Nicole Stevens: Dragons and Deceit

Chapter Seven

"Mister Potter, I realise that you want to help Miss Stevens by testifying,

but I'm afraid it would only weaken her case. I know that the accusations

are false, and I believe Fudge would agree. But Lucius Malfoy is an

esteemed member of the Magical community. He works in the Ministry of

Magical Law Enforcement. This is his area of expertise. Unfortunately, he

thinks he has what he needs to convict you," said Dumbledore.

"Then what can I do?" said Harry.

"You can come to the trial. And you can support her by believing that

she'll win."

"Harry," I said. "He's right, you know. But if you're there during the

trial, I'll be happy."

He nodded resolutely. Professor Dumbledore smiled slightly, amused. "Very

well then. I believe that is all to be covered for today. If you think of

anything else to add to your statement, please consult me."

"Thanks," Harry and I stood, leaving the headmaster's office.

We went down to the library, where Hermione and Ron were studying quietly.

Sitting across from Hermione was...Draco. I hurried over to the table,

dropping my bag beside the empty chair before sitting. Draco grinned weakly

at me. Ever since he had heard of what his father had done, he had been

bearing the Gryffindors' company to help out. Whether or not Ron and

Hermione liked me very much, they were determined to help, if it meant Harry

was happy. Harry came and plopped down in the chair at the head of the

table, seemingly ignoring the fact that his arch-rival was sitting at the

same table.

"What'd Dumbledore say?" Hermione asked, thumbing through Hogwarts, a

History. Harry shrugged tiredly.

"The usual. I can sit in on the trial, but I can't testify. In other

words, I'm pretty useless."

"Basically, everyone's useless when it comes to dealing with my father,"

Draco said in a quiet voice. "When he does things like this, he makes sure

that there's not very much room for him to fail. It's his job. He's head

of his division in the Ministry, and he got there by being ruthless."

"And he's a git," Ron added darkly.

Draco merely nodded. Hermione looked at him, almost shocked that he had

allowed someone to make a comment like that about Lucius. "Yes, I know. I

just don't care anymore--I've stopped idolising my father. The last few

years have taught me to see him as he is. A bastard."

"Too true," Harry sighed. "At least you're admitting it now."

Their voices were like drones. "Is it just me, or do you four seem

particularly subdued today? You're not even fighting amongst yourselves.

And the bored, dull voices only add to that," I said.

"I'm sorry that our level of humour and energy isn't up to your

expectations. It's called stress. Get used to it," replied Draco. "And

besides, we're worried about YOU. Feel lucky. I care about seldom few

things."

"I'm sure Nicole feels gratified that she's on that list. What else does it

include? Mirrors, clothes, and hair products?" Ron hissed.

"Now that's more like it," I said, smiling.

They scowled at each other. I took a book from the pile beside Draco's

elbow and flipped through it. It was about Ministry cases against

juveniles. There was a case similar to mine, but the boy had lost. His

punishment was only community service, and his crime had been kidnapping a

woman and holding her for a few days for ransom. My supposed crime wasn't

nearly as serious as that. I showed it to Hermione, and she agreed. She

took the book from me and began taking notes, telling me that she was more

reliable when it came to note taking than I was. So I let her

do whatever she pleased.

"Well, I'm off," Harry said. "I've got Quidditch practice."

"We have Quidditch practice? Oh...then I'll go grab my broom," Ron stood

and the two best friends left the library.

Draco moved to sit across from me. He touched my hand reassuringly. "I

think you can do it."

"I certainly hope you're right."

---------

I dressed slowly, deep in thought. My mind was on the trial and nothing

else. Perhaps it was selfish of me not to be thinking of my parents, but I

couldn't help it. I then noticed I was missing a sock. I looked around me

for the sock, before realising it was on my foot already.

I shouldn't let myself get so distracted, I thought. It's important that I

look as if my head is actually attached to my neck. If Lucius Malfoy knows

I don't have my wits about me, he'll slaughter me.

Heading downstairs, I was confronted by Ron and Hermione. She handed me a

folder, giving me a hopeful smile. "You'll find some interesting stuff

inside. I found a few cases like yours that might be important. Try to

stay cool."

I thanked her and she went downstairs. Ron said, "I've pretty much got what

I'm going to say. Dumbledore's been helping me a little. If you want to

look over the notes, or something, I think we have a few minutes. We're out

of classes, right?" I nodded. "That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure.

So, what do you want to do, Nicole?"

"I think I'll just sit up here for a while and--" I broke off as Harry came

downstairs. "I'll be downstairs in a while. Go eat with Hermione, Ron.

She'll enjoy your company."

He left as Harry approached. "Morning," he greeted. Noting the folder, he asked, "Notes from Hermione? I thought so. If you want

to talk...What time does it start?"

I shrugged wearily, "At nine, I think. We should probably have time to meet

in the library or something. I'd rather not even talk about it, but it

might be the best idea. It would be so much easier if I could just say I

didn't do it, and come back here. But Lucius Malfoy isn't likely to accept

that."

"I swear that man has it in for you," said Harry. "It's like he's trying to

kill you, or something."

"I know. But let's just try not to think about it for a while. I'm

hungry."

He and I headed downstairs, and as we went down the marble staircase, Draco

came from the Slytherin dungeons. He rushed up to meet us, surveying Harry

with distaste.

"Hey, I got a letter from my cousin today." He handed it to me, "It's got

some pretty useful stuff in it, so I'm pretty sure it'll be helpful. I'll

see you...later, I guess. Good luck." Draco turned and went back to the

dungeons.

Harry and I exchanged looks, as I unfolded the letter. It was from Somnus

Malfoy, Draco's elder cousin.

Draco,

I heard about the trial. It's awful, honestly. Lucius and my father have

been discussing it, and I've picked up a few things about it. There is some

pretty good evidence against your girl Nicole. Honestly, I don't know if

there's enough to win a trial, but it would seem so.

Here's some of what I've heard from them.

Lucius says he found traces of blood on the floor, and they are from the

Stevens. He saw signs of her being at the home when they were kidnapped.

There's mud residue from outside the house, and the shoe size is apparently

the same size as Nicole's. I know there's more evidence, but I don't know

what it is.

I hope this helps.

Somnus

"Well," I said, turning to Harry, "at least now I know he has some evidence

and not just pointless claims."

"Yeah," he took the letter from me and reread it. "'Your girl Nicole,'"

quoted Harry. "Sounds almost possessive."

I blushed, "Somnus writes like that."

Harry nodded and we went down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast.

---------

The Knight Bus was a rather bumpy ride. I was finding it rather difficult

to keep down my breakfast when I was being jostled constantly. The purple

bus was a driving hazard. It was continuously skidding onto the curb or

getting in the way of mailboxes, which had to jump out of the way to avoid

being squashed.

Harry sat across from me, looking slightly green. Whenever the bus jumped

he would cover his mouth as if to stop himself from vomiting all over his

seat-it wasn't actually a seat, though. It was a bed, oddly enough. But I

ignored this and tried to concentrate on keeping my nerves from getting the

better of me.

"When will we get to the Ministry?" Ron asked, sighing deeply and checking

his watch. "It's been ages. Why couldn't we have just eaten breakfast and

lunch-" Harry turned even greener when Ron said this, "-and then used the

Floo Network to get us there?"

"Well, Ron, as I'm sure you would realise if you ever read anything,"

Hermione said promptly, "Hogwarts is not connected to the Floo Network. It

says so in Hogwarts, A History. There is no was to magically get into the

castle grounds, other than flying, which isn't considered a magical entry."

He scowled at her. "If you know so much, Hermione, why couldn't you help

Harry? He's looking nauseous."

"He's looking nauseated," she corrected. "And there are spells to cure

that, but I haven't taken any Medi-Wizard courses, so I might not perform

them correctly. If I did it improperly, there could be serious

side-affects. I don't want to have Harry being sick all over the bus.

Unless, of course, you decided to hop up to clean it, in which case, I

wouldn't mind him being sick at all."

Harry's shoulders slumped, as he started to turn a revolting puce colour.

"Could we not talk about this anymore?"

Ron and Hermione looked at him, and they became quiet.

"Why are we even bickering?" Hermione asked quietly. "It's not helping

anything. I think we should just try to think of something positive and

happy. Don't you think so, Nicole?"

I shrugged, "Couldn't do any harm."

She nodded, picking up a book to read. Ron gave her a look, and I contented

myself with taking a letter from my pocket. It had been delivered by owl at

breakfast. I had read it over and over, but still it made no sense.

Enod mrah on eb lliw ereth dna ti nruter. Ecalakcen munaihtnairoc eht si

taht mylicitpo eht fo rotcetorp eht ma I.

I hadn't told anyone about it. Draco had seen the owl, and he seemed to

know what it was about. But I hadn't had the time to ask him before I left.

Hopefully it wasn't something urgent, or I was out of luck.

The bus came screeching to a halt, outside of a plain-looking building.

Hermione stood, and the rest of us followed. We had arrived. Harry gave me

an encouraging smile, squeezing my hand.

A wizard came from around the corner, obviously frazzled. He saw us

departing from the bed and beckoned us to him. We exchanged glances, but

grudgingly stepped over to talk with him.

"I am," he said, pausing for breath, "Riant Montgomery. I shall be your,

erm-uh, guide, I suppose you would call it. We knew Dumbledore couldn't

send anyone to keep an eye out for you, so I suppose the Minister just

decided to have an actual guide waiting."

"Eh, right," said Ron, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"So, if you'll come with me," Riant gestured for us to follow him, and he

led us to a battered-looking phone booth.

"What the hell--?" whispered Ron.

"Oh, shush," snapped Hermione.

Ron glared at her for a moment, before Riant said, "Let's step inside, shall

we?" He stepped into the phone booth and started dialling a

number. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I somehow managed to fit inside. The man

put down the receiver, and a voice said from somewhere, "What is your name

and business?"

"I'm Ron Weasley, I'm testifying in a trial."

"Please take the nametag that is assigned to you," she said in her

mechanical-type voice.

"My name's Hermione Granger, and I am also testifying."

A nametag shot out, and Ron grabbed for it, only to realise that it was

Hermione's. He waited a couple of seconds, before another nametag appeared,

bearing his name and the word "testifying." Harry and I stated our names

and business, and received our tags.

We headed inside the Ministry. It was amazing. From the outside, it had

looked shabby, but on the inside it was like a palace for, well, Law

Enforcement and such. The man named Riant took us past many wonderful

sights, before having us stopped by a creature who checked our wands. Ron

and Harry seemed reluctant to give it up, but they finally relented, giving

him their wands, only to have them returned a moment later.

Riant smiled cheerfully at us, before taking us to something resembling a

Muggle elevator. He leisurely pressed the button for our floor, and there

was an odd prickling feeling running up and down my spine. Harry touched my

arm, noticing me shiver. I gave him a false smile, just as the

elevator-type thing stopped.

"Here's our floor," Riant Montgomery said happily. "Let's get off now, and

we'll fine the Minister and Fudge."

We all pried our way through the elevator doors--as several papers zoomed into the elevator--and followed Riant. We were taken to a well-lit hallway, with three doors on each side of the room.

Mister Montgomery pointed at the second on his left, and let us alone. We

headed to the door, finally resolving to going inside.

Inside the room stood two people. One, I knew. It was Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire. The second person was a man dressed in a pinstripe

suit. He shook hands with Harry and Ron, as if they were long-time friends.

"Harry, Mister Weasley, it is wonderful to see you again. Miss Granger,

isn't it?" He delicately shook Hermione's hand. "I believe it's been quite

a while since we've encountered one another, hasn't it? The last World Cup,

I believe. Yes. Well, you must be Miss Stevens." The man shook my hand-he

seemed to be rather fond of shaking hands. "I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister

of Magic. It is a pleasure to meet you, though the circumstances

are-er-unfortunate. I'm sure you've met Mister Lucius Malfoy, the Head of

the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement."

Lucius stepped forward, an arrogant smirk on his face. He shook my hand

stiffly, saying coolly, "Yes, Cornelius. Miss Stevens and I are acquainted.

Mister Weasley, Mister Potter-I suppose you are testifying?"

"I'm not," Harry said coldly. "Hermione is, though."

Hermione gave Lucius a smile that was more of a grimace.

"Well, that's lovely. I do believe we need to have a short meeting before

we begin. Lucius, who would you like to speak with first? Miss Stevens?

Or perhaps one of her friends?"

"I believe I will begin with Miss Stevens," Lucius drawled.

"Ah, yes. Quite right. If you will, document the conversation. It might

be useful later."

Malfoy nodded curtly and gestured for me to follow him into a private room.

Inside there was a table, with two chair situated opposite each other. I

took a seat, as Lucius sat across from me, after laying his cloak and cane

across a short bench that was against the wall.

"I know what you're up to," I said immediately as he sat down.

"I am not 'up to' anything, Miss Stevens. Now, if you will answer a few

questions..."

"I won't answer anything until you tell me exactly what you've done with my

parents. I haven't told anyone, so if they have been harmed in any way, I

promise you that I will exact my revenge."

"You seem hostile," he said smoothly. "Is that really how you would like to

start out your interrogation? And I don't have to answer any questions. I

am interrogating you. When I investigated your home, where your parents

were taken from, I noticed footprints going up the stairs. The mud from the

prints came from outside the house."

"Well, I would hope it didn't come from inside the house. That would be

quite odd."

"Odd indeed. These footprints were small, from a child, most likely. What

size shoe do you wear, Miss Stevens?"

"Size seven," I spat bitterly.

He made a note on a paper. "Very well, then. When I measure these

footprints, they turned out to be size seven. That is a very odd

coincidence, is it not?"

"Not really. Lots of people have size seven feet. I've met at least forty

people who do."

"Yes, I suppose that is true. What kind of shoes do you wear?"

"The kind that cover your feet."

"Of course, but I was asking what label shoes do you wear?"

"Different kinds. Nike, TeenWitch, Highlights...I've only had about twenty

pairs of shoes in the last three years," I said sarcastically.

"These footprints were from a pair of TeenWitch shoes. Another coincidence,

perhaps?"

"I suppose so," I said through clenched teeth.

"There were also traces of blood on the floor. When we ran a test on them,

it turned out that they were from a female, 16-year-old girl.

It would appear that the blood is yours. Do you have any explanation for

that?"

"Plenty," I glared at him. "But none that you would care to hear."

"Now, I believe I have substantial evidence to have you sent to Azkaban for

five to ten years. As much as it is frowned upon, sending you-a minor--to

Azkaban, it is not unheard of. If you would like this to be your attitude,

I can promise that you won't stay out of Azkaban. "

"Well, as my life's been hell for the past three years, those Mentoids, or

Demontors, or whatever you call them, won't have a very fun time with me."

"Oh, trust me, they will. I can assure you of that."