Chapter - 100 : Discovering Hidden Talents part - 3

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All in all, Harry was in a very good mood when he spotted Draco sitting in an out-of-the-way corner, ignoring the party. "Here, have a butterbeer," Harry said and shoved a drink under the boy's nose.

"Oh. Thanks, Orion." Draco took a sip but otherwise didn't look up from the parchment he was scribbling on.

Harry craned his neck to look over Draco's shoulder. "What's that you're writing?"

"It's my wish list for Yule," Draco explained. "I was very disappointed with my birthday presents, so I want to make sure my parents give me exactly what I want this holiday. Of course I'll get your Augerey feather quill once I win our bet, but there are plenty of other things to go on the list."

Harry rolled his eyes - only Draco, and possibly Dudley Dursley, could be dissatisfied with the huge mound of gifts presents he'd received for his birthday. He also found Draco's unshakeable confidence in his victory amusing. Harry very much doubted he'd have to hand over his quill at the end of the year; with Hermione so desperate to prove herself, there was no way she'd allow Draco to outperform her on any of their exams. Harry was looking forward to her proving all the pureblood bigots wrong. No one had tried to curse her since that day in the common room, but he knew Hermione still had to put up with a lot of verbal taunts and bullying.

"Why aren't you celebrating?" Harry asked Draco, abandoning the topic of presents.

"I simply don't see why a mere Quidditch match warrants so much attention," Draco said with a sniff. "Oafs on broomsticks are hardly to be admired."

Harry smirked knowingly. "Really? Just last week you tried to persuade Flint to let you onto the team a year early. I also distinctly remember you gloating about your Nimbus Two Thousand to anyone who would listen."

Draco dismissed Harry's words with a wave. "Brooms are so pedestrian. I'm asking for Abraxan horses for Yule."

Harry could only laugh - Draco really was the most arrogant boy he'd ever met. His words made Harry think, though. He and his Dad were going to be celebrating Yule together for the first time, and Harry had no idea what to get him as a present. Judging by the man's letters, in which he gloated of the success of his Werewolf plans as well as his enjoyment of Hestia's company, Harry thought Sirius already had everything he wanted.

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Sirius stood before the assembled Wizengamot in the lowest levels of the Ministry, wishing he were anywhere else but there. Beside him, shackled to a chair, was a young witch. Her face was blotchy from tears and she was trembling so violently that her chains rattled. Her obvious terror set Sirius' teeth on edge, but was ignored by everyone else in the courtroom.

"As I've said already, and as I've written in my report, I found absolutely no evidence linking Miss Mary Cattermole to the murder," Sirius repeated once again.

"Hem, hem." Dolores Umbridge's annoying cough sounded from the judge's balcony. "But the boy was murdered, was he not?"

Sirius suppressed a glare. "Yes. It's clear he was deliberately poisoned."

Umbridge smiled sweetly at him. "Then surely it is your job as an Auror to do all you can to bring the perpetrator of such a terrible crime to justice. I wonder, Mr Black, whether you have properly investigated Miss Cattermole's connection with the poor boy's death."

"I'm all for justice," Sirius said through gritted teeth. "I'm just against throwing innocent people into Azkaban."

They had been going round in circles for hours. Sirius had been called into the courtroom to give evidence, all of which pointed in one clear direction; the young witch beside him had never murdered anyone. The Wizengamot as whole remained unconvinced, however.

He'd been assigned to the case by Moody, and Sirius had quickly realised why he'd been picked. The accused, Mary Cattermole, was a muggleborn. The boy she was said to have killed was the son of a prominent Pureblood couple, both of whom insisted she was guilty. An Auror such as Scrimgeour would have bowed to political pressure and looked no farther than the surface. A very little digging had revealed to Sirius that the boy had been twelve years old, had never received a Hogwarts letter, and that his parents were outspoken in their hatred of Squibs. In Sirius' opinion it was they who should be standing trial, not Mary Cattermole.

"Mr Black, for the benefit of the court, please state again the pertinent details of the case," Albus Dumbledore requested.

Sirius sighed. "The boy was poisoned. Traces of the poison used were found in an unwashed cauldron in the cellar of his parents' home. Mary Cattermole was never witnessed as having any contact with the victim."

"But Miss Cattermole was a neighbour," Umbridge pointed out with sickening sweetness. "She must have had access to him."

"The two families never mixed," Sirius said. "The victim's parents objected to their son spending time with someone they considered beneath them."

Umbridge gave an inappropriate giggle. "Here we have an obvious motive for Miss Cattermole's crime - jealousy of the boy's superior upbringing and of the purity of his blood."

Mary Cattermole let out a piteous wail, jerking against her chains. "I never hurt him!" she cried. "Never! I'll swear it under Veritaserum if you let me!"

"I am afraid, Miss Cattermole, that a statement given under Veritaserum is not admissible as evidence," Dumbledore told her regretfully. "It would only ensure you told the truth as you know it – but your memories could easily have been tampered with." Then he turned to Umbridge. "However, I do not agree that there was any motive such as you describe," Dumbledore said firmly. "It is my decided opinion that Miss Cattermole is innocent of all crimes."

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