Harry Potter And Bellatrix Lestrange

 "Neutral ground?" Bella asked, alarmed. "You'll be surrounded by dozens of Aurors in the entire building, all of whom would like nothing better than to arrest you!"

Harry grinned. "But Bert's not going to let them arrest me. The Minister still holds ultimate authority over the law enforcement. There'll be a half-dozen guards standing outside the door, too, that Xerina sent over, so it should be fine. Any renegade Auror who'd want to arrest me against the Minister of Magic's explicit orders will have to get through them first. Well, and they'll have to get through me, too."

"I'd still feel better I came along."

"I know." Harry sighed at his wife's pout. "Look, you're working on something really important here, and the sooner we get Neville's parents cured, the sooner Dumbledore is going to get off my back about returning them. I don't know why he even thinks I'd use them, especially since I have no clue what kind of spell they were working on before… well, you know." He glanced at her, mentally kicking himself as he saw the tears she was holding back. Harry reached out and wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders to comfort her. "Hey, don't cry. It wasn't your fault. And even so, you're doing your best to fix it."

The rest of the night was spent in mutual comfort, thoughts of the following day forgotten as they both dwelled on the past.

Word had gotten around fast that Lord Polairix was innocent of the attacks on muggle villages, and word had also spread that he was anything but pleased with the accusations that had been hurled his way. So when he strode through the halls of the Ministry, presenting an imposing figure wrapped in a black cloak that billowed behind him, and his face hidden in the shadows of his hood, people made to get out of his way. They were helped along by the six heavily-armed ice soldiers that flanked Polairix, their polearms gleaming in the light, and their armor polished to perfection. Lord Polairix was here to make an impression, and that was exactly what he did.

The doors to the Minister's office flew open, startling one of the men sitting in the office. The other merely chuckled and waved him inside. With a nod to his guards, the six soldiers posted themselves outside the door. A wave of the hand closed the doors with much more gentleness than they'd opened with, and Lord Polairix lowered his hood. He grinned at Mockridge, who was clearly hiding a smile at Dumbledore's flustered expression, then gave his old headmaster a curt nod in acknowledgement, before sinking down in one of the chairs before the desk.

"So glad you could join us, Harry," Mockridge greeted him when Harry had shed his cloak and settled down.

"Well, hello to you, too, Bert. So, how's business today?" Harry shot back with a grin, ignoring Dumbledore for now. The old mage was watching the exchange with disbelief, speechless for one of the first times in his life.

"Oh, you know, same old, same old. Death Eater attacks, we're getting there too late. You know that raid you stopped? We managed to 'convince' a few of them to spill on their respective cells, so we're in the process of rooting them out," Mockridge explained.

"That was quick."

The Minister shrugged. "Well, we're at war. Don't really have the luxury to leave You-know-who to his devices, especially not with his nose as bloodied as it is."

"Very true," Harry agreed.

"I suppose you've also heard about Fudge's little rebellion?" Mockridge arched an eyebrow when Harry shook his head negative. "Well, when I was elected, a few fake Aurors stormed the hall under Fudge's leadership, apparently. The man seems to have gone completely over the edge, and he's probably joined up with the dark lord by now. Who knows if that means he's alive or dead."

"Doesn't really matter at this point. Fudge is insignificant if we can get rid of Voldemort," Harry agreed. He finally turned to Dumbledore. "You said you wanted to talk? Well, talk, old man."

"You - well - you two know each other?" Dumbledore asked, still a little shaken as he glanced back and forth between the two men who were conversing like old friends.

"Why, of course," Harry nodded, "I've met Bert here quite a few times. You know, back when he was the head of the Goblin Liaision office."

Mockridge grinned and added, "And Harry here was rather instrumental in arranging for the re-opening of Gringotts. Without his presence, I doubt the goblins would've listened to me at all. And when he pointed out that our leadership was incompetent, well…" the Minister shrugged.

"The chance presented itself to get someone into power who wasn't so quick to condemn me on sketchy circumstantial evidence that could rather easily be explained away and the words of a few opportunistic so-called 'friends.'" Harry glared at Dumbledore. "I find it interesting that a complete stranger was more willing to listen to me and draw his own conclusions than my friends and the people who were supposed to know me."

"Harry-"

"Don't even start on the apologies, Dumbledore. Just because you realized you screwed up now and feel guilty doesn't make it all right. A few apologies and contrite faces can't make what you did to me go away, can't make the feelings of betrayal just vanish.

You accused me at every turn, at every point, every time we met, without even giving me a chance to speak, and yet here you are, demanding I extend that courtesy to you? Unless you've got something to say relating to the war effort, I suggest you don't speak to me." Harry snorted in disgust.

Dumbledore sighed and nodded in defeat; the old mage had a feeling that Harry had already cut all ties with them the moment they'd damned him to Azkaban. The only thing that connected them now was the destruction of Voldemort, and the headmaster wasn't entirely sure Harry needed their help in that endeavour. And if he didn't, it could very well be that when all was said and done, the world had heard the last of Harry Potter.

There was nothing that would hold him in the wizarding world, and even the conviction that had landed him in Azkaban could easily be overturned; after all, one would listen more to the highly influential, wealthy, and powerful Lord Polairix than Harry Potter, scapegoat-turned-hero of the day.

Even his own arguments sounded weak and un founded now that Dumbledore thought back to the trial. Harry had been right, they should have looked deeper, used Veritaserum, but everyone had been so hell-bent on their proverbial witch hunt that none cared. And it had caused this, brought them all to this point. So, he did the only thing he could - he conceded defeat.

...

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