The First Day

little_bird

Story Summary:
The first year after the battle at Hogwarts.

Chapter 45 - Balance of Worth

Posted:
11/18/2009
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1,464


Ron nearly choked on a bit of toast when Harry joined them for breakfast. 'What's up with the togs, mate?'

Harry self-consciously smoothed the sleeves of his jacket and reached for the pot of honey, and began to drizzle it over his porridge. 'Narcissa Malfoy's trial is today,' he said. 'Thought I'd try and look like a credible witness.'

Ron studied Harry over the rim of his tea cup. 'Looks like you've dressed up in someone else's clothes,' he pronounced. 'Like you're trying to look older.'

'But I am trying to look older,' Harry protested. 'I don't want to look like I'm only eighteen.'

'You think there are members of the Wizengamot that don't know you're eighteen?' scoffed George.

'Leave him be,' Molly warned, flicking George's ear as she passed behind him with Arthur's porridge. 'He looks very smart. Wouldn't hurt either of you two to do the same occasionally.'

George snorted. 'Wear that in the shop?' he said dubiously, eyeing Harry's neatly pressed shirt and brand-new jacket. 'With the amount of goo I come home with on myself? Not bloody likely, Mum.'

'At least she didn't try and push dress robes on you,' Ron said to Harry, chuckling softly.

'And there's nothing wrong with dress robes,' Molly retorted, taking her seat at the table.

'Not if you're eighty,' Ron muttered under his breath to Harry.

Harry smiled briefly into his porridge and stirred the honey into his porridge. Ron was right. Dress robes were a bit on the stuffy side.

He wasn't really very hungry, but he knew Molly would fuss, mother that she was, if he didn't eat breakfast. He managed to choke down half of the porridge, and a piece of toast before Arthur rose from his place. Harry followed with alacrity, casually Vanishing the remains of his breakfast before grabbing his coat from the hook in the scullery, then following Arthur out of the back door. Arthur glanced at him as Harry pulled on his coat. It didn't look as if Harry had slept much the night before. The shadows under his eyes were a bit too pronounced and his shoulders slumped slightly, as they walked up the back garden to the stone wall.

Harry, for his part, was rather lost in his own thoughts. The more he had prepared for this day, the more he pitied Narcissa Malfoy. He probably knew more about her than her own son did, at this point. Her marriage had been arranged before Narcissa was of age. Harry had even seen the contract. The only way the contract could ever be broken was if either she or Lucius died. Harry had to give a sort of grudging appreciation to the wizard that wrote the contract. There wasn't a single loophole to be found in all its archaic language. It even had a provision that if Lucius was ever sentenced to life in Azkaban, Narcissa would still be bound by the terms of the contract, under the thumb of the Malfoy patriarch, whoever it may be, even if it was her own son and he was still in his minority. Harry wondered if Draco had known about that.

His stomach cramped with unease as they approached the brick wall. Harry's previous experiences with the Wizengamot weren't very pleasant. He could tell himself it was a different time, and he wasn't the one on trial, but even now several of them couldn't quite bring themselves to implicitly trust what he said during the hearings. And Harry was well aware of what rode on his ability to make the Wizengamot believe what he said about Narcissa. Arthur easily vaulted over the wall, and Harry did the same, but when he landed on the other side, he bent double, heaving.

When Arthur heard the muffled choking sounds, he stopped and turned. Harry clutched at the wall with one hand, while he tried to be quietly and neatly sick against the wall. He dug into the pocket of his robes and handed Harry a handkerchief. 'Better now than later, eh?' Harry grimaced weakly and spat repeatedly. Arthur pressed a glass of water that he'd conjured into Harry's free hand. 'We've got a few minutes,' he said easily.

Harry nodded and rinsed his mouth. 'Just nervous,' he mumbled, Vanishing the glass and continuing through the paddock to the Apparition point. 'It's all on me...'

'What is?'

'Her life... Their lives,' Harry muttered. Arthur said nothing, but gave Harry a quizzical look. 'If I can't convince them that she's guilty of nothing more than being in a bad marriage, she's going to Azkaban for the rest of her life.'

'Maybe she deserves it,' Arthur countered quickly.

Harry's brows shot up in surprise. Arthur wasn't the vindictive sort. He studied the older man for a long moment. 'Dumbledore always talked about how it's the choices we make in life,' Harry began quietly. 'Not everyone has the wherewithal to make a choice one way or another. She could have always said she didn't want to do what he said. But that didn't mean she could actually refuse to do what Lucius told her to do. At least not until the end, when she was the de facto head of the family, because he was so broken by Azkaban and Voldemort's near-rejection of him. And even then,' Harry said heatedly, 'if she chose not to conform, she would have died. And how does that help anybody? If she's lucky, she'll be the only one in that family not on probation when it's all said and done. Believe me, they'll need someone who can come and go at will, because if all three of them had to live under the terms the Wizengamot created, they might as well shut themselves up in that damned mansion of theirs and rot!'

Arthur slowly released the breath he'd been holding. 'Well, I see we haven't cocked you up completely, after all.'

'What...?'

'Devil's advocate? Is that the term?' Arthur asked.

'Yeah.'

Arthur began to trudge toward the Apparition point once more. 'I worried about you when you volunteered to testify on the Malfoys' behalf,' he admitted. 'I wasn't entirely certain what you might gain from it all. Certainly not more wealth or fame, since you rather don't need or want more,' he said with a wry tone.

Harry jammed his hands into his coat pockets. 'There's a difference between justice and punishment,' he stated. 'I just want to do what I can so they get the right one.' He gave the only father figure he had left in the world a steady look. 'Haven't they been punished enough?' he said levelly, feeling for the first time as if he were an equal. 'And after all of this is done, we can attempt to regain our private lives, but theirs...? Theirs will never be their own lives again. Not until they die.' He spun on his heel, Apparating to London, indignation making his usual quiet pop loud in the still morning.

*****

Harry dropped his bag in his cubicle and threw the coat over the back of the hard, wooden chair. A small pale violet paper aeroplane flew lazily around the cubicle. Harry caught it without looking and thumbed it open. -Courtroom Four, it said. Nine-thirty. A little of the tension in Harry's shoulders eased. Courtroom Four was one of the smaller ones. It meant less than half of the full Wizengamot would be in attendance for Narcissa's trial. Because of its size, it was also closed to the public, but there was a small gallery for reporters and a few family members and friends. Harry didn't think Narcissa would have anyone in the gallery today. Once again, he felt a distinct sense of pity for her.

Determined to be in the courtroom early, Harry hurried to the lifts and punched the button to take him down to Level Ten. Courtroom Four... Ah, yes... Second door on the left... He pushed the heavy wooden door open, and slid into one of the stone benches that lined the semi-circular room. A large wizard emerged from the shadows. 'Witnesses wait in there,' he informed Harry politely, pointing to a door set in the wall. Harry nodded to the Hit Wizard and slipped into the small room, where he would wait. Narcissa was already seated in the room. She sat ramrod straight in the hard-backed chair, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She wore Muggle clothing - a simple dress with a thin, matching cardigan, her cloak draped over the back of her chair. Her hair was wound into a sedate knot, low on the back of her head. She put Harry in mind of the teacher he'd had when he was eight.

'Is there something on my face?' Narcissa inquired politely.

'What?'

'You're staring rather intently,' she said. 'I was merely attempting to ascertain if there was some reason for it.'

Harry ducked his head at his blatant breach of manners and hastily dropped into a chair, lacing his fingers together. 'N-n-n-no,' he stammered. 'Sorry.'

'I've been trying to decide since November, when the Wizengamot informed me you would speak on my behalf, if you were either extraordinarily brave or incredibly stupid,' Narcissa said coolly.

'I suppose it depends on what you believe,' Harry said with a shrug.

'Aren't you worried about alienating your side?'

Harry's gaze flew from its perusal of his seldom-worn black Oxfords to Narcissa. 'There are no sides,' he said simply. 'Not anymore.'

Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she examined Harry. 'If that's what helps you sleep at night.'

*****

The minutes ticked by slowly.

Harry tried to resist the urge to check his watch for the hundredth time. It felt like they'd been sitting in that room for days, but it had only been less than thirty minutes. The door opened, and the Hit Wizard who had shown Harry into the room earlier stuck his head inside. 'They're ready for you,' he informed Harry and Narcissa. Harry hung back, allowing Narcissa to precede him from the room.

The Hit Wizard gestured for Harry to sit on a bench off to the side, and he guided Narcissa to the large chair in the middle of the room. Harry turned his attention to the assembled Wizengamot and counted to himself. Only a dozen of them sat in the stands in front of Narcissa. The gallery was empty, save for a few reporters. Harry didn't figure that either Draco or Lucius would be there. He had thought perhaps Andromeda might have come, but it was probably going to take years before either of them could resume something resembling a normal familial relationship, if at all.

One of the Wizengamot member rose to her feet. 'The trial of Narcissa Black Malfoy will come to order.' She turned to what was obviously a junior member of someone's staff, who was recording the proceedings. 'This trial will be led by Adrienne Towson, and recorded by Wayne Hopkins.' She sat down and folded her hands in front of her. 'Mrs. Malfoy, you have been accused of aiding and abetting Lord Voldemort and actively supporting the Death Eaters. How do you plead?'

Narcissa's head was high as she gazed at Towson. 'Guilty,' she said firmly, but quietly.

Towson nodded to the person on her left. He stood and addressed Narcissa. 'Please display your left arm, Mrs. Malfoy.' Narcissa calmly pushed back the sleeve of the cardigan and turned her arm over. The skin was smooth and unblemished. 'As you can see Mrs. Malfoy does not bear the Dark Mark,' the man said to the rest of the Wizengamot. Harry recognized him from the preliminary hearings four months ago.

'Lots of people that supported You-Know-Who didn't have the Mark,' argued another member.

'And they weren't married to one of his most ardent supporters,' someone else interjected.

Narcissa's chin lifted just a fraction higher. She gazed at the man for a moment, before speaking. 'I will admit that for most of my life, I did believe in Voldemort's notions of blood purity. It is hardly unusual for a child to maintain their parents' beliefs.'

'And you've changed your mind? Just like that?' an older woman called down from her perch behind Towson.

Narcissa's eyes dropped to a spot on the floor several feet in front of her. 'One may believe in blood purity,' she murmured. 'But it does not always stand to reason that belief translates into a regard for human life, regardless of the blood flowing through its veins.' A muscle jumped in her jaw. 'That, madam, is when my beliefs began to change.'

'But you stayed with Voldemort's supporters,' a tiny witch said pointedly.

Narcissa's eyes snapped to the witch. Her hands clenched together imperceptibly. 'Would you have taken me in, had I appeared on your doorstep, seeking shelter or sanctuary?' she asked haughtily. Her gaze swept across the Wizengamot. 'Would any of you?' She waited for several agonizing moments, as they shifted uncomfortably, several of them suddenly interested in the papers before them.

Harry's mouth went suddenly dry. Draco never told her... he thought wildly. He never told her Dumbledore offered the two of them help before he died... Harry wondered what Narcissa's reactions might be when, or if, Draco ever admitted it to her.

'My life was at stake,' Narcissa said coldly. 'Mine and my son's. While not everyone commits the ultimate sacrifice in order to save their child,' she began with a glance at Harry, 'remaining in a situation that rapidly became untenable was the only option we had.'

'So you did it because you fancy yourself a good mother?' one wizard snorted skeptically. 'What mother in her right mind would allow their underage son to join the Death Eaters?'

'You think I allowed that?' Narcissa blurted, her pale face growing pink in agitation. 'Why would I have willingly allowed Draco to participate in a ritual that would not only scar him physically, but emotionally?' She pressed her lips together in an attempt to rein in her emotions. Exhaling strongly through her nose, Narcissa's eyes closed briefly. 'Had I made any move to intervene, I would have been killed. Mostly likely by my own sister, Bellatrix,' she confessed in a low voice. 'So afterward, I did everything I could to ensure that Draco would remain safe. Or as safe as he could be.'

'So you were complicit in plotting the death of Albus Dumbledore as well?' Towson asked.

'No.' Narcissa said it with an air of finality. 'I did not aid Draco directly. I am not a Death Eater, you see, nor was I part of Voldemort's inner circle, despite the status of first my husband, then my son.' She looked at her hands, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. 'I had no knowledge that Draco was trying to repair the Vanishing Cabinet until after Dumbledore's death.' Her lips trembled. 'The most I did was beg Severus Snape to help him complete the task Voldemort set Draco.'

'And what of last year, when you opened your home to Voldemort and his followers?' demanded a burly wizard from the top row of seats.

'If you could tell me how I would be able to refuse Voldemort and still live afterward, then that's what I would have done,' Narcissa snapped coldly. 'If I had informed Voldemort my home was simply not available for his headquarters, I can wholeheartedly assure you neither of us would be in this position,' she added dryly.

'Can you tell us how Draco came to be initiated into the Death Eaters?' an older witch asked quietly.

'Because Lucius failed,' Narcissa stated. 'Lucius was supposed to steal some sort of prophecy from the Department of Mysteries.' Again, she glanced sideways at Harry before continuing. 'But he was thwarted.' The corner of her mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. 'By a group of underage witches and wizards.' A mischievous light fluttered over her face for a moment, and Harry knew she enjoyed reminding the Ministry that six underage students had done more in that opening fight against Voldemort than they had. Just as quickly, however, the cool, aloof mask slipped back into place. 'I do not believe - not for a second - Draco's initiation, as you call it, was anything but a punishment. For all three of us.'

'What was the ritual You-Know-Who employed in the initiation?' asked a witch on Towson's right side.

Narcissa closed her eyes. She didn't remember much of what had been said, and admitted as much. Bellatrix's face loomed in her memory, sneering at Draco's reluctance to take the Mark. Narcissa could not recall what Bellatrix had said to Draco, but she could see his pale face slowly grow paler, until the only color that remained was in the shadows that ringed his eyes.

Bellatrix had grasped Draco's arm above the elbow in a vicious pinch Narcissa remembered from her childhood. It didn't take much pressure to render the victim blind and deaf to anything except the pain radiating from that one area. Bellatrix had propelled Draco into the large, airy room that had once been a ballroom in happier days. Bellatrix released Draco's elbow, only to capture his left wrist in her claw-like hand. She used her wand to slice his shirt open, and the flutter of the white sleeve glimmered in the darkened room. Narcissa could smell blood. It came from a deep cut that welled and oozed blood on Draco's wiry bicep. The blood trailed down the side of his arm in a rivulet that dripped to the parquet floor beneath. Narcissa could see the involuntary tears of pain that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. Bellatrix held Draco's left arm out rigidly, her other hand wandering over Draco. Every muscle of his body was clenched in dismay and fear. Bellatrix was whispering something to Draco. Something that she seemed to derive great pleasure from saying. Then Voldemort loomed over them, his skeletal wand held lightly in his abnormally long fingers. The wand lightly caressed over Draco's smooth, fair skin. Mercifully, Draco refrained from shuddering in distaste, but Narcissa could see the wave of gooseflesh erupt over her son's skin. Voldemort brought his wand up with a flourish, the tip glowing with a sickly green light and brought it down against her son's flesh.

It burned. Narcissa could smell the singed hair and skin. She stared at Draco, willing him not to cry out. Draco stiffened, and the tears he'd manfully struggled to hold back spilled over the sharp planes of his cheeks.

Fortunately for Draco, his facial expression remained stoically blank.

Bellatrix laughed cruelly. She didn't know any other way to laugh...

As soon as the last of the tattoo had been drawn, Voldemort held his wand hovering over Draco. It plunged down without warning, the tip pressing into Draco's already-abused skin. Draco's arm jerked in Bellatrix's grasp, every vestige of color in his face gone. The Dark Mark turned jet-black. Seemingly satisfied, Voldemort turned and swept from the room, Bellatrix half a step behind him.

Draco stared at his arm in disbelief, his breathing harsh in the suddenly silent room. His wide grey eyes bore into hers. 'Help me...' he mouthed.

Narcissa shook herself slightly, startled at the cool wetness on her cheeks. Someone pressed a folded square of soft cotton into her hand and she looked up to see Harry giving the Wizengamot a snort of disgust. 'Could we take a few minutes?' he demanded. 'And allow Mrs. Malfoy to collect herself? Like the compassionate human beings we're supposed to be?'

Towson glared at Harry, her mouth a 'O' of indignation. 'Very well,' she huffed. 'We'll take a ten-minute recess.' She glanced at Narcissa. 'Someone will escort you to the ladies' toilets at the end of the corridor.'

Narcissa nodded and stumbled blindly to the door, following the burly Hit Wizard the few feet to the door marked 'Ladies'. She slipped inside and leaned against the door with a sigh. 'I hate this,' she murmured.

*****

Harry sat in the large chair, hoping his face didn't betray how nervous he was. 'Mr. Potter,' Towson began. 'Why did you decide to speak on Mrs. Malfoy's behalf? It seems to be a bit unusual, given the animosity between yourself and her family.'

Harry looked at the witch impassively. 'If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have been able to defeat Riddle,' he said flatly.

'But didn't she correctly identify Hermione Granger when the three of you were captured by Fenrir Greyback in April?' demanded one of the wizards.

'She did,' Harry admitted. 'I never maintained she was totally blameless,' he added contemptuously. 'But with her sister in her house, I don't think she fancied she had a choice.'

'People always have choices,' spat a witch. Harry remembered her from his own hearing before his fifth year. She had sided with Fudge to convict him of underage magic.

'Choice is an illusion,' Harry countered. 'There are times when we think we have one, but in reality, we really don't.' He rested his hands on his knees. 'Well, we do, but the consequences of choosing one way as opposed to the other are such that we really don't have a choice,' he argued.

'And you really believe that?' the witch scoffed.

Harry let a sardonic smile spread over his face. 'Ever since I found out who I was when I was eleven, I've never had a choice.'

'Someone else could have defeated You-Know-Who,' a wizard interjected.

'No,' Harry corrected quickly. 'It had to be me. I could have turned away, but I knew that if I did, everything I'd come to love about my life here would be gone.' He sat back in the chair; his head cocked to the side as he unflinchingly met the wizard's gaze. 'So, no. I didn't have a choice, did I?'

And middle-aged witch stood in the middle of the rows of Wizengamot members. 'Why do you say she made it possible for you to defeat Voldemort?'

Harry hesitated slightly. 'I went into the forest to meet Riddle, like he wanted,' he said in a low voice. 'He sent a Killing curse at me.' Harry shrugged. 'Obviously, it didn't work.'

'Why didn't it?' another wizard asked curiously.

Harry stared levelly at the wizard. -Pretend it's Snape... You lied to him loads of times, and I'll bet my broom he's not a Legilimens, either... 'I don't know,' he said, with the slight air of arrogance that had graced some of his more contentious dealings with the late Hogwarts professor. 'He wasn't using his own wand, and anyone who knows basic wand lore knows if you're not a wand's master, it doesn't work as well for you,' he said off-handedly.

'But a Killing curse?' the wizard said skeptically.

'I honestly couldn't tell you,' Harry demurred. 'But all I know is that I lost consciousness. The next thing I knew, Mrs. Malfoy was bending over me, on Riddle's orders, to see if I was alive or not.' Harry's eyes slowly raked over the assembled Wizengamot. 'She lied. She said I was dead, so Riddle could attempt to invade the castle, and she could go in as part of the invading army. She lied so she could find her son in the castle. In the melee that followed, she never once tried to hex, jinx, or curse anyone.'

'That's hardly altruistic,' murmured a younger witch.

'Who cares?' Harry hissed, anger rising. 'Who bloody cares about why she did it? The fact remains if she hadn't lied to protect me; none of us would be here.' His mouth snapped shut and his jaw clenched painfully.

Towson glanced at the other members of the Wizengamot. She gathered them together in a small huddle, then swept her wand in a wide arc over them. The soft buzzing sound of their whispers was abruptly cut off. Harry could see them frantically talking to each other, arms waving as they gesticulated wildly to make their point. Narcissa stared at them, her face drawn and wan in the flickering torchlight. She glanced at Harry sitting in the chair next to her. 'Do you still not care if they think you're mad?' she asked idly, as if she had done nothing more than inquired about the weather.

'I don't,' Harry told her. 'It's my conscience I'd have to live with, and that lot doesn't follow me home or make it difficult for me to sleep,' he added. 'Azkaban destroys people,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I couldn't let them do to you what they did to Sirius.' He swallowed past the lump in his throat. 'I have a feeling that what they might do to you anyway will be just as bad...' The words died as Towson's wand flicked, lifting the charm.

Towson remained standing while the others resumed their seats behind her. 'Narcissa Black Malfoy. The assembled members of the Wizengamot find you guilty for aiding and abetting Voldemort during the war. But your actions did have a rather self-preservational bent to them,' she added grudgingly. 'As you were not directly involved in any of the direct attacks on Muggles, Muggle-borns, or the Ministry, we cannot sentence you to a lengthy sentence in Azkaban. And seeing as how you have cooperated with this investigation, we have decided to forgo a sentence in Azkaban at all.' Narcissa's shoulders slumped slightly. 'However, you shall serve a sentence of no less than one year of confinement to your house and the grounds of a distance no more than twenty yards from the perimeter of the house itself. All visitors must undergo a background check by the Aurors before they are allowed to enter the house. You will be under constant surveillance for the duration of your sentence. Do you understand?'

Narcissa's chin lifted. 'I do.'

'You are also fined a sum of three thousand Galleons, to be donated to a fund for the support of the children left orphaned by this war.'

'I understand,' Narcissa murmured.

'Very well,' Towson said. 'This hearing is adjourned.' The Wizengamot filed out of the courtroom.

Narcissa rose gracefully to her feet, inclining her head at the stocky Hit Wizard who approached them. 'I suppose you are assigned to escort me home?'

'Yes, ma'am. I am.'

Narcissa turned to Harry. She seemed to want to say something, but instead, she just gave Harry a short nod and followed the Hit Wizard out of the room.