Learning to Live

Chapter 19: Tense Trials

The weekend was not staying put the way she had wanted. Whenever they tried for a moment to finish working it out, to drag out the resolution of the apology when Ron Apparated into his own house, something new moved past too quickly to be ignored. Agreeing to make amends had been the easy part, Hermione reflected as she put down yet another uncertain letter.

When they first began asking around, seeking support, and getting information, words had flowed easily. But people soon began to see where power was building up, and the emerging administration was not going to encourage any sort of hasty loyalties to "diseased" Aurors before the lines had been drawn.

She looked over to the fireplace, and wondered if Ron was still at the office meeting people, or if he was readying to come home and help with the letter-writing. She had opted to stay at home, where two Aurors guarded the premises at Ron's request. It had all been quite touching, and Hermione had not forgotten Draco's advice. She smiled despite what this letter held, and knew somehow they'd make it work out.

Forty names down her list of 'friendly' Ministry workers and only a handful of steadfast supporters had emerged. Progress and wizarding voting had allowed the populace to permit Darko's views to seize the government. Or was it whatever ambiguous thing that he was advocating exactly what they wanted because it was opposite the administration that had carried on this long and painful war? Ironically, at this rate, it would be a long time before anything was the way it had been.

Hermione rose and set a pot on the stove, magicking the potatoes into it. Ron was arguably a better chef, but she had recently found it fun, not only to cook, but to stay home and think of decorations for the baby's room. It was so incongruously domestic that she wondered how many hormones were at work in her system. Arms suddenly went around her not-quite swelling waist, and she knew, deep inside, that it was Ron. It always warmed her, and now it was a little bittersweet too, because she did not smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Hi," Ron said, but he didn't sound strained or tired. Just a little nervous. They had already made their apologies.

"You're back early. I'm glad to see you," she told him, accepting the kiss below her ear. He was clean, smelling of parchment and outdoors. He was simply her irrepressibly human husband.

"So am I," replied Ron with a smile, and she found she could return it sans pain. "I love you, Hermione. I would never--"

"Shh. That's over. That's behind us. Happy moment now, right? I love you too." They leaned in for a moment, pressed their cheeks together and knew they were connected.

"Hermione, let me use your cellar," Draco's voice abruptly pressed in on their little world. He closed the parlor door quietly behind him and looked around their kitchen, tired and uncertain. "Hi Ron. Your front door was unlocked. I'm being followed, by some of our own. No idea why. Let me in your cellar before they hex me to death."

"Okay, but, what's wrong? Why are Aurors--" Hermione began, but Draco ducked past her and headed for the cellar door behind the pantry. Calm determination filled his gaze, but she could feel the tension surrounding him and wrapping in a facade of security that was just waiting for the right moment to crumble. "What did you DO?!"

"Get in quickly, then. What do you want us to do, Draco?" Ron offered instead, not caring. She could have kissed him for his selflessness, right there, all conflicts forgotten. Help first, ask questions later. "The cellar isn't secure enough, but if they come in, stay there. I'll be down in a few minutes to find you another place to hide. Are you sure they were Aurors?"

"Three junior Aurors, as far as I could see," Draco replied absently, jiggling the handle on the door, inspecting the lock on it. If Hermione could hold them off, he could sort this out somehow. Why would they want to follow him? "Almost took my head off with a hex a few minutes ago."

"Here, let me help--" Ron opened the cellar door easily; either Draco was really very nervous or he hadn't been eating again. In the warm glow of the lights he did look quite strained, but something else quite outside the realm of this chase seemed to concern him.

Sudden pops dekcus (Note: sucked backwards) into the room, and between Ron's angry shouts and gesticulations about Apparation rights, and Draco's silent, breathless struggles, Hermione watched helplessly as three junior Aurors grappled with Draco.

"Let go of him! That's an order!" Ron yelled, reaching to remove the two holding Draco's arms clamped to his sides--not difficult considering his still-starved size--but had a wand pointed at his freckled nose. Hermione gave a cry and reached for her own. But she couldn't point it at another Auror...

"Can't let you do that, sir. 'e was seen assaulting a group of children in Greenwich, claimin' they were Death Eaters out t'kill 'im," said a junior Auror as Draco was cuffed with anti-magic nullifier rings and given an Anti-Apparition Jinx. His wand was also confiscated. He stopped struggling after that; his face had gone white and he was looking desperately at the man with his wand. "Going a bit ah, mad, there, ain't yeh, Malfoy?"

"I was not anywhere _near_ Greenwich, you fool! I couldn't have!" he protested hollowly, but a quick "Silencio!" set his speech out of commission.

"Was anyone hurt?" Hermione asked first, before anyone else could protest.

"No. Eight children are very shaken. He didn't do any spells but they've been knocked about a bit," replied another Junior Auror, giving Draco a warning glare.

"You're arresting Draco MALFOY. Are you insane? What's your name?" Ron demanded of the Junior Auror who seemed to be heading it.

"Nathan Bitte," he answered, but he didn't bother showing any concern over who he was arresting. He was going to get a promotion over this, or at least a closer step towards completing his training. "Look, I'd expect you to understand. He's giving us a bad name, looking like we don't pay our Aurors enough to feed 'em and fainting all over the place. Everyone'll think we've all got HD. He's got a murder trial with Harry Potter tomorrow anyway. Chief Darko's set it up. Nine o'clock, Wizenmagot. It'll only be like...transport."

"Ron! I thought you said you'd taken care of that?!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I tried! But then with new files and cases and this recent thing I haven't taken care of it. I'm sorry, Draco. I'll come with you to court tomorrow. Are you taking him to the Lockhouse?"

"Not a chance, with a profile like his. He's going inter main Headquarters, with an extra guard and maybe a dementor, if we can get one." Behind them, Draco gave a sudden jolt of terror at this news. "Can't let him run around like that, trying to kill little boys and girls, can we?" Bitte pulled out a sheaf of photographs from his robes and showed them to Ron. "And just for your edification, that is definitely Draco Malfoy, Mr Weasley."

The photographs didn't lie. The blond in the slightly lit lamplight of the dark street was grabbing a boy by the arm in the small front lawn of a late-going birthday party. The boy was in pain, other children were screaming and the mother had just come out onto the grass with pudding. The other photos showed the same, head-on with a few profiles, but in the last one, Draco's face turned away from the camera and he gripped his head, looking as if he were in pain. They were all wizarding photographs...

"Colin Creevey, the bloke who took those, ran to disarm him as soon as he realised what he was photographing," Bitte felt the need to explain. It was everything they could ever possibly want to convict Draco and send him to Azkaban, in lieu of those 42 murders. Ron's shoulders slumped a little in defeat, and Hermione could not tear her eyes off Draco's easily visible profile, the way he turned, the way he gripped the boy so hard. Draco never hurt children before. Ever. It was one of the things that disgusted him about the Death Eaters, and something he never did even as one. How could it be Draco? She looked up and into Malfoy's gaping, stern eyes, and saw a sliver of fear. How could it be him?

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It was all over the papers by the time Harry was even called in for his own hearing. He'd spent half of early Saturday morning looking for Draco, and had hardly gotten any sleep. There he was on the front page of the Daily Prophet, simply waiting for Harry at Saturday breakfast, along with his court summons. What in the world had Draco done last night? Dumbledore, still Chief Warlock of Wizenmagot, was livid, having received it at the same time from a very contrite, very frightened Fudge. In absolutely no condition to attend a court trial, much less defend himself, Harry Apparated from Hogsmeade, arriving at the Ministry red-eyed with a stomach full of nothing but a Restorative Draft Snape managed to whip up for him while he pulled on his Auror robes.

A line of wizarding folk waited around the Court, exclaiming excitedly as Harry approached. Press and media had been waiting there for some time now, and he assumed Dumbledore was already there. He wasn't sure how it worked, but suddenly wondered how Darko managed a court order over Dumbledore's head. New laws about making Wizenmagot extra-ordinarily democratic in presenting cases? Then he remembered something that made him clench his fists in anger. Darko was the prosecutor who accused them, not anyone else.

"Harry James Potter?" asked a clerk perfunctorily, a short stumpy witch with frizzy red hair.

"Er, yes," Harry replied. How many dark-haired Aurors with spectacles and a lightning-bolt scar were being given murder trials today?

"There's a trial in session at the moment, but yours will be right after. Would you like to wait here or watch in the public gallery?" asked the clerk, nonplussed about having famous Harry Potter in her presence. Her quill hovered over her parchment, and she hardly gave him a glance.

"Whose trial is it?" Harry asked curiously.

"Draco Malfoy's," the clerk said, and moved aside quickly when she saw the look on Harry's face. It wasn't that it was particularly angry, or sad, or shocked, or even curious at all. Something in it demanded to be privy to this event, some need.

Harry quietly climbed the steps to the gallery and took a seat up high, away from the other visitors. He looked carefully down at the amphitheatre, and saw that the familiar stone chair had been lined with leather to make it more comfortable. Its inhabitant was bound by chains on his wrists and ankles, but he didn't seem quite so discomfited.

Whatever gains he had managed to make in weight the past few months, Draco Malfoy had lost in a single night. His robes were still fine, his head held at the same lofty height, and his grey eyes were a piercing steel of indignant determination. Yet soft strands of his pale blond hair fell over his powder-white skin, and his bunny ears drooped noticeably. Surely something had happened that went beyond a dementor and a few hours of imprisonment. Draco was made of tougher stuff than that.

Beside him, for defence, was Ron. He looked the same as always, defiant, ready to jump up and scream at the lot of them how stupid this all was, exactly what mistakes they'd made, and what wrongs they were doing to the system. Ron was just waiting to let them know exactly how he felt. Harry could read it in his entire demeanour, one of the advantages to knowing someone for so long and so well he's practically your brother. So why didn't he feel the same about Draco?

"--spent most of Friday night with Harry Potter. Just past midnight on Saturday morning I went for a walk to think things over when three junior Aurors suddenly attacked me," Draco was saying, as Harry took a seat. His voice was clear enough, and strong enough, but it didn't match the way he looked. "I Apparated to Walpole, where I tried to take refuge in the Weasleys' cellar."

"Hiding in the cellar cannot be construed as the actions of an innocent wizard, Mr Malfoy," said a voice from the gallery, but Harry couldn't distinguish the face clearly enough. "How can you explain your need to do this? And why you didn't defend yourself directly, instead of fleeing?"

"When you are out for a nighttime stroll to gather your thoughts and three unidentified people Apparate out of nowhere and begin attempting to hex you, I hardly think you would try to explain to them the situation either. As much as the public and the rest of us would like to believe our world no longer requires vigiliance, that view is far from the truth; there are so many dangers out there aside from the remaining Death Eaters. While it is true that we have been intensely cautious and vigilant, you cannot expect us to assume the world is safe merely due to the fall of the Dark Lord. I ask the court to pardon me for keeping a level head and ducking for cover at a place where I assumed would be safe and not outnumbered!" Draco answered, out of breath by the time he had finished.

Harry covered his face. Showing scorn to the Wizenmagot was never a very good thing to do, but how could Draco resist the situation?

Draco continued, "The only reason I didn't defend myself was because during the course of the chase I had glimpses of the bronze stars on their robes, the mark of the Junior Aurors."

"It is not for you to lecture us on the state of our society, and the Wizenmagot is well aware of the hierarchial insignia of the Aurors. Albus, this was just handed to me," said former Minister Percy Weasley, who was sitting behind him. He gave Draco a quelling look. Dumbledore read the parchment, and conferred with the others in the gallery. While they discussed matters, Harry watched Ron slump back into his seat and give Draco's chains a shake of frustration. Years ago this scene would have never happened, and Ron would have been laughing at the blond. Strange, how people change.

"Good." A quiet, informal voting session was in place, and Dumbledore now turned to the two at the centre of the amphitheatre. "The results from various tests came in a short time ago, and state very explicitly that your magical signature was not found anywhere near Greenwich, nor any part of yourself, at the projected time of the incident. After a small bit of discussion, we have reached a conclusion I think you will find pleasing. This case is therefore rendered invalid on the basis of this information. I urge that the true perpetrator either come forward or that the case be investigated further. Court is adjourned for this trial."

"And the murder trial?" someone called out from the visitor's gallery. Harry's fists tightened when he recognised Darko's voice. So, he came here just to watch the two of them squirm? Harry would make him squirm later, he'd make sure of that. That is, if he didn't get convicted first.

"Yes, Alai, that's right after this," Dumbledore replied. "You are out of order. There is no need to be impatient. Now then, we have the trial of Draco Lucius Malfoy, charged by Alai Wikket Darko for the murders of forty-two persons, without accomplices. We've already undergone the usual procedures in the last case, so I suppose we can continue on without that. No objections, I trust?" There was a pause. Harry wondered if any of them really believed they SHOULD be trying Draco for multiple murders. More people were filing into the visitor's gallery. He glared at every one who came near him, and they kept far away.

"I have here a list, that Chief Alai Darko has compiled, of forty-two murders, claimed to have been committed by yourself, Mr Malfoy. These are very serious crimes. We have presented your defence, Mr Weasley, with the names, locations, and manner of death. What do you have in defence to that?" Dumbledore asked carefully. Ron shifted beside Draco uncomfortably. He knew no more about what Draco had done than anyone else in the court, with the possible exception of Dumbledore. Last night had not been enough to prepare for forty-two missing and dead individuals.

"And what about Veritaserum?" Darko shouted again, and this time earned a glare from Dumbledore.

"Yet again, Alai, you are out of order. These two clerks will escort you out." They waited while this was done under the protestations of the chief. Once those faint twitterings had died out, Dumbledore began again. "Now then, since you are Chief Interrogator, I think we can forgo the Veritaserum unless you are unwilling to co-operate. Please tell us, Draco, why you think you have been accused of this, and present your defence."

"I have worked on the Resistance and on behalf of the Order, since my final years at Hogwarts. Due to my parentage I was considered a prime candidate by the Dark Lord, who made me a Death Eater when I was eighteen. Had I not secretly been on Dumbledore's side at the time, I would have refused and then been killed. Since that did not happen, I became a spy for the Order, and was secretly promoted to an Auror after training. No one knew outside of my colleagues at East London Headquarters, and my identity remained a mystery to all those who dealt with me, because I maintained a Glamour Charm and a shadow on my hood at all times. I did not encounter any problems with this arrangement, because many found it easier to talk to my Auror star rather than my person. Whatever I did during my time as a spy was done to keep the pretense of being a loyal Death Eater, so that I could continue to siphon information useful to our side," Draco finished, out of breath again.

Harry realised he had not denied murdering anyone. His dance of words was getting ever so razor-sharp. What was he trying to play? Harry shifted nervously in his seat, looking down at the silence that had settled. Not once had Draco said he was innocent. Not once did he say he hadn't killed those people. Forty-two? Harry never killed...well, not directly at least. If a knocked over colonnade crushed three Death Eaters it wasn't his problem. If he diverted a giant well enough to have him bowl into five werewolves on Voldemort's side, that was good enough for him.

Where had Darko gotten these numbers then, if Harry was supposed to have murdered twenty-one people? In that light, how many people had any of them taken? Hermione? Ron? Any of the Aurors...but this was Draco's trial now. If a conviction was in store...if a sentence would be carried out, if Draco was shipped off to Azkaban as soon as they rebuilt it, it would set precedent for all the other Aurors. Harry's own trial would go so much quicker too. All their fates, on this one trial.

Ron suddenly piped up, and Harry inwardly prayed he wouldn't do anything foolish, no matter how correct he was. "The information Draco provided us as a spy was always invaluable to our cause, and has saved the lives of many when we might have otherwise made many grave errors. You can't have a case for murder in a war. In a war we're all potential killers, the whole lot of us."

Oh. Fantastic. Harry whispered to himself, "shut up, Ron!" Just great. He had to make the exact point that would probably land them all in prison. Ron had just as well said the Aurors were all guilty of murder but shouldn't be punished. Why not tie the noose around his neck now?

But Ron kept on going. "In war, killing is no longer personal self-defence, which is still punishable by law, but instead what we're ordered to do because it will save us all in the long run, or help save more lives. Or that's what we'd like to believe. I'm simply saying that Draco shouldn't be punished for doing what he was supposed to do for us in a war. I'm sure there's a law somewhere for it." There was a rustling of parchment from one end of the visitors' gallery, and Harry squinted to see who was making the noise. Hermione!

"I er...I call Hermione Granger-Weasley as a witness for the defence!" Ron announced abruptly, and watched as his wife careened down the stairs and into the centre of the amphitheatre, breathlessly waving a few papers.

"Hermione Granger-Weasley, twenty-two years old, of Walpole. I've got it right here! You _can't_ convict Draco Malfoy under these terms, because whatever he did as a spy is considered part of wartime measures excused by the last Ministry, regardless of what current laws you have renewed! Those laws are still intact, and you can't change them to apply to things he did while still legal! That's ex post facto! As an Auror, I submit to the court the aforementioned laws as evidence!" she thrust the papers into the hands of the clerk and breathlessly waited.

There was definitely a glint of pride in Dumbledore's gaze when he glanced at Hermione. This was a serious case, of course. But laws were laws, and none of them liked Darko too much. Percy gave a tense smile to Ron, then re-joined the line to file out of the room. Not enough evidence had been given, but they seemed to be ready to make a decision now. It was such a risky gamble...

Draco was saying something to Hermione, and she and Ron smiled. How could they smile at a time like this? Draco might be imprisoned for decades! She shrugged, and said something that made Draco look back down to the floor. She made a movement to comfort him, but Ron pulled her back. What had she said? All of a sudden Draco had gone terribly despondent, but he looked back up and tried to give her an encouraging smile.

The waiting made Harry horrifyingly nervous, and Ron paced the centre while Hermione sat with Draco, chatting while he nodded silently. If only he could go down there and talk to them and see how it was going. If only he could go into that room and listen to their deliberations, and argue his own point. What if Draco didn't get off? They'd barely presented any evidence! They hadn't said enough in defence. And all they had to fumble on were a few parchments of law. Hermione was either wicked fast or had been fed information from Dumbledore. And if Dumbledore and Percy weren't enough to help...Hogwarts might need another Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Everyone looked up as the members of the Wizenmagot returned. Already? It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, at least, of discussion and voting. Percy was looking professional as ever, but the corners of his lips were twitching. Laws were being followed. It would please him more than anything to know that Lucius Malfoy's son was going to still be around to cause trouble for his father.

"Per the new submission and the aforementioned statements, Wizenmagot concedes the oversight committed in attempting to trial both Draco Lucius Malfoy and Harry James Potter. This court is adjourned. The trial is over, and Mr Potter's will not begin, but each name and instance of death will be investigated thoroughly by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to guarantee they befell for purposes of war. Also, it is recommended by some of Wizenmagot that neurological evaluation be given to Draco Lucius Malfoy at Hogwarts, for purposes of ensuring mental stability and...ah, health. Draco, you may go freely now. The court apologises for what it has put you through," said Dumbledore, and smiled warmly. The chains loosened and dropped from Draco's bony wrists and ankles, and he stood up with a stretching motion. Harry didn't wait to see any more.

The stones flew beneath his feet as he ran down to meet his friends. Someone had driven off the reporters and photographers, who no doubt had followed Alai Darko out, and only a few people walked in the corridor. The others were leaving the courtroom since the spectacle was over.

"Hermione! You were fantastic!" Harry exclaimed, hugging her at once. She definitely smelled of ink and parchment, and lots of quick-thinking research. "A dea ex machina! That was great; you got Draco and me off with one statement!"

"Oh Harry, it never would have worked if it hadn't been for Dumbledore," Hermione protested, but she blushed nevertheless, and beamed.

"Thank you very much, Hermione," Draco told her quietly, shaking her hand, his other hand gripping his newly-recovered wand tightly. Ron simply wrapped an arm around her waist proudly and kissed her cheek.

"That's my wife," he said happily, to those who were passing by out of the court, but his expression turned sour at once. "They let him out already?" All heads turned.

Contrary to the way imprisonment had treated his son, Lucius Malfoy seemed as healthy as ever. He even had his snake-head walking stick with him as he strolled leisurely down the hallway. Without thinking Harry found himself protectively stepping into his path before Lucius even reached Draco.

"What do you want?" he asked, remembering the dream he'd shared with Draco. He'd only been six years old and his father, with a mixture of discipline and his self-defined love, had cast Cruciatus on his son. Harry hoped it hadn't happened ever again.

"I have nothing to do with you, Mr Potter, other than to congratulate you on your achievements thus far," Lucius drawled. "I wish to speak to my son. Every father's right, especially after he has been on trial for mass murder, don't you think?" He moved to nudge Harry aside with his stick, but there was no budging him, not if--

"Harry, let him talk to me," Draco said entreatingly. It felt like betrayal. Harry had been protecting him! He moved reluctantly away, and watched the two Malfoys face each other. Draco had suddenly allowed his lofty attitude to shine through again, reminding Harry how much Draco toned down his breeding when around them.

"Draco," Lucius said by way of greeting, and caressed his son's cheek briefly with the snake head. Harry nearly reached out to break his arm. He stayed at Hermione and Ron's side, watching.

"Are you satisfied, Father?" Draco asked, and suddenly their accents were identical, lofty, aristocratic and drawling. Unrelenting.

"Ah, yes, you've done very well, Draco. You've even gotten away with it all," Lucius said softly, smiling. "An Auror, Chief Interrogator, Professor at Hogwarts, Death Eater, traitor to the Dark Lord. Impressive resume. But it is only under Dumbledore's ancient benign eyes that you have crawled this far."

"No, Father, it's under my own will that I've come this far," Draco said, and Lucius frowned. Everything was a test. Always a test. Harry felt like he was watching a skirmish between old combatants.

"Is it to your credit as well, Draco, that you're a skeleton with the ears of a hare?" he asked, and his voice descended into a hiss. "What nightmares plague you at night? Or is whoring yourself to your little friends enough torture? I would have thought you had enough..."

"You fiend. You never lifted a finger to help your only son," Draco said, and Harry could see his hands were trembling, the fingers gripping his wand bone-white. "You left me in that hellhole. Was it easy to convince Darko of your innocence? A few Galleons in his pocket and you're Minister of Magic. Funny how a few Galleons never made up for an empty mansion and nowhere to turn when you wanted your normal family back."

"A normal family. What is that? A warren of Weasels squabbling amongst themselves? Is that what you wanted? Still dwelling on the petty, Draco. Don't be so vulgar. I did my utmost to protect, care for, and love you, until you decided you would no longer be a Malfoy. You have not yet felt my scorn, but if you continue to oppose me I guarantee you shall," his father replied.

"You won't be a successful Minister, Father," Draco spat back. "They'll find out what you really want, what sort of person you really are, sooner or later. And even if I'm damned for this, I'll still oppose you if you harm anyone. I'll go to the papers and publish what you did as a Death Eater, even if it drags me down with you. I'll do everything in my power--"

"No you won't," sneered Lucius. Even Harry had to admit it was so much better than any of Draco's sneers ever could have been. "Because in the end, you'll realise, my boy," Lucius leaned in and added, "we're still family. En garde, as I've always said. My path is open, my way is clear, and you have nobody to back you. Dumbledore cannot turn the opinions of all of Britain. Congratulations on your release, Draco, but you will always have a prison in your mind. And only I have the key." He stepped back, and surveyed the four assembled Aurors. "Good day."