diagon Alley. They landed hard in another, even larger and more menacing fireplace and Harry, unable to use his hands to steady himself because of the handcuffs, lost his balance and fell face-first on the hard stone floor. He heard a crunch and was sure his glasses were now broken. One of the Aurors laughed, but the other one wordlessly picked both Harry and the broken frames up, repaired them, and fitted them back on Harry's face.

Azkaban was as dark and dreary as Harry had always imagined from Sirius and Lupin's brief descriptions. The entryway was windowless and the only light came from burning torches spaced just a little too far apart. Screams and moans bounced thickly from stone wall to stone wall and Harry wanted to shut his ears so he didn't have to hear them, but he couldn't. The handcuffs were already biting into his wrists. Harry was led down one incredibly dark corridor, past cells of other people pacing furtively or lying perfectly still, to an empty cell. Number 902384-23. The auror who had laughed at him now pointed his wand at Harry's chest and transfigured his school robes into prison robes with that same number on the chest.

Harry Potter was officially a prisoner of Azkaban.

Now that the dementors were gone, limited-sentence prisoners such as himself were allowed certain privileges, including a weekly copy of the Prophet. The headline, predictably, read: Boy-Who-Lived now Boy-Who-Went-Too-Far. Harry sighed and almost put it down, but decided he needed some distraction.

Harry Potter, known to the wizarding world as the Boy-Who-Lived, has finally overstepped his fame. Apparently dissatisfied with the change in management at Hogwarts, the boy attempted to attack newly-instated headmistress Dolores Umbridge. Luckily, quick thinking on Professor Umbridge's part stopped the boy in his tracks. He was apprehended yesterday on the floor of her office.

Mr. Potter's trial took place yesterday afternoon in the Ministry and, after a very brief questioning where Potter refused to say anything in his defense, he was sentenced to a year in Azkaban. We here at the Prophet say 'It's about time!' The Ministry has, in the past, been far too lenient with this supposed savior, and it's a very good thing they're finally cracking down, before Potter's head gets any bigger.