The Seven Deadly Sins

The Seven Deadly Sins

Chapter 1

"Could you tell me where Subject 2259 is, please?"

The blond witch peered at me suspiciously through her pince-nez. "We don't have a Subject 2259," she replied sharply.

There weren't many people in the hospital that early in the morning, but I lowered my voice anyway. "It's okay, ma'am," I whispered, "I've been sent by the Ministry of Magic Legal Department."

Her expression didn't change. "I want to see some form of identification."

I took my Ministry ID Card from the inside pocket of my robe where I always kept it. I pulled it out, flipped it open and let her inspect my photo, which was grinning idiotically at the time. She looked from me to the photo, then back to me again. Of course, I automatically tried to make the same facial expression as my ID - which was a mistake.

"Password," she prodded. I sighed and made a face.

"Flying Torsos."

Finally, she inclined to believe me. Leaning in, she whispered, "On your right, the corridor leading to the staircase, a red-cloaked figure will appear. When he does so, go through the doors and follow him. Don't speak to him until you get to the staircase and don't come closer than five yards. He will lead you downstairs to the basement, which is where Keele Ward in situated. Subject 2259 is in the room on the far left. Your guide will stay outside the door until you are finished."

"This may take a long time." I warned her.

"Then your guide will stand outside for a long time. Next, please!"

I noticed a wizard with an axe embedded in his head behind me and got out of the way. Trying not to watch the corridor too closely, I looked for a place to sit, but there was no need. The red-cloaked guide that she spoke of turned up immediately and stood there, waiting. Tentatively, I tried to stroll casually through the double doors.

As soon as they closed, it was silent. The guide at the end of the corridor didn't make a sound, and as I came near, he turned abruptly and started walking. I remembered what the witch at reception had said and kept my distance. At the end of the corridor were stairs, but none leading down. I wanted to ask how we were supposed to reach a basement when there didn't appear to be one, when the guide held out a hand, touched the left wall and muttered something.

The wall appeared to disintegrate before my eyes. It crumbled away and vanished into the air. Behind it was a winding stone staircase, which the guide started to descend. I followed him for what seemed like hours, the temperature dropping the further down we went. Finally, we reached the bottom, and the guide floated down a dimly lit path to the left. I had never seen this part of the hospital before. The path was yet another corridor filled with doors. Each door looked iron and heavy. And each had a number outside it - 2095, 2859, 2481. ... No sound came from the rooms, but I imagined there were other 'patients' held within them. The guide stopped at what would have been a dead end if not for one last door. I read the number engraved on the outside.

2259.

This is it, I thought apprehensively; behind this door is the big one. My big break. I stood back as the guide silently took out his wand and started to mutter locking charms at the door. He spoke fifteen, mostly ones I didn't recognise, before one last Alohamora.

The great iron door creaked stubbornly open. The guide beckoned me to go in. I didn't move. The guide frowned, and beckoned again, a bit more forcefully this time, so I thought the least I could do was stand in the doorway.

Before I knew it, I'd been given a firm shove into the room, and the door slammed heavily behind me.

"Hey!" I yelled out before I could stop myself, turning to fume for my sudden enclosure. Then I remembered what I was here for, and slowly turned round to face the room, and Subject 2259.

The room had no windows and was scantily lit with a few floating black tapers at each corner of the room and in the centre. It was dungeon-like and cold, and the only objects within the room were a wooden chair by a small desk and a bed. The bed was in the middle of the room. And on the bed was Subject 2259.

I had seen him before. Pictures, paintings, newspaper clippings, etc. In the flesh when he was younger. Hell, my life had revolved around him for the past year. But I had never seen him like this, up close like I did now, after all that had happened.

Even if he wasn't as famous as he was, he had the type of appearance difficult not to notice because nobody looked like that. He half-sat, half-lay against his bed post, arms, which were bond with chains attached to the walls drooped at his sides. It was all there; the gravity defying overgrown hair of ink and shadow, the etched silver lightening bolt scars; one upon his forehead, another an exact copy on his right cheek, the long, slightly freckled nose on which were balanced the infamous round framed glasses, and behind the frames those brilliant green eyes, which on photo paper never seemed to stare as penetratingly as they did now.

I tried not to stare back, but it was hard not to. He was just one of those stare-worthy people.

After a while, when I realized he wasn't going to speak, I decided to pull myself together and introduce myself, explain why I had just turned up in his cell.

"Good m-morning," I started, stepping forward. "I'm Irvine Connor. Your lawyer."

Harry made no sign to indicate that he cared. He cocked his head to the side and silently considered me.

"Weasley sent you."

This wasn't a question. His voice was low and husky, his tone unhurried.

"Yes," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

Harry crossed his chain bound arms. There were dark purple rings of bruised skin where the metal rubbed against his wrists. "Is this Weasley's idea of a joke?"

"No. He is legally obliged."

Harry looked me up and down. "Was he also legally obliged to send me a teenager as my lawyer too?"

Despite myself, I pouted. "I'm 24. I have been working for the Colman and Pierce firm for the last three years."

"Three years isn't good enough for me, Connor."

Now he was making me angry. I wanted to tell him that beggars couldn't be choosers, but instead I said, "I was the best they could find."

Harry, in a noisy shifting of chains, swung his legs of the side of the bed and stood up. He was dressed in a loose white hospital shirt and white trousers, which both rudely contradicted the blackness of his hair. He was thinner and much taller than I had expected. He walked across the dark lit room until he was a meter away, for that was as far as his bindings would allow him, and looked down on me nonchalantly. I stood still where I was, trying not to look intimidated.

"You're pure blooded."

I didn't know what this had to do with anything, and I didn't know how he knew. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

Harry didn't answer. He just sort of half smirked and sat back on the bed. "Rather touchy for a Hufflepuff, aren't you?"

This time I didn't bother to hide my surprise. "What?" I said.

"I know you," he replied, looking bored. "You were Weasley's Hufflepuff friend. You graduated in 1994."

"You seem to know a lot about me," I said, tentatively pulling up the chair by the desk and sitting down. Harry looked like he was going to say something about this, but didn't.

"I'm just observant. Besides, I'm sure you know a lot more about me."

I settled my briefcase on the desk and tried to look calm. Harry was lying back against the bedpost again, his head turned to the side, looking at me with slight curiosity.

"That is why I'm here today, Mr. Potter. I want to discuss what happened between 1996 and 1998."

Harry sighed, and turned away from me, closing his eyes and crossing his arms once more. "I should have known. Nobody wants to discuss anything else. I've been in here a year and all they've ever talked about are those two years."

His face showed no emotion, but in his voice I detected some bitterness. "Maybe so. But this should be the last time."

Harry looked back at me. "Whatever," he mumbled.

I opened my briefcase and took out the files I needed whilst watching Harry out of the corner of my eye. I wondered how many people did come to visit him and out of all those people, who were friends?

"How is Hermione?" I heard him say. I cleared my throat and watched him closely as I replied.

"She's in Rome at the moment. In good health. Been campaigning there for the last six months."

Harry didn't reply.

"She has a lot of supporters now. Mostly Muggle-borns, but still a considerable amount."

Harry was silent, obviously expecting me to say more.

"She still refuses to see you."

This was what Harry had been waiting for me to say. He raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"But I may have to call her back for the trial. As a witness."

Harry closed his eyes once more. "What's the point? She published that book with the whole god-forsaken story in it. You need not to call her back." He shifted, and the chains around his wrists clanged. "In fact, there's no need for me to tell you what happened when you already know."

"I want to hear it from your point of view," I argued, "Hermione didn't know everything." I heard Harry mutter 'That's a first,' but decided to ignore it. "She doesn't know about August the 31^st."

This got a reaction out of Harry. I couldn't see his face, because his back was turned towards me, but I saw a slight shiver run through him. He didn't speak.

"I have one other account of that night, but I still need your view."

I heard Harry sigh, and he turned back to me. "All they ever want me to do is talk. They don't understand that I don't want to talk anymore. I have nothing left to say about the whole matter. And you know, and I know, that it will make no difference. You're not going to win this case, Connor, no matter how good you are, though with three years experience, I doubt you are adequate."

Harry was right, I was touchy for a Hufflepuff, and I wasn't going to sit there and let someone five years my junior talk to me like that, no matter how notorious their reputation. "I'm trying to help you here, Harry. Everyone deserves a fair trial, no matter how criminal they are. So there's no point in being difficult, because you will have to stand trial eventually, and you're not going to get very far on the opinions of other people. Do remember that you're not winning any popularity tests here."

Harry didn't seem to have heard. "You know," he said, looking at a point between myself and the door, "I'm surprised they let you in here by yourself. They don't usually leave people alone with me. And they don't leave sharp objects in the room. They've even blunted all the edges of that chair you sit upon and that desk you lean against. I haven't even seen my face for the last year for lack of a mirror. All they left me were my glasses, which they've charmed to high heaven, and a photo album, and I never look at that." Harry raised both eyebrows this time and seemed to come back to earth. "You're not going to win this case, Connor."

I breathed deeply and counted to ten. "I'm going to try."

Harry shook his head, but seemed to drop the matter. "Fine. I'll play along with your delusions. What do you need to know?"

"Everything," I said, glad we were back on track. "I have the story from several sources, as you would know." I pulled out a number of books from my briefcase and settled them on the side on Harry's bed.

Harry picked them up and placed them on his lap. He fingered the first one whilst he looked at the cover.

"'The Diary of Ginny Weasley: 1993 - 1996'". He chuckled and read out the blurb. "'Devastating account of the life of a teenage girl living through the dark times of Voldemort's second rise, the poignant story of Ginny Weasley and how she coped with living on the edge," Who writes this stuff?" He asked me, looking amused.

"The editors," I replied, shrugging. "Ginny didn't write it herself."

"Obviously not," said Harry. "How many copies of this are going round?"

"It's a bestseller, Harry. After all, she was the creator of The Seven Deadly Sins Curse."

"Have they found a counter-curse for that yet?" Harry asked. I knew he would definitely be interested in the Curse.

"No. If they don't find the counter curse, they'll class it as an Unforgivable."

Harry made a sharp intake of breath. "They should. That curse is the most significant thing Ginny ever did in her relatively insignificant life. I consider it a stroke of genius on her part. Apart from that, she was a rather stupid girl."

I didn't reply. He placed Ginny's diary to the side and picked up the next book. "'The Cold by Hermione Granger'." He looked at the cover for a while but didn't turn it around to read the back. "Take it away," he said, handing it back to me. "It's offensive,"

As I took it from him, he picked up the next book, which wasn't as thick. "'The Second Wars'" he read, "'the scenes pictured from this book have been specially extracted from the pensive of Ronald Weasley from the years 1996 - 1998. It features The DA Front and the Battle of November Hill'". Harry opened the book to the middle page, and gave me a confused look."

"There's nothing in it," he said.

"It works a bit like Tom Riddle's old diary," I explained. "You open it to the page you want, and you will see a date in the corner. If you tap the date with your wand, the book transports you into the scene. You want to try it?"

"No," said Harry, "I've seen it all before." He handed the book back to me. "How many copies of this one is going round?"

"It's also a bestseller," I said. He wasn't pleased about this at all.

"And Hermione's?"

"Bestseller," I said. Harry groaned.

"Have you only bad news?"

I was surprised at Harry's displeasure. After all, I didn't think he cared much for what other people thought about him.

"Well, there is one more source I'll be using for this case that is in written form."

Harry looked interested. "What's that?"

I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a folder and opened it. "These are extracts taken from the Diary of Draco Malfoy."

Harry stared. Since I had his attention I continued.

"Draco's real diary is currently under heavy security in the prestigious Sapphire Cross Museum. The Malfoy Family Institution refuses for it to be published, and most people can only gaze at its cover. I had to wait eight months before I was able to get the extracts I needed."

Harry looked down into his hands, which were settled in his lap. "You needn't have bothered. I know what he wrote. I've read it."

"Really? Then that makes four people in the whole wizarding world who have had the chance. People would kill to get their hands on it. Apparently attempted break-ins in the Museum of Sapphire Cross have risen ten fold since they put his Diary on exhibition."

Harry didn't look at the folder. Maybe it offended him as much as Hermione's book had.

"I also have a letter written from you to Ronald Weasley in 1997, and several written between Draco and Lucius Malfoy, though they may not need feature much in the trial. But you still need to fill me in, Harry. We'll start with what happened from June 1996 to midnight on August the 31^st."

"I'll tell you," said Harry, sitting up straight and crossing his legs. "Do you want the sugar-coated version or the unedited account?"

"I want the truth."

"Then tell me this first." He faced me and looked me straight in the eye. "What exactly are they going to charge me with, and what is the punishment if you lose the case?"

I really didn't want to talk about that, but I had a feeling Harry wouldn't tell me if I refused to tell him.

"Harry," I began, taking a breath. "You are being accused of crimes ranging from fraud to grievous bodily harm enough of which will earn you several life sentences in Azkaban."

"Is that it?" he asked, looking surprised.

"No," I said through gritted teeth, "That isn't it. Those are the less serious ones that you needn't worry about." I took the rest of the books from him and put them on the desk before continuing. "I would worry more about the 106 charges of first degree murder, 89 charges of second degree murder and 698 accusations of the use of Unforgivable Curses."

Harry was silent. He seemed to be thinking, taking what I said in. "It doesn't matter how many life sentences they give me. I can only live through one."

I gave him an intense look. "That's not the way it's going to work, Harry. For that many charges, they won't give a life sentences. They won't kill you. They won't even give you to the Dementors. They have something better."

Harry was looking at me, and for the first time I saw something in his eyes besides resentment. It could have been fear, it could have been admiration - I didn't know, but he seemed to know exactly what I was talking about. "They wouldn't," he said hoarsely.

"They will," I replied steadily. "If they don't find a counter-curse, and trust me, they won't, then there will be one more legal administration of the Seven Deadly Sins, and it's reserved specially for you."

Harry looked considerably paler. "I'm ready to talk," he said in monosyllables.

I gave him a sad smile and turned a page in my notepad. Dipping my quill in ink, I positioned it over the fresh page and waited.

"Okay," Harry began, cracking his knuckles, "It's June 1996, midnight, and Draco Malfoy is awoken by a rude banging on the front doors of the Malfoy Manor. ..."