The murmurs settled an hour later when Madam Rosen banged her gavel on the podium in front of her. Harry sat between Fleur's legs with his back against her chest and her arms wrapped around him, and as she rested her chin on his head, she reflected that she enjoyed how much shorter he was than her. She hoped he wouldn't grow too much more.
They were both tired – it had been a very long day – but it was worth it. Severus Snape would hopefully soon be little more than a series of bad memories for Harry, which was as it should be. He would likely spend the rest of his life in prison, right where he belonged.
They sat in the front row, with a clear view of the greasy former Professor, who was staring stone-faced straight ahead. Only his slight sneer gave any indication of what he was thinking: the man was bitter and angry. From the stories Fleur had heard, he was, in many ways, much like Ron Weasley: he felt entitled to everything, and nobody but him deserved it.
In short, he was jealous of the carefree lives his students lived, and especially of Harry Potter.
Harry's memories had shown that the man believed him a spoilt child before he even met him. He railed against the fame that Harry himself despised. Had he been a decent human being, in fact, they might have been able to build a friendship based on that, and learned much from each other. It was truly sad that the man couldn't see that.
The reporters waited with baited breath, and for once they hadn't even tried to accost Harry and Fleur, so focused were they on perfecting their stories. This would be huge news in the Wizarding world: an entire generation of British Witches and Wizards had endured the man's hatred, and now they were going to get justice.
It would sell a lot of papers, that much was certain.
The room hushed completely as Madam Rosen rose gracefully to her feet. "This court will now pass judgement," she announced. "Severus Snape, please rise."
Snape stiffly pushed to his feet, a glimmer of anger showing that anyone would dare command him. Fleur was amazed at his appearance: he wore his usual billowing cloak, and his hair was as greasy as ever. Apparently he didn't think it necessary to dress up or wash prior to appearing before the court that would decide his fate.
Harry tensed and crossed his fingers in silent prayer, and Fleur drew him a little closer. This meant a great deal to him, for it was the first bit of justice he would have in his life. There was still a long way to go, but this was the first step on the path, and because of that, it was arguably the most important.
"We have seen the evidence, and listened to the arguments," Rosen began, "and I must complement the Chief Warlock on a powerful speech. However, I'm afraid the Chief Warlock missed two key points."
Snape stiffened visibly, his eyes narrowing in anger, and Dumbledore paled as he listened. Oh yes, he was going to lose his spy! Although, Fleur wondered whose side he was really on; he did not act the part of a Light Wizard.
"Firstly, while Pensieve evidence may or may not be biased emotionally, the facts of the memories remain. The evidence presented was, frankly, appalling in scope. Were it a small group of students then the argument might have merit, but there were hundreds, and each memory agreed with the last. No, I do not think there was bias present.
"And secondly, even if there was bias in the memories, there cannot be bias in Veritaserum-induced testimony. We have heard from twenty-seven students, including Harry Potter himself, as they willingly placed themselves at our mercy while we forced them to tell the truth. And the truth agrees with the evidence shown in the Pensieve.
"I agree with Madame Bones. A failure to convict would be a grave miscarriage of justice, and an abdication of our duty to the people of Magical Britain. To that end, on two hundred forty-six counts of child abuse, and one hundred sixteen counts of child endangerment, we find the defendant guilty of child endangerment, we find the defendant guilty of all charges."
A deafening cheer rose in the courtroom at the announcement, and Snape's hand twitched violently, drawing Fleur's attention. Beside him, Dumbledore deflated and suddenly looked much, much smaller. He hunched over and closed his eyes in apparent grief, though whether grief over Snape, or merely over his loss, she could not tell.
"SILENCE!" roared Madam Rosen, once again banging her gavel. It took a moment for the room to quiet, and then she spoke again. "Severus Septimus Snape," she intoned gravely, "you have been found guilty. Due to the heinous nature of your crimes against the children of this world, we hereby sentence you to one hundred thirty-seven years in Azkaban Prison, and may Merlin protect you.
"Aurors, remove this filth from my courtroom and deliver him to Azkaban without delay. This court is adjourned."
Her gavel rapped sharply on the podium, and even as the Aurors moved forward to collect Snape, most of the audience rose to their feet, including Fleur and Harry. Both were looking on the scene with no joy, but plenty of grim satisfaction. Never again would a student be subjected to Snape's brand of abuse. Harry had truly done something good for the world in pursuing this, and she was tremendously proud of him for it.
But, as they soon discovered, Madam Rosen had made a critical error.
Harry hugged Fleur soundly, and then bounded away to Sebastian's position several seats away to give him a hug of his own, which made her smile widely. There were, however, too many people on their feet, and Snape had not yet been removed from the courtroom. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Aurors approach him, and then time abruptly slowed to a crawl.
She saw murder in his eyes, and crystal clear intent.
He suddenly twisted in his seat, almost inhumanly fast, and reached into his sock, from where he produced a sleek black wand. The Aurors, so secure in their positions, were completely unprepared: not a single one had their own wand out. And then he surged from his seat, his eyes searching out the most fiercely hated student he had ever had.
Harry Potter.
Horrified, but too far away to act – and with too many innocent people in between – Fleur could only watch as Harry turned toward the commotion. He saw it as the wand flashed, and his eyes widened in alarm. And next thing she knew, Harry was doing what he did best.
Saving a life.
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" roared Snape.
Problem was, the man was so enraged, and in such a hurry, that his aim was off the mark. The sickly purple spell flashed out of his wand toward a young lady who appeared to be the court scribe, and Harry was moving before the incantation was even finished, already having identified the target. She had no idea how he did it – he was capable of so many amazing things – but his guess was perfectly accurate.
The spell sailed through the air, nearing the young lady as Harry barreled into her, throwing her against the wall behind her with considerable force. But even as he made contact, the spell reached him and seared into him as he twisted in midair, trying to escape. He cried out in pain and horror, and the sound stirred a feeling in Fleur that she had never felt before.
Complete, all-consuming, unadulterated rage.
It burned so blindingly hot that thought did not even enter into the equation. She knew the victim, and she knew the perpetrator, and she would not let this stand. Harry was her husband, and no pathetic bastard like Snape would take him from her, and especially not without a fight. And before she even realized what was happening, her entire body had changed.
Feathers sprouted from her arms, and her head elongated into a dangerous avian visage, her vision sharpening as she instinctively sought her prey. Fire burned through her veins as she acquired her target, already forming into deadly balls of white-hot flame in her hands. Wings sprouted on her back, and spread as she took flight.
She was barely off the ground when she unleashed the first volley, but Snape saw them coming and rolled to the side. The fireballs splashed harmlessly against the floor, winking out as they failed to find further fuel to consume. But two more were already forming, and these were deadly accurate.
They sailed from her palms and hit him in the legs and chest, setting his robes ablaze.
He let out a pained shriek as the heat seared his skin, and collapsed to the ground, the Aurors already moving to subdue him. Fleur had a deep desire to end him then and there – and was more than capable of it – but her attention was already shifting now that the threat had been neutralized. Her eyes sought her husband, desperate to know what was happening.
And time resumed its normal pace.
It had all happened so quickly that Harry was still in flight, propelled by the force of the spell that hit him. He sailed a good ten feet, and crashed loudly into a group of chairs, shattering them into splinters. He landed on his injured side and slid along the floor, coming to a stop in a relatively open area, leaving a bright red streak across the floor in his wake.
Fleur had never before transformed into this form – while she could do it voluntarily, she thought it disgusting and had never done so – but she was surprised to find that she innately understood her abilities. As chaos raged around her, she spread her wings and took flight again, headed straight for her husband. One quick-thinking young wizard was already checking him over as her taloned feet clattered to the ground on either side of Harry's head.
The young man looked up at her, paled, and backed away.
Fleur ignored him and bent down to examine her husband with her eyes. He had lost consciousness, and there was a deep gash up his left side, ending just beneath his armpit. It had apparently crossed his arm as well, for another gash appeared across his bicep. Both were edged with sickly black, and were bleeding profusely.
Enraged, horrified, and terrified all at the same time, Fleur could only think of one thing that could provide immediate help, and she turned to her head to the sky and cried out "FAWKES!" But to her horror, it came out as a rage-filled avian shriek that echoed in the courtroom, instantly stilling the panicked crowd.
There was silence for a heartbeat, during which Fleur registered disgust at what she had become.
And then a bright flash of flame burst overhead, and Fawkes circled the hall and sang a brief song of comfort before diving at Harry. He landed with a clatter and titled his head to eye the wounds, and Fleur watched with trepidation. The area around them – or, more specifically, around her – remained clear of all but her father, who was quickly making his way over.
All around them, Witches and Wizards were picking themselves up off the floor or trying to avoid getting trampled. The Aurors had dowsed Snape with water and stunned him thoroughly, and were now dragging him through the crowd while simultaneously trying to avoid the mad desire of said crowd to have their revenge on the man. Fleur ignored it all and continued to watch Fawkes, who tilted his head over the largest gash and started to cry.
And then Dumbledore decided to get involved.
Her rage had slowly given way to her other swirling emotions, but when she saw him coming, it took over once again. That bastard was the cause of this! He was the reason the trial had been necessary in the first place, the reason Snape was teaching children! And he was the reason her husband was a battered, broken man when he should be a vibrant, happy boy!
People shied away from him as he strode toward Harry in full aura, but Fleur wasn't going to have that. There was no way she would let him anywhere near Harry when he was so vulnerable. Without a second thought, she moved to stand in his way, fireballs already forming in her palms, and only her considerable willpower preventing them from finding a target.
She shrieked angrily at him and raised her hands to show the swirling, burning masses, and Dumbledore stopped dead in his tracks.
Another hush fell over the crowd as they watched the confrontation, but Fleur ignored it, and Dumbledore – apparently smart enough to realize just how much danger he was in – raised his hands in supplication. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Amelia brushed by him and – ignoring Fleur completely, to everyone's shock – rushed toward Harry. Fleur did not so much as bat an eye at her.
"Miss Delacour–" he began, but she shrieked at him for the disrespect of not using her proper name, and the fireballs grew slightly in size, the energy sizzling in her palms.
"That's Madame Potter, Albus!" snapped Amelia loudly from somewhere behind her. "She considers you a threat and does not want you here, so I suggest you leave!"
"I must see to Harry, Amelia," he said, not taking his eyes off of Fleur. "His safety is–"
Tired of the old bastard's interference, Fleur let out another deafening shriek and threw her palm forward, unleashing one of the fireballs. Dumbledore never even had a chance to raise his wand before it splashed harmlessly on the ground at his feet, another already growing to replace it. He jumped back, having received the message clearly.
"She is in charge, Albus," spat Amelia. "What she says, goes, and she's made her wishes damn clear! Now leave!"
Dumbledore eyed her for a long moment, obviously contemplating forcing the issue. Fleur cocked her head at him and raised her hands palms-up, channeling more energy into them, and causing the fireballs to grow considerably in size. She was not above killing him if it came down to it, if that was what it took to protect her mate.
Finally realizing that, Dumbledore deflated again. "Very well," he said quietly, "I trust you will keep me informed?"
"It's up to her," snapped Amelia shortly. "Good bye, Albus!"
Thoroughly beaten, Dumbledore shrank back into the crowd, and Fleur watched him go for a long moment to be certain that he would not try anything underhanded. People shrank away from her gaze as it followed him, but again, she paid them no mind. And once she was satisfied, she turned to scan for any other threats.
Harry was still being tended by Fawkes, who had moved up a little on his side, but appeared to be having a very difficult time closing the wound. Amelia and her father had found or conjured rags and were holding them to the other bleeding areas, trying to keep him stable. A ring of people stood about ten feet out, but none appeared to have any intention of helping or harming.
Seeing that all was as well as it could be, she dropped her hands, allowing the fire to dissipate, and clattered back to stand protectively over his head. As she did so, however, she heard him emit a pained groan and saw his eyes flutter, which made her step away again. She did not want him to see her this way!
Panic consumed her as he continued swimming back toward consciousness. She was hideous, and she was terrifying! And in her panic, she could not change back! What would he think? Would he still love her knowing what she could become?
"Fleur?" whispered his pained voice.
Her gaze snapped back to him, and she froze, her entire body quivering in fright.
His eyes squinted up at her, no longer hidden behind the glasses that had gotten lost in the fray. Her only consolation was that he could not see her. He had described to her one morning what his vision was like when he woke up, and she was deeply relieved that she was little more than a white/silver blob to him at the moment.
"Fleur?" he called again.
She took another step backwards.
"She's transformed, Harry," said Amelia gently. "I don't think she wants you to see her that way."
His green orbs tracked to Amelia for a moment before returning to Fleur. "C'mere, Fleur," he whispered hoarsely. She hesitated, wanting to do what he asked, but terrified of it. And then he whispered, "Please."
Her heart broke at what was about to happen. Even in spite of the trials they faced, the last month with him had been a paradise, and now it was all over. But she could not deny him; he was injured, and he needed her, and she could not deny him.
She clattered tentatively closer, painfully aware of so many people watching her, and slowly lowered herself down so he could see her. Had she been able to cry in this form, she would have been bawling. Her entire body shook with so many emotions, but now grief was chief among them.
Harry watched her quietly for a moment; he was still dazed, and she could tell that he was thinking very slowly compared to usual. And then he shakily reached his good arm up to touch her face, but she instinctively shied away. For the first time, she understood how he felt about being touched, at least in some small part...
"It's okay," he whispered weakly. "C'mere."
Letting out a fearful whimper, she lowered herself closer to him, wishing desperately that she could settle herself enough to change back. He reached up and cautiously touched the feathers on her face, and then ran his fingers along her beak, which she was surprised she could even feel. And, to her utter shock, a small smile appeared on his face as he threaded them into the feathers just over her ear, much like he did with her hair when they made love.
"You're beautiful," he whispered faintly. "So soft..."
And then his eyes closed, his hand fell away, and his head lolled to the side.
Shocked to the core by his words, Fleur fell back on her bum. And then, realizing what had just happened, her head shot up and she chirped sharply at Amelia. The woman was watching the scene with a remarkably tender expression.
"He's fine, Fleur," she soothed. "He lost a lot of blood, but if Fawkes can finish, he should be okay in a day or two."
Fleur examined her expression closely, and detected no lie. Feeling a small amount of relief, and a maelstrom of emotions over his most recent words, she nodded and looked back to him, feeling a desperate need to be close to him; to touch him. Without even thinking much about it, she scooted forward and cautiously lifted his head into her lap, careful not to scratch him with her talons.
She was frightened and confused, and she did not know which way was up.
Finally, her father looked up at her with deep compassion in his eyes. He knew how she felt about this – they had talked about it when she was a child, being teased in her first years at Beauxbatons – and he understood. "Can you transform back yet?" he asked her gently.
Fleur closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, but then shook her head in frustration. Her emotions were too raw, and she simply could not reach that place she would need to assert her normal form. The anger that continued to burn beneath the surface didn't help one bit, either.
He nodded, and then glanced at Fawkes, who had just lifted his head from over the wound on Harry's arm.
Fleur shuddered at the dark, mottled skin where the wound had closed. She did not mind his scars, but she hated that he had to endure yet more. He had been through far too much in his short life. Why was fate so cruel to him?
"We need to get him to St. Mungo's," sighed Amelia. "He at least needs blood replenisher, and he'll need to be checked over. That was a seriously Dark curse, and I've never seen it before, so who knows what else it did."
Sebastian turned his full attention to the phoenix. "Will you transport us, Fawkes?" he requested, reaching out to gently stroke the creature's beautiful head. Fleur actually felt a pang of jealousy that Harry wasn't awake to do that for her.
Fawkes chirped tiredly and stepped up onto Harry's chest before spreading his tail feathers and shaking them in invitation. Sebastian and Amelia immediately grabbed hold, but Fleur had no idea what to do. She did not have anything she could safely hold onto his tail with, and she would not injure the beautiful phoenix who had just saved her husband's life for a second time.
Fawkes chirped questioningly at her, and she lifted her talons and shrugged at him.
He studied her sidewise for a moment before finally lifting one of his own talons and flexing it at her, and at first she thought he was mocking her. But then she realized what he wanted, and cautiously reached forward so he could grab hold. His grip was surprisingly gentle.
And in a blazing inferno, they were gone, leaving the remaining spectators in the courtroom standing in utter silence.