Things Harry expects at his trial for use of underage magic: People lying at him, for him, and because of him. Getting suspended. Some degree of understanding, maybe, if he's lucky (and he ain't)?

What he got: Dolores Umbridge. And homophobia. An unexpected and overwhelming amount of homophobia.

Dumbledore arrives at his trial somehow on time, which Fudge does not like. Pity. He does not look Harry in the eye... which he is okay with. Which he gets. If only Ron and Hermione would take to that...

"Whoever would want to harm Harry Potter?!" exclaims a woman.

Harry would conjure a list of people who would absolutely fucking love to kill him right off the top of his head, and it probably wouldn't even be halfway complete. Dumbledore gives a much more sophisticated answer: "I don't know, Dolores Umbridge," he says, tilts his head, voice commanding the room as it always does, "but it is peculiar, is it not? That he was attacked by Dementors... that of which only a select few would have access to..."

She -- apparently this Umbridge -- bristles. "Surely, you are not suggesting that anyone in the Ministry harbors any hard feelings for someone so renowned? Nor that they would abuse their power in such a detestable matter?"

"Well, you said it, not me."

"How dare--"

"Though there is one person in particular that is fair game to put under the looking glass." He raises his head tall. "Voldemort has returned. I know many persons in this courtroom who continue, adamantly, and without reason, to deny his return."

Harry listens as the conversation is effectively derailed. It'd be hilarious, the way that these people look death in the eyes and call cap, if his suspension was not hanging in the air. Dumbledore clarifies that "students are allowed to use underage magic in any case they feel their life is endangered, as law pertains," and Fudge has the absolute AUDACITY to snap back, "laws can be changed, Dumbledore," and Harry feels like he's damn well losing his mind.

"Well," simpers Dolores, "since he has no witness, it cannot be proved without a shadow of a doubt that what he claims is true."

"Not quite," says Dumbledore and BOOM! he hits them with Arabella Figg... who Harry hadn't known was more than a Muggle, but, hey. Desensitizing himself to betrayal is a gateway to having no one to betray him.

She begins describing the scene. "There's two boys... one rather big, the other rather small, and--"

Before she can get anything meaningful out, she is interrupted by Harry's second least favorite person (vying for first). "I hadn't known Harry Potter to have such tastes." She looks disgusted, like she has any right to, considering the implications she just threw out.

Harry chokes on his spit, coughing. Dumbledore smiles, amused, though his frustration is leaking through the edges. "They are cousins, Dolores; such heinous accusations I would think beneath you."

She pales. "With his cousin? Why, I'd never!" Harry surprises himself with his outrage. The wizarding world is supposed to protect him. These people, the Ministry... they are supposed to be on his side. This place is his home, his birthright.

So why, Harry wonders, are they sitting here, slandering him? Sitting, her painting him as a liar, painting him as someone with incestuous tendencies? He had inadvertently saved these people the same way they saved him and yet, they are letting this woman say what she wants without rebuttal. He is only a hero when it is convenient.

They are not all bad, all tools. Figg is to the rescue: "They weren't doing anything... like that... just walking... home from the park, from the direction of it, when the two of them just freeze up--"

"What were they doing beforehand?"

Figg glances back and forth. "Um... walking."

"No," she says, patiently (condescending). "Before the walk? At the park? Do you know?"

"I'd saw the... bigger one with his friends on the way there, so I'd--"

"Harry Potter was with multiple men?"

Harry sticks his hand up in the air. "OKAY," he says, tightly. This is a court, not a play room. The conversation is so far derailed one might forget it's about Dementors at all "Let's be clear here, alright? It doesn't matter what happened before the Dementors showed up. Not," he adds, pointedly, before Umbridge can open her big, dumb mouth, "that any of which being discussed here is true, because it's not. But it also has no relevance to this trial."

Fudge begrudgingly agrees. Begrudging, reluctantly, the words of the evening. Dumbledore looks like he is forcing himself to represent Harry. Most people who raise their hands to pardon him do so straining.

People who hate him at least are open about it. There's no hesitation in the way Dolores Umbridge's hand flies into the air to condemn him. There is comfort in normality and there is comfort here.

He is still unnerved. The way Umbridge holds herself, her snobbish, political brutality. It's dangerous.

At least, he supposes, he won't be seeing her again anytime soon.

Harry Potter is pardoned. The scores are barely in his favor. But a victory is a victory. He turns to say something to Dumbledore, but Dumbledore has no interest in saying anything to him. He is already walking away, absurdly colored cloak becoming smaller by the second.

He showed up at his trial, right on time, a sure rush to the finish... and he leaves the end it ends. There only when necessary. (How can the saviour of the wizarding world be forgotten so easily?)

Harry's definition of an ally is a faltering one. In some places, it's better that way. In others, it leaves Harry's outstretched hand falling silently at his side. He is alone in that big, loud room, full of bustling people who hate him and people who say they don't, and though it is ideal, this isolation, for their sake...

He cannot help but think it is a dull ache he will never forget.