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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 21304 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter 10 - The Trial of Dolores Umbridge

Harry's first day at Hogwarts was intense. Three hours of Potions was hard going, made even harder when Slughorn had handed out their private study tasks: Read Cliodna's essay on the uses of Moondew and write ten inches on the effect Moondew would have on a potion if substituted for Moonflower; Practice making a Calming Draught as you will be expected to hand in a vial of your draught at the start of your next lesson; Look at the three samples of knotweed and explain which would be your choice for use in a potion, why, and what you could add to a potion to improve the efficaciousness of the other two knotweed samples. You may present this information however you wish, but all aspects of the task must be covered.

And that was just one subject! After lunch, Harry took himself off to a classroom with his potion books and began his work. He noticed that he wasn't the only one looking a little ashen faced at the amount of work already handed out, and he certainly wasn't the only student diving into a classroom to work frantically on homework.

His one consolation was that Tuesday was his free day and that he would be going to London to the Ministry, if he got this work finished.

Luckily, because he did have an interest in potions now, he had some glimmer of understanding of the impact of Moondew. He pulled out the parchment on which the Druidess Cliodna's essay had been replicated and began to read, underlining the key points that would need consideration if Moonflower were used. A gruelling hour later, Harry had the bare bones of his essay sorted and decided that he'd leave it until after tea. He squeaked as he suddenly spotted the time and realised he was perilously close to being late for his first ever Muggle Studies lesson. Where, no doubt, he would be given yet more work!

After his lessons, he barely felt he had time to eat, he had already got so much work to get through! He turned to the third homework task. Slughorn had given out a sheet with drawings of three samples of knotweed on. Harry began making notes around the images, explaining what was positive and negative about each ingredient.

Fortunately, because he had been raised as a Muggle, the work for that subject wasn't too difficult, and didn't require lots of research. In fact, the task he had been given (What is a Muggle? How do they differ from Magical beings?) had been almost simple thanks to the lecture he had received, and his own knowledge of living with three of the Muggliest Muggles imaginable.

He rolled his shoulders painfully at 8pm and moved his neck, hearing it clunk loudly. Leaving his things where they were, he went out into the grounds. It was bitterly cold and most students were snug inside. He stood in the main doorway, breath frosting, and felt the dullness swirl away from his brain. Invigorated, he returned to his work.

It surprised Harry how quickly his weeks were passing by. He had settled so quickly back into school life, easily relinquishing the burden of responsibility he had been carrying, that he wondered if maybe he should remain at the school, becoming a teacher one day. He wasn't convinced by the idea, especially as he was still being plagued by sudden and inexplicable erections when he was alone and his mind began to wander.

He hadn't commented on it, but he knew his teachers had been impressed with his work so far. His school career had hardly been one of outstanding triumphs; it was only now that he appreciated his chance at education and was working to make the most of every moment, even when his aching body was screaming at him for release.

So, he was less than pleased when he received an owl requesting his presence at the Ministry for Dolores Umbridge's trial. She had declared she was innocent of any wrong doing, and so Harry's testimony was needed as he had witnessed first hand her interrogation of a Muggle-born witch.

It was horribly inconvenient, as it was likely to last several days, meaning he would have to work even harder to catch up with what he had missed at school in the meantime. He did think it likely that on his return he would forego his usual Ministry visit, and use that day to claw back some of the time he had lost.

Harry spoke to the headmistress and explained. She agreed to the time, and told Harry to speak to each of his teachers to find out what he would miss during the dates stated on the letter. His own frustration must have shown because Minerva said, “You are doing very well, Harry. I fully expect that you will be able to catch up and continue your studies, even with this one interruption.”

Blinking a little at the unexpected praise, Harry nodded and left her.

With a mountain of work to get through due to his absence, Harry apparated back to London, and entered the Ministry.

Arthur Weasley was waiting for him. Face grim. “Kingsley asked me to escort you to the witness waiting room. Follow me.” He led off without looking in Harry's direction at all.

Harry followed, annoyed that Mr Weasley wasn't even prepared to listen to Harry's side of things now that more than a month had passed.

The journey in the lift was completed in tense silence and when the doors opened, Arthur strode off, not even bothering to check if Harry was behind him. The corridor they were walking down was wide enough for them to walk side by side, but Harry did not even attempt it. He let the other man walk off and followed without concern. If Arthur lost him, the older man would have to return and guide Harry. Harry was here as a witness, but Arthur was being paid and his boss had given an order. Tempted to stop and sit on the floor until Arthur spoke to him, Harry pushed down this childish instinct and eventually found he was in a large room that had tables and chairs in it, a table with cups and snacks in place, and a radio playing in one corner.

Arthur left Harry to discover the space alone.

After finding out where the bathroom was, Harry took off his coat and sat down. He wasn't alone in the room, Hermione was there too, and she shrieked with delight and rushed at him, her arms outstretched.

“Harry! I didn't know they'd called you too! Oh, how have you been?”

“Er, great, Hermione.” Harry got out once she had loosened the tight hold she had around his chest.

“I heard you have gone back to Hogwarts. I'm really pleased.”

“Yeah, I noticed Ron hasn't though. How come?”

Hermione pursed her lips and looked menacing. “Ronald decided that he didn't need his NEWTs and is trying to decide what he wants to do. He's considering being an Auror, especially as Kingsley will let him in with no qualifications. He's also talked about helping George with the shop, but I soon put a stop to that nonsense!”

“What about you?” Harry avoided the topic of how Hermione had changed Ron's mind, “I know you're doing seventh year in September, but what are your future plans?”

Hermione's eyes shone with that fevered light Harry knew only too well from S.P.E.W. Days. “I'm doing some work to improve the standards for other magical beings. You know, house elves, goblins, the centaurs, giants, dragons...”

“DRAGONS?!” Harry yelled, “Can't they look after themselves?”

A dangerous light came into Hermione's eyes. “I want to make it illegal for the goblins to imprison another dragon. What they did to that one we escaped on was disgusting.”

Harry agreed, but wondered how successful she would be in her campaign. He looked about and sighed. “Any idea when they're going to call us?”

“None.” Hermione answered. “I was told to be here and that I might have to be here all this week.”

“Me too. It's bloody annoying. I've got tons of school work to do!”

There was silence for a long moment then they both burst out laughing. Hermione smacked him on his arm as she laughed. “You sound like me!” she gasped.

“Yeah – ow! How things change.”

They calmed and he sat down before asking, “How come you haven't written to me since Christmas?”

He heard her sigh. “The Weasleys are very angry about Ginny. Ron basically told me not to contact you.”

“And you obeyed him? When did you ever obey Ron?!”

“Well, this time, I had to. He is a bit deranged when he starts on about you. Calls you a wicked schemer, and a heart-breaker and a bastard.”

“And I'm sure those are the politest things,” Harry said dourly. “What, exactly, did Ginny tell them all?”

“Oh, you know, you were willing to fool around with her but when she asked whether you were serious you dumped her.” Hermione said all this very quickly, as though not wanting to let it linger in her mouth.

“She said what?!” Harry yelled, shooting to his feet. “That lying bitch!”

Hermione dragged him back into his chair. “Harry, let it go. You've broken up with her. What does it matter what she says?”

“Because she's destroyed my friendship with my best friends!” Harry shouted. “That absolute bitch! I'll kill her.”

“I'm not convinced,” Hermione said in her 'I'm dealing with a dangerous lunatic' voice, “that killing her would restore your friendship with Ron.”

A Ministry official Harry didn't recognise came into the room. He saw the two waiting and walked slowly over to them. “The trial is a little behind. We won't be calling either of you today. But you need to be here at the same time tomorrow.”

“Any chance we'll be needed tomorrow?” Harry asked, voice heavily sarcastic.

The much taller man looked down at Harry without expression. “No idea.”

He left and Harry bit back a curse. “Damn them! What a waste of time.” There was nothing to keep him in the witness room and so he said goodbye to Hermione and left, apparating to his home and settling down to complete the potion lesson he could have attended had he been told of the trial's state.

The house without Kreacher in it felt surprisingly cold and empty. He lit a fire and huddled near it, his brand new copy of Advanced Potion Making on his lap. There was a chilly draught across the back of his neck and he shuddered involuntarily; a faint caress as of light fingers trailing up his back and tracing patterns on the nape of his neck. He shivered, groaning as he realised that once again, he wanted to touch himself.

Well, why not?

At school he had been trying not to, only occasionally giving in whilst in the shower. It had felt deeply wrong to wank on some poor random first year's bed. But now he was in his own house and could tug on his dick all night long if he so desired. And right now he did desire.

The tension that he hadn't realised he had been carrying eased when he pulled himself free of his trousers. He wasn't even going to go up to his bedroom – Kreacher was away so Harry could just enjoy his body wherever and however he wished.

One finger stroked his glistening red tip, making pearly white fluid collect in the slit. Curiosity drove him to swipe a finger through it and then bring the digit to his mouth. His tongue lapped out and tasted his own semen. He thought he'd be disgusted, but he tasted salt and a slight bitterness that he found rather nice. His fingers went back and collected more. He lathed his fingers clean, pushing them in and out of his mouth, like he was sucking a cock. Not even aware that he was doing it, Harry groaned, wanting the feeling of his mouth full with some delicious tasty, wet, salty treat.

It was two minutes later that he realised his free hand was steadily pumping his cock – long sure strokes that meant his palm was slicked by his leaking fluid and his dick was touched in a way that made it tingle and his balls ache. Even lower, between his buttocks seemed to ache too. His head fell back onto the chair back and he thrust up, hips snapping back and forth in rhythm with his tugging hand.

His first hand was out of his mouth now and rubbing under his top, circling hard nipples and pinching them between finger and thumb. He cried out in pleasure at the sensations between his legs and on his torso. The pleasure was mounting, reaching a crest that he longed to have arrive, but at the same time struggled to put off, loving the feeling of being touched and made to feel more and more excited. He ached. Wild, incoherent words spilled from his lips as he begged an unknown person to let him release.

His lower body surged up, cock hurting as his seed gushed from it.

Sagging, he felt wrung out as he panted for breath. Hand shaking, he licked the digits and palm, cleaning his semen off. There was a good sized spatter on his top, but he didn't intend to suck that clean. The mess around his jeans zip he eyed ruefully. He didn't have lots of spare clothes at the house; most of his things had gone with him to Hogwarts. I should move; wash these quickly before it all dries and goes crusty and gross. But he yawned, completely relaxed for the first time in a long time, and slept, one hand curling around his limp penis.

When he woke, an hour later, he was shivering. The fire had burned low, and his dick was freezing. His jeans were tacky and stiffening with the fluid they had absorbed. Blinking, Harry pulled himself out of the chair and staggered up to his bedroom, hoping he had left a few items of clothing behind.

His trunk looked rather denuded, but he spied a pair of black trousers and reached eagerly for them. They were a pair from when he had been in sixth year, so they stood a chance of being a little short, but they were definitely better than wandering around in slightly damp boxers and jeans.

A quick shower later, he dressed in what he had been able to find and carried his soiled clothes down to the kitchen, looking around for where Kreacher might hide laundry cleaning equipment.

He was embarrassed at his inability to control his desires, especially when he was going to be standing up in court and making statements – he could hardly afford to turn up looking like a ragamuffin because all his clothes had semen on them!

It took a while, but he found how Kreacher cleaned the clothes and did what he could to get rid of the almost dry fluid.

Wisely, in preparation for the next morning, he put his Potions work ready. If he was going to have a day of sitting around, he could at least get something useful done with his time. Once he had placed everything, Harry noticed he was hungry. He hadn't eaten since apparating away from Hogwarts that morning after breakfast. No lunch, and now no dinner. He searched the cupboards and found a sorry looking potato and a dried piece of cheese. Desperate, he cut away the eyes from the vegetable and baked it. He was very thankful for magic that meant baking a potato was a matter of a few minutes, rather than the hours he had witnessed when Aunt Petunia had done them. The potato was encouraged onto a plate, and Harry stuck the sad looking piece of cheese on it, watching it melt. It might not be an appealing meal, but it was food. And if Harry was going to be at the house for a few days, he really needed to shop for something edible.

The morning light on his bed threw him. He was used to the warm copper glow from the Hufflepuff lanterns, not the bright February sunlight. Harry stretched and curled a lazy hand under the blankets to caress his morning erection. It felt good just stroking lazily, no time constraints, and no need to keep quiet.

He felt the pressure coiling up from his balls and let it release, lax and enjoying the sensation.

A quick shower helped him wake up properly before dressing and going downstairs to grab his bag of Potions work. Mentally saying goodbye to the house, and reminding himself that he really needed to buy some food, Harry disapparated. This time he aimed for the Muggle shops near the Leaky Cauldron.

In his pocket were a few crumpled notes and some Muggle coins – enough to pay for foodstuffs. He knew there were places to buy food in Diagon Alley, but he still had this Muggle money and might as well use it as leave it scrunched up in his trousers. The money had appeared on a previous visit to Gringotts before he had begun hunting Horcruxes. He certainly hadn't intended to end up camping, but had thought it made sense to at least carry some Muggle money. Bill Weasley had arranged it all for him because of the heightened security measures that had been in place at the time. As it had happened, that had been a thoughtful idea, far more thought than Harry usually showed, and now he was walking around a small shop, grabbing a few items to get him through the next few days: a box of cereal, milk (he'd keep it cool using a charm), bread, bacon, butter, some fruit for snacks, and a cardboard box that contained four individual pies. Those, he figured, would do for dinner most nights. He wandered down the sweets aisle and chucked in chocolate and some Muggle sweets he missed.

The assistant looked at him without interest, merely asking, “Did you want help with your packing?” in a bored voice.

Paid, bagged and charmed to keep the items at the correct temperatures, Harry sidled into an alley and apparated to the entrance to the Ministry.

There was no-one to greet him and guide him this morning, so he made his way to the witness room, greeted Hermione and settled at a table. Most of the tables in the room were low ones, but there was one higher table and Harry needed a decent surface to work at. He tugged over a low table to put all of his resources on and quickly covered both tops with his work.

Hermione looked at him, “I thought I'd have to ask you to stop trying to distract me,” she began, “I brought a load of work with me too.”

She plumped down opposite him and got out her piles of parchment and books.

“What are you working on?” Harry asked, deciding that he might as well get a drink before he got too settled and heading across the room to the table with cups on it.

“Magical law.”

Hermione nodded when Harry offered her a drink. He wondered how drinks appeared. For a few moments he thought before saying clearly into the cups, “Two teas, please.”

At once two of the cups filled with tea. He added milk to them both from a large jug and carried them back. Hermione nodded her thanks to him, already engrossed in her cause. Harry slid onto his chair and turned his attention to what Slughorn had asked him to do.

Half an hour later, both were so deeply focusing that they jumped at the sudden noise of a wizard coming into the room. Harry stared ruefully at his neglected, and now cold, drink.

“Miss Granger?” the wizard said, looking at Hermione.

Pale, Hermione stood up and walked towards him.

“We'll shortly be ready for you. Obviously we aren't using Veritaserum. I don't know if you're aware why not?”

Hermione answered, but so too did Harry, “Yes, of course.”

Hermione turned to gape at Harry. When did Harry, Harry, ever know the answer to something?

“Veritaserum induces honesty in its victims, but, like most things, some people have a natural ability to shake off its effects, plus there is an antidote to Veritaserum, so you'd have no way of knowing if the potion had really been administered or not, and finally, truth is subjective. Two people given Veritaserum, if asked “Does God exist?” might give two entirely different responses, because of their religious beliefs.”

All at once, Harry became aware of the two people staring at him and stopped.

“Yes.” the wizard said shortly, sounding annoyed at being denied his one chance to display knowledge.

He led Hermione off and Harry gulped down the cold drink, made a face, got a refill and turned back to his books. As it happened, Slughorn had discussed Veritaserum in the previous week's lesson, and they had had to make the potion. Of course, as it took a lunar month to mature, their attempts had been tucked away until they could be tested. This week they were focusing on the antidote and the factors that affected a person's susceptibility to Veritaserum.

When Hermione finally returned it was nearly 4pm and Harry had finished his Potions work. He had added his Muggle Studies homework to his backpack just in case, as that wouldn't take much effort (Write a ten inch essay answering: Describe Muggle attitudes towards, and remedies for, the 'common cold'. Write a ten inch essay answering: Explain how Muggles cope without St Mungo's) and he could even add extra details about how St Mungo's staff were trialling some Muggle remedies, not always to much approval! He thought that the first essay wouldn't prove much of a problem either, given that when Dudley had fallen ill, his Aunt had sent Harry to get cold remedies. And when, almost inevitably, 'ickle Diddy Duddykins' didn't recover at once, he would be blamed for some how buying the wrong thing or making Dudley remain ill. Before he had known about his abilities, he had thought the last ideas completely absurd; now, though, he understood her accusation, even if the injustice of it still rankled.

Hermione looked interested when she read the title. “Muggle Studies? You're taking it?”

Harry shrugged. “When I chose my OWLs I just signed up to do the same as Ron. I didn't think about doing what I wanted. You did. And now, I can't do a NEWT in Muggle Studies as I haven't got the OWL, but I figured I'd be able to do the OWL. I've also,” he added, “taken Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Those are hard going, especially cos I didn't do either in third year, but I'm enjoying them.”

Hermione grinned. “They're both wonderful. Well worth the effort.” She started gathering up her things. “Oh, he says we can go. I'm pretty much done, I think, testimony wise, but I'll be back here tomorrow. I imagine they'll want you by tomorrow afternoon.”

Harry nodded, and gathered up his belongings. He wasn't looking forward to giving his statement in court.

It didn't take long before he had his work in one bag, and his food in another. “See you tomorrow,” he said when the two had walked to the main atrium. Hermione nodded and took a fireplace. Harry took the lift to ground level and then apparated.

Wednesday morning was colder. There was a sharp bite in the air that made each breath hurt on its way in, almost as though it were full of ice crystals.

Harry had finished his Muggle Studies homework and had packed Arithmancy and Transfiguration into his bag to complete whilst waiting. His Ancient Runes lesson wasn't until Friday, and he was hoping to be back at the school by then.

Hermione wasn't at the Ministry when he arrived, but she came in less than five minutes later. She was red, and seemed flustered.

“Everything all right?” he asked concerned.

“Oh, oh, yes,” she responded, her voice high and strangled. “Nothing I can't handle!”

Harry didn't ask, and instead got them both a drink before starting his Transfiguration work.

Professor Mcgonagall had set Harry the task of conjuring a table and then transfiguring the table into a chair, then into a carpet, back into its original shape, and finally into a glass tankard. The other part of the the task was to explain the wand movements, spells and adaptations necessary to ensure each transformation was successful. She had explained that normally she would spend four weeks on this, as it covered both Conjuration and Untransfiguration, but that there was just so much to get through that they had three hours and a ton of homework to complete the same work.

Harry had decided to do the theoretical side first, thinking that would help him when he had to actually transfigure the item. He reached for his copy of An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration and turned the pages looking for the information on Conjuration.

He didn't notice Hermione leave with the wizard to complete her testimony. In fact, he jumped with surprise when she tapped his shoulder and said, “Harry. I'm back. The wizard said they'd probably want you soon.” She glanced at the clock, “Probably after a lunch break now.” Nodding at his cold tea she asked, “Did you want something fresh?”

Harry nodded, annoyed that he had let yet another hot drink cool in his interest in his work.

“What was so interesting?” she questioned as she carried the drinks over.

“Transfiguration.” Harry admitted, “Mcgonagall has set a really difficult task. I thought I'd try to master the theory before having a go at trying to conjure and untransfigure things.”

“Oh yes,” Hermione said, gratefully sipping her drink, “Those are the most difficult things to attempt in transfiguration, except perhaps for human transfiguration. And I wouldn't have tried them without understanding the background first.”

“Can you do them?” Harry queried, wondering when Hermione found time to sleep.

“Not well,” she replied, “but I've tried them both. I'm hoping that next year at school I can ask Professor Mcgonagall why I went wrong.”

“You? You went wrong?!”

Hermione looked irritated. “Anyway,” she said, clearly changing the subject, “I can go now, but I thought I'd wait with you until you went to give your evidence.”

“Oh, thanks, that's great.” Harry spied the snack table, now with sandwiches on platters. “Lunch has arrived.”

After lunch the doleful wizard returned and took Harry. He (Harry) waved goodbye to Hermione and walked down a long passageway. He stopped before large black doors. The wizard at his side said softly, “Keep your answers to the point. If you want to say something that hasn't been covered, catch the eye of the spokeswizard. Other than that, don't worry, you're not the one on trial.”

Reassured and a little surprised by this wizard's sudden kindness Harry watched the other man push open the door, and then he was walking into the court room on wobbly legs. His guide led him into the circular room he recognised from his own 'trial' for under-age magic and left him there, the attention of hundreds of eyes.

“Mr Potter,” a thin, cadaverous looking man who was clearly the spokeswizard addressed him.

Harry jerked his head in the man's direction. He had aimed for a polite bow, but was too nervous.

In the very centre of the room, sitting toad-like in a large chair, sat Dolores Umbridge. Her usually arrogant face was far more careworn today, a fact Harry felt savagely pleased to see.

“Please state your name for the official record.”

“Harry James Potter.”

The thin man indicated a haughty faced woman on his left. “Your witness.”

“Mr Potter,” the witch, despite her appearance, spoke softly and with a gentleness that calmed Harry's nerves, “nobody wants you to lie. We want the truth here. Can you tell me what you saw when you came to the Ministry of Magic last year?”

Harry swallowed. “I don't know how much Hermione told you about why we'd come,” he started, completing forgetting the advice to keep his answer brief, “but at one point both she and I were in one of these court rooms in disguise. Hermione had been in the room longer than I had, but I came into it hidden at one point and heard Umbridge asking a Muggle-born witch questions.”

“Do you remember the name of the witch being interrogated?”

Thinking with grim humour that he'd hardly forget, Harry spoke, “Mary Cattermole. Wife of Reg Cattermole who worked here in the Magical Maintenance Department.”

“Now,” the woman said, her voice almost musical, “just tell us what you saw and heard.”

Harry went through, slowly, carefully, and trying not to let his anger show, what had happened that day, how Umbridge had accused Mary of stealing a wand, how she had taunted her about Reg being missing, how the dementors had circled about filling the room with despair, and how Umbridge had shown no interest in the truth, just in vindicating her own world view.

After he had finished the wizard on the right of the central spokeswizard leaned forward. “You've told us some interesting fancies, Mr Potter.”

Harry's head snapped back as though he had been slapped.

“But let's be honest, you have long hated Dolores Umbridge, haven't you? You'd delight in seeing her locked up!”

“No!” Harry's brows lowered. “I don't like her, no, because she accused me of being a liar when Voldemort first came back, but I'd not give false testimony. I wouldn't punish her for something she hadn't done! Everything that I said really happened.”

“Really? I thought that you and Miss Granger once led my client into a trap where she was set upon by centaurs. What had she done that deserved that punishment?”

Harry gulped. He hadn't expected his own misdeeds from so long ago to be raked up. He had expected some censure for his drugging of three people and for breaking into the Ministry, but he hadn't thought he'd be challenged about something that had happened nearly three years before. “I, we, yes, we led her into the forest. But we didn't set a trap. We just wanted her to leave us alone so I could get...” he trailed off, thinking about what he had tried to do that long ago night.

“Yes? What are you so ashamed of saying?”

“I'm not ashamed! I wanted to get into the Department of Mysteries because I believed my Godfather was there.”

“Ah, yes, the convicted mass murderer, Sirius Black.”

“He was framed!” Harry yelled, “Peter Pettigrew betrayed my parents and killed a load of Muggles when Sirius caught up to him.”

“Fancies,” the man said, loudly enough to be heard.

Harry took a step forward, then controlled himself. Taking a very deep breath he said, looking at the spokeswizard, “Does this have anything to do with what I saw Umbridge do?”

“Mr Yew,” the spokeswizard said, “I'd appreciate a point, or please end this line of questioning.”

“Of course. I am merely trying to establish the biased nature of the witness, so that an informed decision can be made about the veracity of his comments.”

“I'm not lying.” Harry cried. “She was wearing a locket and pretended it was from the Selwyn family. I don't know if she is related to the Selwyns, but it wasn't their locket, it was Slytherin's.”

Beside him, Dolores Umbridge gasped. “Sl - Slytherin's?” she whispered. “I was wearing something owned by my House founder and never realised it?”

“See?! I'm not lying. I was there! She just practically admitted as much!”

“Hardly,” Yew said, “she admits having had a locket. That does not prove you were in the courtroom. You say you were hidden. How can any of us know when you went into the court, if you did at all?”

“Well,” Harry was deeply sarcastic, “I cast a Patronus and was chased out by most of the Ministry. Maybe that should be proof enough that I was really there.”

“Yes, yes, a stag Patronus was indeed cast. Three Ministry officials fled, none of them was you or Miss Granger. Even if one of them were you, it does not prove you were present in the courtroom, only that at some point you cast a Patronus.”

Harry felt rage burning him. This man was casting doubt on everything he, Harry, had said. Forcing himself to clamp down on his emotions, Harry drew breath and prepared to respond to Yew's hateful insinuations.

By 4pm, when the court was cleared for the day, Harry felt as though he had been washed, wrung out and mangled a few times. And the worst of it was that he had to go back again for follow up questions from the wizengamot the next day.

His stomach churned with anger he had held in check all day. Now he threw his bag along the corridor and traipsed into the kitchen to make his evening meal. Without Kreacher, Harry had had few problems, after all at age eleven he had been cooking breakfasts for the Dursleys, so a bit of heating up food was hardly an issue. He'd even found the tea on one of his hunts around the kitchen and made his way first of all to the kettle. If he didn't get something inside him he was going to scream.

It was as he was sipping his second drink (the first had been thrown down his neck and hadn't touched the sides) that Harry felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't written to Snape in nearly a month. And Harry was being stupid; here he was trying to get through all this work when he had a fantastic resource to help. He'd even intended to use Snape to help him get high marks in Potions. Although, and hadn't that been a surprise, he had discovered he was actually good at Potions!

A pie was soon shoved into the oven and he sat at the table, staring off into space, imagining what he'd next write to Snape. He was half way through his mental letter when the fact that he was rubbing himself through his trousers dawned on him and he huffed in frustration. What the hell is wrong with me? I spend half my time horny! Hot on the heels of that thought came, Maybe if I'd been like this with Ginny, we wouldn't have had a problem. He then realised he'd probably now be engaged to Ginny, and couldn't help the shiver that ran down his back at the thought.

He glanced at the oven, the pie seemed ready. Awkwardly (a dick poking into your stomach is not conducive to reaching into an oven for piping hot food), he got out his dinner and dug a fork into it. He didn't feel enthusiastic about the meal, but it was definitely better than going hungry.
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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master