The First Day

Harry idly picked at the edge of a ragged fingernail, letting his thoughts drift. Shacklebolt was droning on, listing the charges levied against Lucius Malfoy. Courtroom Ten was packed to the rafters with reporters and spectators. He closed his burning eyes, badly wanting to press his cold fingertips to them, but highly aware anything he did would be picked apart and analyzed by not only the Wizengamot, but the press as well. Harry was tired. He was tired of rehashing the events of the previous year. Tired of feeling as if he needed to justify his decision to speak in defense of the Malfoys, although he understood why people might want to question his mental fitness. He was tired of everything he said getting filleted and diced until nothing resembling sense remained.

'Mr. Potter?' a youngish witch in the back of the Wizengamot called.

'Yes?' Harry replied warily. Starting with me today, eh? His eyes narrowed slightly. That's fine. Don't let them trip you up... They're just Bludgers... Bludgers in plum velvet robes.

'Assuming we hand down a sentence to Lucius Malfoy similar to the one we gave to his son, how would you address critics who believe your testimony was skewed in favor of Draco Malfoy and caused a known and acknowledged Death Eater to not only avoid Azkaban, but receive a much lighter sentence than he ought?' She sat back, staring at him expectantly.

Harry returned her gaze, his mind spinning. What would Hermione say...? he thought. Then a whisper of a long-ago conversation brushed through his mind. It's logic, he heard Hermione trill in his head. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic... Harry laced his fingers together. That's it... Use logic. He cleared his throat. 'Honestly, if I was ordered to stay inside for a year, I might not mind so much,' he said, with a hint of self-deprecation. 'Maybe it's not so bad now, but what happens in five years? Or twenty? When he's watched constantly and every move he makes is reported to the Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement? And practically has to ask permission to walk out the front door of his house? What happens when he wants to take his child to King's Cross for the train to Hogwarts? And has to account for everything he does, or practically says. He's not allowed to come and go as he pleases...' Harry speared the young witch with what he hoped as a look that was even a fraction as severe as one McGonagall would have given her. Sirius wasn't in Azkaban in the end, he mused. Was just as much imprisoned then as he was before... 'Azkaban is just walls. What you've given Draco Malfoy is a prison of tiny daily humiliations that are only going to get worse the older he gets. You've infantilized him,' he said scornfully. 'And someone like him,' he added, gesturing toward Lucius with his chin, 'losing his status and privilege, and possibly his right to carry a wand. You might as well as sentence him to live the rest of his life as a Muggle. If you do all of that, he'll be no better, legally, than the creatures he's helped suppress for years.' Harry shrugged and squarely met the witch's eyes. 'Humiliation.'

She seemed taken aback. 'I... I see...'

'I'm sure you do,' Harry muttered. Actually, I'm sure you don't.

'And on that note,' Shacklebolt rumbled. 'Mr. Malfoy, what happened to your wand?'

'The Dark Lord took it,' Lucius drawled. 'And Potter somehow destroyed it.'

'Did you manage to acquire another one?' asked a wizard.

'No. The Dark Lord did not see fit to grant me another wand after mine was ruined. I've spent over a year unable to use magic, practically as useless as a Muggle because of it.' His upper lip curled in acute distaste.

'So you did absolutely nothing from the end of July nineteen ninety-seven until the end of the war?' asked an elderly witch skeptically.

'Aside from allowing my house to serve as a staging ground for the Dark Lord's machinations, no.'

'Why did you allow that?' a younger wizard asked.

'Unless I fancied myself in the mood to die, I had little choice in the matter,' Lucius admitted. 'One did not give the Dark Lord a negative reply to any of his...' He paused significantly. 'Requests. Not if you wanted to live to see the next sunrise.'

'Didn't Voldemort choose your house specifically because it has its own dungeon?' A stout middle-aged wizard called from his seat in the back.

'It was certainly a consideration,' Lucius said. 'And the Dark Lord enjoyed the comforts of my home, as well.' He cut a look at Harry, and added contemptuously, 'One would hardly expect him to stay in a hovel or in a house that had been defiled with Muggle-borns or blood-traitors,' he spat. 'My family has been of pure wizarding stock from the very beginning.'

'Did you know Voldemort intended to keep prisoners in your dungeons?' a witch asked.

'I did,' Lucius said.

'But why keep...' She consulted a file in her hand. 'Simon Ollivander and Luna Lovegood prisoner in the mansion? Why not just kill them, or put them in Azkaban like the others?'

'Because they served a purpose. He needed someone with knowledge of wand lore, so Ollivander lived, despite his inability to answer the Dark Lord's questions. And the Lovegood girl was merely a tool. Her father seemed to know things about Potter or his whereabouts according to that... that magazine... he published. If we held her, he might be more willing to speak. He proved to be useless and was thrown into Azkaban.'

'Did you intend for your son to join the Death Eaters?' a wizard asked.

Lucius blinked. It was one of the few times Harry had ever seen him flummoxed in any way.

'Mr. Malfoy? Did you intend for your son Draco to join the Death Eaters?' he repeated.

'No...' Lucius whispered. He looked surprised at his own answer. 'I didn't want him to join so young,' he explained. 'After he'd finished school, of course, but not when he wasn't of age. He was forced, and it was a punishment for my failings.' He looked uncomfortable at the level of candor he offered the Wizengamot.

'Did you participate in the final battle?' Shacklebolt asked.

'I had no wand,' Lucius snorted. 'I didn't even bother to try and take one from one of the dead.'

'It's true,' Harry said suddenly. 'He tried to persuade Voldemort to call off the attack. Ostensibly it was to keep anyone other than Voldemort from killing me, but really, it was to ensure Draco was still alive and could get out of the castle alive.'

Lucius gave Harry another contemptuous glance from the corner of his eye that Harry ignored.

'Mr. Malfoy what happened to all those Dark objects you hid in your dungeons?' an elderly wizard wheezed.

'I'd like to remind the Wizengamot,' Shacklebolt interjected, 'that Mr. Malfoy is not on trial for anything that might have occurred before July of nineteen ninety-seven. That was done during his last trial after the battle at the Ministry in June nineteen ninety-six. By our own laws, we cannot try him for the exact same crime twice. After all, we've seen what can occur when we do not abide by our own laws,' he said dryly.

'I'd like a bit of clarification...' a young witch asked. 'Mr. Potter... Mr. Malfoy attempted to turn you over to Voldemort when you were captured last April, did he not?'

'He did.' Harry straightened the cuffs of his jacket. 'There was quite the argument over it. Who got the honor of summoning Voldemort to the mansion, whether or not Ron, Hermione, and I were in fact, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.' Harry smirked. 'Between Lucius and Bellatrix Lestrange, the two of them behaved like spoilt children with a toy they both wanted.'

'And he did that because...?'

'Well, think about it logically,' Harry sniffed. 'He cocked up fetching the prophecy about Voldemort and me from the Ministry,' he began, holding up one finger. 'Draco couldn't manage to kill Dumbledore properly.' He added a second finger. 'His wand failed to produce the desired result against me, although that's not really his fault, but I doubt Voldemort would have seen it that way.' A third finger joined the first two. 'I think at that point, with the balance of the war on their side, he was looking for a way to get back into Voldemort's good graces.' Harry let an insolent smile curve his mouth. 'Can't say I'd like to be treated like a spaniel myself, going back to someone who kicks you all the time.' He shrugged carelessly. 'But if that's how you prefer to gain your sense of self-worth...'

'It didn't bother you?' the witch pressed, bemused.

Harry laughed in derision. 'Of course it did, at the time. I'd hardly call it one of the highlights of that year,' he scoffed. He leaned back in the chair, lacing his hands together. 'I'm not doing this because I get a great deal of enjoyment in the matter. Bloody hell, the man was humiliated and scorned at every opportunity by the... thing... he served. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. And since that does happen to be Lucius Malfoy...'

'Does anyone else have anything to ask, or do you think we've sufficiently gauged Mr. Malfoy's actions of the previous year?' Shacklebolt interjected, hiding a smile behind his hand. When no objections were forthcoming, he waved his wand in an expansive circle, silencing their conversation from the rest of Courtroom Ten.

'Why people insist on underestimating you, boy, I'll never know,' Lucius muttered from the corner of his mouth. 'You do well enough at having the last word on your own.'

Harry nodded once in acknowledgement.

The Wizengamot reached a decision regarding Lucius much more quickly than they had with Draco. In almost no time at all, Shacklebolt's wand removed the charm around them and he turned to face Lucius. 'Lucius Malfoy. You are an admitted Death Eater; however, you were unable to participate in the events of the previous year. That being said, while we cannot try you again for your prior crimes, we have taken your unfinished sentence in Azkaban under consideration.' Lucius paled slightly. 'You are sentenced to house arrest for no more than one year from today. You will be confined to the Malfoy mansion and a distance of no more than twenty yards from the perimeter of the house. You will also pay a sum of twenty thousand Galleons to the fund to aid and support children left orphaned by the war. Your house will be searched at random intervals for Dark or illegally enchanted objects. Any and all visitors to your house must undergo a background check by the Aurors. You are also sentenced to probation for the remainder of your life. You will be under surveillance by the Aurors for the rest of your life. Twice a year, you must submit to interviews about your whereabouts and activities. You will submit to Legilimency during your interviews to determine the veracity of your statements. You are not allowed a wand.' Lucius' mouth dropped open in shock. Shacklebolt blithely continued. 'You may not travel outside the environs of England, Ireland, Wales, or Scotland, unless you have permission from Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister of Magic from both the British Minister, as well as the Minister of the country to which you intend to travel. Travel within Britain and Ireland is possible, but only after first informing the Aurors where you intend to travel.' Shacklebolt inhaled slowly. 'Do you understand these terms?'

'I do,' Lucius said stiffly.

'Very well, then.' Shacklebolt gestured to the Hit Wizards standing on either side of the door in the wall. 'Mr. Malfoy, any breach of the terms of your probation will result in a sentence in Azkaban, the length of which shall be determined by the severity of your noncompliance.'

Harry thought if hatred could burn any hotter in Lucius' eyes, Shacklebolt might very well have suffered from severe burns. Lucius made as if to speak, but clamped his mouth shut, and turned on his heel, striding back through the door, head held high, ignoring the Hit Wizards trailing after him. When the door slammed shut behind them, Harry slumped in relief. One battle done, he thought, and one more to go...

While April first was fast approaching, he had yet to inform Molly and Arthur of his imminent departure.

*****

Harry heard the sounds of Celestina Warbeck drift from the sitting room. He looked at Teddy splashing in the bathtub, merrily getting everything wet, including his godfather. 'What do you think? It's after dinner... they're relaxing with the program on the wireless... Nothing untoward has happened in a while... Might not be a bad time to drop it on them that I'm moving out.'

Ron peered into the bathroom. 'Why don't you just go tell them? It's easy. "I'm moving out into my own flat in two weeks." See?'

Harry glanced at Ron over the rims of his glasses. 'Have you told them you want to move in with Hermione?'

'Erm...' Ron flushed. 'Not yet. But I've got a bit of time, don't I?'

'Hmmm-hmmm.' Harry lifted Teddy from the bath and began to dry him vigorously, making the toddler giggle. 'Sounds like you're procrastinating.'

'No... No... I'm just waiting for Hermione to finish school.'

Harry snorted, deftly pinning a clean nappy around Teddy. 'Right. Of course you are. And you're not scared of your mum's reaction at all, are you?'

'Of course not,' Ron scoffed.

'Then go tell her you're moving out this summer,' Harry challenged, pulling Teddy's pajamas on and pressing the poppers closed.

'You first,' Ron shot back. 'You're moving out sooner!'

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek and held out Teddy. 'Fine. Keep an eye on Teddy. He's too young to witness such carnage.'

'Too right,' Ron laughed, accepting the baby. 'Get on with it. The worst Mum will do is shout.' He ran a hand over Teddy's damp hair. 'Might send sparks at you... Light hex or two... Better put up a Shield charm, just in case, eh?'

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and clomped down the stairs. 'Bloody ridiculous. Defeated the Darkest wizard of all time, and I'm afraid to tell Molly I've found my own place,' he muttered.

He peered around the sitting room door. Molly and Arthur occupied the sofa, the sounds of Celestina Warbeck coming from the wireless next to it. 'Could I have a quick word?' he asked, feeling bashful about interrupting what had obviously been a rather private moment.

Molly flushed and smoothed her disordered hair. 'Certainly.'

Arthur straightened his askew glasses. 'Go on.'

'I was... I thought...' Harry took a deep breath and fiddled with his wand. 'I can't... I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me. Letting me live here the past year and putting up with everything - the reporters, seeing me through the injuries, taking on Teddy with me... But I... I, erm...' He took a deep breath. 'I've found this flat,' he said weakly.

'And you've let it?' Arthur guessed.

'Yeah,' Harry said, relieved he didn't have to say it aloud.

'Nonsense!' Molly pronounced. 'You're too young.'

'He's over age,' Arthur reminded her. 'Where is it?'

'In London.'

'Absolutely not,' Molly snapped. 'It's too dangerous there.'

'When are you planning to move?' Arthur asked.

'Two weeks,' Harry said faintly.

'TWO WEEKS?' Molly blurted, rising to her feet. A ball of maroon wool fell from her lap and unraveled as it rolled across the room.

Harry winced. He hated to bring any sort of distress to Molly. 'I've never had a place that's all my own,' he began. 'And I can't live here forever.'

'I realize that,' Molly said flatly. 'How long have you been planning this?'

Harry took a small step back. 'I just found it Monday,' he said quietly. 'It wasn't really an impulsive sort of decision, Molly,' he added. 'I've been thinking about doing something like this for a few months now.'

Molly pressed her lips together in a tight line, clearly unhappy.

'How did you find it, Harry?' Arthur asked into the tense silence.

'I was sent home early Monday, and was wandering around London to clear my head, and saw a sign for it, and had a look. Landlord's a wizard and he says I won't be bothered. It's in a Muggle neighborhood...'

Arthur's face lit up. 'Really? Does it have electricity?'

'Yeah...'

'Can I come see it sometime? The electricity?'

'Yeah... Sure.'

'Can I make toast?' Arthur asked eagerly. 'With one of those toastit-whatsits?'

'A toaster,' Harry supplied. 'And you can make all the toast you want.'

'Could we get back to the subject?' Molly said, glowering.

'Molly, I need to do this,' Harry said firmly. 'I've spent my entire life living somewhere else as what amounts to a houseguest. I've never had anywhere to live that's just mine. It's always been because of someone else's generosity or obligation. And in London, especially in Soho, I won't have to feel like I have to hide just to get a bit of peace and quiet. I need this,' he repeated. A wail floated from the floor above and Harry turned and made his way back to Ron, who was in the rocking chair in Bill's room, attempting to soothe Teddy.

'How'd it go?' he asked.

'She only shouted once, and no hexes,' Harry said thoughtfully. 'Thought she took it fairly well.'

'Did Mum use complete sentences?'

'Yeah.'

'Blimey.'

'You can say that again...' Harry jabbed his wand at the lamp next to the bed, and the light dimmed. Teddy was starting to droop in Ron's arms. 'I ought to send an owl to Neville and see if he can't help me move into the flat. And one to Gin. She can get word to Luna, Hermione, and Dean. And Seamus.'

'You ought to get another owl,' Ron observed, carefully settling Teddy in the cot.

'I know,' Harry sighed. 'I can't do it just yet...'

*****

Giving up on sleep, Molly slid out of the bed she'd shared with Arthur for most of her life and pulled the worn dressing gown over her nightdress, pushing her feet into a pair of woolly slippers against the chill. With a sigh, she glanced at the small alarm clock ticking softly on the small night table on her side of the bed and grimaced. It was three in the morning and she was no closer to slumber than she had been when she'd climbed into bed five hours earlier.

She opened the door and tiptoed gracefully down the stairs, snickering to herself when they didn't creak or squeal. When she and Arthur had charmed them, they'd set it so the stairs recognized them and remained silent. When she came to the landing at the first floor, she opened a small cupboard across from Bill's old room and pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown, wordlessly lighting the tip of it. She trained the narrow beam of light into the cupboard and searched its recesses until she found a carton and tugged it out, carrying it down to the kitchen. She tapped the teapot with her wand, then added tea leaves to the steaming water. While the tea steeped, she lifted the lid from the carton and began to sift through the small pile of photographs inside. Some were ones she or Arthur had taken, others were ones the boys had done.

She spread a handful out on the table and smiled. The Gryffindor team photograph taken during Harry's first year. He was dwarfed by the other players -even the girls - and the Quidditch robes nearly overwhelmed his small frame. There was one from the Christmas of Ginny's first year, with all of them wearing their new jumpers in front of the fire of the common room, Ron scowling in displeasure because his was maroon. Harry and Ron's fourth year at the Yule Ball, and only Harry's firm grip on Ron's elbow kept him in the photograph. She had to admit, the dress robes she had managed to find for Ron were on the frilly side, but at the time, it was what they could afford. Christmas the next year at Grimmauld Place. Her misty smile dimmed a little. She could still smell the damp, musty fug that seemed to have seeped into the walls there. Harry posing with Ron and Ginny as Gryffindor's Quidditch captain his sixth year. His seventeenth birthday party, before Scrimgeour ruined the muted festivities. The entire family at Ginny's seventeenth birthday the previous August.

Her hand hovered over a few photographs before she scooped up one of the smaller ones. She tapped it with her wand, duplicating it, then Summoned a frame, carefully inserting the photograph into it. Molly found a scrap of wrapping paper in a drawer and carefully wrapped the framed photograph.

Harry stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, his glasses dangling from his fingers. He pushed them on his nose and started a little when Molly swam into focus. 'Thirsty...' he mumbled, heading for the cupboard and taking out a glass and filling it with water.

'I know you're not mine and I can't tell you what to do,' Molly said tightly. 'I know that. To me, you're still that slightly lost and very confused eleven year-old boy at King's Cross asking how to get to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. I sometimes forget you're not as young as I think you are. Something Sirius and Remus attempted to persuade me of on more than one occasion. Apparently, it was unsuccessful,' she said, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation. 'I know you need to do this. It must be awfully difficult to try and be what everyone wants you to be, when you still feel like you have to ask permission to go out at night. And you're right. You can't live here forever.' She toyed with the package a moment, the soft crackling sounds of the paper loud in the quiet kitchen. 'I know I don't have to tell you you're always welcome here, regardless of what happens with Ginny.'

'I know,' Harry said softly.

'It's a difficult thing for a mother to let her babies grow up,' Molly mused. 'But a good mother also knows when she has to take a step back and let it happen. You're already so grown up in so many ways, Harry, but I need to let you finish growing up. And I do trust your judgment, that you're ready for this.'

'I'm just going to London,' Harry said. 'Only a Floo connection away.' He noticed the steaming teapot and poured himself a cup. 'I'll make a deal with you,' he said, adding milk to the tea. 'I'll come for lunch every Sunday if I'm not out on a case.'

'Or any other time you want,' Molly added.

'Deal.' Harry sipped his tea, the cup cradled between his hands. 'And I'm perfectly capable of doing my own laundry,' he said pointedly. 'Been doing it since I was old enough to measure the washing powder into the washing machine. Just so you know I don't expect you to continue doing it for me.'

'But if you need...'

'I know,' Harry said simply. He grinned crookedly. 'I've got a hand in the clock.'

'Well then...' Molly thrust the package into Harry's hands. 'For your flat...' She darted up the stairs back to her bedroom, leaving Harry standing in the kitchen, staring in bewilderment at the package. He pried the paper open and the frame slid out into his hand.

It was a photograph of him and Ron before their second year when Harry had come to stay with them for the remainder of the summer. They were wandering around the paddock, talking about Merlin-knew-what, their heads close together - one bright, one dark - in the warm summer sunshine, oblivious to the camera.

Harry traced the edge of the frame, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes. Pictures were worth thousands of words, even if the words weren't about the actual picture. Had Molly not said a word, and just given him the photograph, he would have known she approved of his plans. Not that he needed her approval, but to have his surrogate mother's blessing on the endeavor was the finishing touch Harry needed to take his first steps into the world.