Covered in Crimson

Present Day

When the young witch and wizard stepped onto the snow-covered porch, Hermione was not quite ready to leave. She turned to Tonks, who had replaced the magical bonds she'd removed from Draco earlier, and asked, "Where are you taking him?"

Tonks placed her hand on Draco's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "We're going to the Ministry for now. He'll be detained in a holding cell there until a trial date is established. Lucius and Narcissa are waiting for us there."

"When do you think his trial will be?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Dumbledore has promised to expedite the process as much as he can. I'm guessing it will be no more than a week or ten days."

"I want you to notify me when that happens," she insisted.

"I will, I promise," Tonks vowed. "Dad will take you back to Hogwarts for now, but everyone has been gathering at St. Mungo's to check on Harry and a few others. You should also think about getting a once-over from a Healer. I'm a pretty good field medic, but I'm not as good as someone on staff at the hospital," she recommended.

Hermione nodded but said nothing. She turned to face Draco for a final time. "Good luck, Draco. I wish you well."

The young man was quiet, and his sobbing had ceased. "Thank you, Hermione. I wish you well, too. I'm so sorry." His voice broke once more on his final declaration, and with an echoing crack, he and Tonks were gone.

Hermione stared for a moment at the space where they'd stood, then shook herself into awareness. "Let's go, Ted." She placed her hand on his arm and they disappeared, leaving the cottage empty and deserted.

The scene at the Ministry was barely controlled chaos. Tonks presented a guard with her Auror credentials and she and Draco were allowed passage to the secured holding cells adjacent to the Auror Headquarters on Level Two.

Fear and apprehension were evident on Draco's face as he saw the other prisoners in their temporary chambers. He knew some of these men, and they were some hard-boiled characters. He felt Tonks' hand on his shoulder and heard her whisper into his ear.

"Don't worry, Draco. It'll be alright."

She escorted him to the very last cell in the row and opened the door, indicating with a nod of her head that he needed to enter. She saw and heard the gulp that he swallowed as he crossed the magical threshold, triggering the barrier that would prevent his exit. "Have a seat and relax for a minute. I'll bring your mum and dad by in just a bit," she told him, giving him a supportive smile.

Draco turned to survey the sparsely furnished room. There wasn't much to see. A long, low bench covered by a thick mat that he deduced was supposed to be a bed hung from the wall to his right. In the left corner was a commode, and a small porcelain sink was affixed to the adjacent wall. He sat on the bench and stared at the floor. How did my life get to this point? Draco wondered. How will I survive this? Do I deserve to survive this? How will I ever know what I've really done? Will that not knowing slowly drive me insane? Much like had happened several times at the cottage, question after question swirled through his brain and Draco couldn't help but think that many of them would never have an answer. He'd never felt so isolated and alone.

He couldn't have said how long he sat in the cell, contemplating his fate, before his cousin appeared again at the door. He rose to greet her. That was when he saw his parents over her shoulder, his mother's eyes filled with tears and his father looking drawn and tired. His knees gave way and he fell to the floor, thoroughly overcome with emotion.

Draco felt his father's strong arms grasp his own and lift him from the cold stone surface. He was instantly enfolded in an embrace by both of his parents. He heard his mother's voice in his ear telling him that everything would be alright, that he shouldn't worry. He was still coming to terms with the fact that the woman he'd thought dead for two years was actually standing here with her arms around him. To hear about it was one thing, to experience it was another. He felt a kiss dropped on the top of his head and a large hand rubbing circles on his back, providing a moment of comfort in his anguish. It had been so long since he'd had affection from his father that it felt like he'd stepped into a time vortex. In an instant, he was seven years old again.

"Draco, mon chou, look at me," Narcissa finally commanded.

He tried to focus on her face but it was difficult through his veil of tears. "Mère, is it really you? I thought you were dead. Are you really here?"

"Yes, sweetheart, I am really here. We'll have time later to talk about all of that. We just want to make sure you're alright."

"No, Mère, I'm not alright. I'm not sure I'll ever be alright again," he confessed through his anguished weeping.

The sight of his son in such pain was choking Lucius Malfoy. If he could, he'd kill the witch who did this to him all over again. He set his jaw to keep his emotions in check. His wife and son didn't need him falling apart now. He would do what he could to be their strength.

Narcissa enfolded her son once more into an embrace and gently nudged him to sit beside her on the bench. Lucius took his place on Draco's other side and reached behind his son for his wife's hand. She looked over his head at her husband, sharing her sadness at Draco's distress. She kept whispering words of comfort, speaking to him in French as she'd done when he was a baby. "Je promets, tout sera bien."

"Draco, we do have a few things we need to discuss and I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?" Lucius spoke up, not wanting to squander the limited time they'd have together this morning. There would be time later for comfort. Practical matters had to be handled at the moment.

"Oui, Père, Je comprends,"

"Très bien, mon fils," Lucius praised, placing a warm hand on Draco's shoulder. "You have probably heard some surprising news from Nymphadora, and we wanted to be sure you understood exactly what's happened and what will happen over the next few days."

"Oui, Père. Dites-moi."

Lucius was a little concerned at Draco's reversion to French. It had been his first language as a child, but they rarely spoke it at home any longer. It was an indication of how truly, deeply troubled the young man was. He decided to refrain from speaking in French himself, and thus to subtly encourage Draco to answer him in English. He needed the young man in the here and now.

"You've obviously seen that your mother is alive and well. We will explain the reasons for deceiving you about that later, but what you need to know is that it was ultimately done for your protection. Your cousin has also told you that your mother and I have pledged our true allegiance in the last three years to the Light side. The reasons for this are complex, and we will share them with you once all this unpleasant business is concluded."

Hearing his father's unruffled, rational voice seemed to calm Draco a little and his tears slowed. He swiped against his wet cheeks with his sleeve and his mother wordlessly produced a handkerchief from her pocket. He didn't seem to mind the lace trim. He nodded his thanks and returned his attention to his father.

"You understand that the Ministry has no choice but to bring charges against you for the actions that you took?" At Draco's short nod he continued. "We have a powerful defense for you, Son, and for that reason you shouldn't worry about the outcome. It's not likely that you will be sentenced to a term in Azkaban and you most certainly won't be kissed."

"But, Père, how can there be any defense? I did do all the things they're accusing," he confessed.

"The law views it differently, Draco. You cannot be held culpable for crimes committed while under the influence of Imperio and compulsion spells. That doesn't mean that there might not be some price to pay, but it's almost certain that Azkaban will not be your fate."

Draco shivered at the thought. His brain comprehended his father's words, but his heart felt so guilty. He felt the need for penance; he couldn't reconcile the idea that he should be completely absolved of his sins.

"You must understand that we've gathered conclusive proof of what, who, and how you were drugged and manipulated. Professor Dumblebore has been involved in our search for answers since the very beginning, and he has kept meticulous records of everything that's been done and every discovery made. The evidence is incontrovertible. He will testify on your behalf when you come to trial, and he's used his position on the Wizengamot to ensure that your wait for a court date will be minimal. We're hopeful that it will be before the end of the week."

"After everything I did at Hogwarts and to subvert his goals, he's willing to speak for me?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"More than willing. He's eager to do it," Narcissa offered.

"But why?"

"Because he can't bear to see another young life destroyed by Voldemort and his twisted agenda," Lucius stated.

"And because he sees the value in you, Draco. You were such a bright and promising student before that… witch dug her claws into you. We've been working with him for three years, Draco, and he's hopeful that the change of heart we've had will also help you to find a new path in life. You were effectively stolen from us at the age of fifteen and we share a large part of the blame in not realizing what was happening. But we can take you back into our hearts and our home, and help you to build the life that you should have had. Now we need you to believe that you deserve it," his mother pleaded.

Draco was silent for a few moments, mulling over what his parents had told him. He was astounded at what he'd learned. His father's defection from the Dark Lord was as unexpected as discovering that his late mother had been faking her death. He'd always thought that Lucius Malfoy was firmly in Voldemort's camp. He had to acknowledge that his father was, without doubt, a consummate actor, if all of this was true. He needed to understand.

"Why, Father? I need to know. Why did you turn away from the Dark Lord?"

Lucius glanced at his wife, looking for moral support in having this difficult conversation. He found it in the squeeze of their joined hands behind Draco's back and the barest nod of her head. "There were many reasons, Draco, but the most important among them was for you and your mother. She helped me to see the folly, hypocrisy, and futility of what the Dark Lord was trying to achieve. The world is changing and what he wanted was to take us backwards in ways that were completely unsustainable and impractical. Once I understood and embraced that part of the argument, it didn't take long for me to also see the evil in it, particularly in his methods and tactics. While I admit that I've not hesitated to bloody my hands in the past, I couldn't let that happen to either of you, not when his goals were unachievable. There was no logic or true purpose in it, and above all, I am a practical man. It's been three years since I vowed to help to bring Voldemort down and I've never regretted that decision."

"But you stood beside me at raids and revels, Father, and you never said a thing. I don't understand," Draco argued, unable to reconcile his flash memories with what his father was telling him now.

"That's true. And to maintain my cover, I needed to do some things that I came to find distasteful. You may not recall it because of the memory spells you were under, but there were many times that I was merely an observer. Your mother's feigned illness was also part of our plan; it allowed me some flexibility when it appeared that she required my care and tending."

The young man was quiet again as he absorbed what he'd been told by his father. This was making his head spin.

"Please, Father, I need to know something else," he begged, eyes making direct contact with their exact copy mere centimeters away. "What happened that last day at the Manor?"

Lucius felt his throat constrict. He'd hoped to avoid talking about what they'd witnessed and the aftermath of Voldemort's arrival until Draco's fate was settled. He decided to try to stall that conversation. "There will be time to talk about that later, Son," he hedged.

Draco, however, would not be deterred. "No, Father, this is important to me. Please."

Hearing his son's desperation, Lucius relented. "This will not be easy to hear, Draco. It was not a good day for anyone," he warned.

"Father, very little that I've heard today had been easy to take. What's a little more?" he reasoned.

Lucius released his wife's hand with another squeeze and stood from his seat on the bench beside his boy. He began to pace the small cell, considering how much editing he should do. Draco deserved to know the truth, but he wondered whether he was emotionally and mentally stable enough to handle it. His son seemed so incredibly fragile. Lucius couldn't recall having felt so protective of him since he was a babe in arms. He resolved to be honest but vague where possible. He would only elaborate if pushed.

"That day was actually the culmination of a series of events that began about a week earlier. As you already know, your mother had been working for many months on perfecting the antidote for the potions you'd been consuming. She had finally proved with multiple tests that the work she'd done had been successful, and that there were not likely to be any adverse reactions to the antidote itself. The last thing that needed to be done was to infuse the new potion into the same kind of chocolate truffles that you'd been eating. We were able to secure some assistance there from Florean Fortescue, who delivered five dozen exact reproductions of the confections within twenty-four hours. Your mother then infused the sweets with the antidote and had Albus contact me so that we could put the next phase of the plan in motion.

"We had to get her back to the Manor so that she could monitor how you were reacting to the new mixture. Depending on the progress she saw, she would make some adjustments to the dosages and so forth. Everything was going reasonably well for the first two or three days, then you went out on a raid and captured a handful of Dumbledore's people, including Miss Granger. You probably don't know that she and your mother had met a few times, and your mother had developed a fondness for the young woman. You, however, seemed to have a special level of animosity towards her. We believe that your extreme reaction to the girl was being directed by your … by Bella. You personally interrogated her several times and showed extraordinary frustration and violence when she was either unwilling or unable to answer your questions. Your mother and your aunt Andy kept sneaking in and putting healing potions in the prisoners' food to minimize any long-term damage, because you eventually started taking out your anger on all of them. We now believe that the tainted potions and spells were actually warring with the antidote for dominance. That was causing you to be even more … enthusiastic in your attacks than you typically had been.

"She also kept feeding you the antidote, but we weren't seeing any evidence of it having an effect. Your mother was beginning to worry that she had failed and that additional harm might be done to the people you had recently captured. We went to Albus and reworked the calculations one more time. We discovered that it was not likely to see an actual change until the last of six full doses was administered, and that would not happen until the next day. To complicate matters, we knew that the final offensive was about to be launched and time was not on our side.

"That final morning, your mother made sure that truffles were included with your coffee and croissants. You ate them but they do take time to get into the bloodstream and you decided that it was the perfect time to have one more go at Miss Granger to try to force information out of her.

"You had a burst of extreme fury and she bore the brunt of it. When you sealed the two of you into that cell, your mother and I worked for nearly thirty minutes before we could break through. Unfortunately, it was too late to prevent much of the damage from happening and we were… distressed to discover her condition when we opened the door. We'd received word only fifteen minutes earlier that the Dark Lord would be arriving to question her himself. He was also not pleased with your lack of results and we feared that neither of you would live to see nightfall. So, we hastily grabbed the cloak you'd discarded and made a Portkey. We threw the cloth over the two of you, sending you to the Tonks' cottage barely two minutes before Voldemort arrived in search of you. We told him that you had Apparated away with your 'prisoner' and that you were investigating some intelligence that you had developed from questioning her. It was the only thing that saved us all in that moment."

Draco had listened without comment while his father recounted the sequence of events that preceded his arrival with Hermione at the cottage. His hands had started to tremble as he realized a number of truths. Hermione had been targeted by Bella through him. He'd been used as a tool, over and over again. His mother was fond of Hermione and he had repeatedly hurt the young witch, certainly causing his mother additional distress because of that. Oh, Merlin, he thought. His mother knew exactly what he had done to Hermione, had certainly heard his attack through the door, and may have even seen the final stages of it. He started to shake and take great, gulping breaths. In seconds, he had worked himself into hyperventilating and his frantic parents, relieved of their wands for security purposes, stared at him and each other, not knowing what to do.

"Nymphadora!" Lucius called. "We need your help!"

She appeared at the door in seconds and peered into the room to see her young cousin in great distress. Fortunately, it was not the first time she'd seen such a reaction and she quickly cast a spell that slowed Draco's breathing and increased his oxygen flow. It didn't take more than a moment for his labored breathing to return to normal.

The young man, however, was still in a horrible state. He'd begun to weep again, and tried with minimal success to say something to his mother. On his third attempt, he made himself understood. "Mère, I want to die knowing that you saw what I did to her."

Narcissa was shocked. She didn't know how to react to such a dramatic and startling pronouncement. She did the only thing she could think of as his mother: she hugged him and told him she loved him. As her rational brain processed what he'd said, she realized she needed to respond more specifically, lest he think she didn't reject the idea. She placed her hands on his face and forced him to look at her. "Draco, listen to me and listen carefully. It may have been your body that attacked Hermione, but it was not your soul. You are not responsible. I'm sure that Hermione recognizes that, too. I'll not hear another word of you taking the blame for something that was caused by the insanity of your aunt and her husband."

Draco heard her words, but he was struggling mightily with the concept. He now knew for certain what he had feared to be true: his mother had been an eyewitness to his brutal rape of Hermione Granger. He closed his eyes, refusing to meet his mother's gaze.

"Draco, Hermione is alright now, isn't she?" Narcissa asked the question to which she already knew the answer.

He shrugged in response.

"Your cousin told me she'd been healed and was feeling fine. Is that not true?" she pressed.

"No, it's true," he murmured.

"And I'm sure that you and Hermione had lots of time to talk while you were at the cottage, correct?"

He shrugged again.

"Hermione is a very smart woman, you know. I'm quite certain she helped you figure out what was happening. Didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"What was her conclusion about your behavior? What did she say to you about it?"

"She said it wasn't my fault," he conceded without conviction.

"What else?"

"She told me that she forgave me, Mother." He stood abruptly and wrenched away from her embrace.

She and Lucius watched as he took over the activity of cell-pacing from his father.

"But don't you see? That makes it worse! How can I forgive myself for doing something so horrible to such a good woman? And that you witnessed it is just too much for me to bear. I don't deserve her forgiveness, yet she gave it to me anyway. How can I accept that? How can I live with that?" Draco begged for an answer that didn't exist.

"Draco, all of us have been victimized by the things that my sister and her husband did. Hermione was just the latest target. Your father and I have lost two years where I chose to live in shadows to find a way to stop the horrible harm that was done to you. That was my decision and I did it with my eyes wide open. But you have to understand that you were the most harmed of us all. That woman stole your life from you for five long years. You were victimized by her, but don't live the rest of your life as her victim. You must decide to put the past behind you, where it belongs, and live as the man you choose to be. That is your best revenge against Bella, and the best tribute you could pay to your father, to me, and to Hermione."

Lucius watched his wife as she spoke to their son. He thought she'd never sounded so passionate, so genuine, nor looked as beautiful as she did in that moment when she was fighting for Draco's soul. He barely heard the whispered words that their son spoke in reply.

"That's was she said, too."

"Who, love?"

"Gra… Hermione. She told me that I had to forgive myself and live my life as the good man I was meant to be. How do I know, though?"

"How do you know what, Draco?"

"That I was meant to be a good man. I don't know how to be a good man."

It was his father who chose to answer. "The fact that you have the ability to ask the question and that you are feeling such great pain at having caused pain to others is what proves it, Son. If you can follow your heart down that path, you will be well on your way. Our faith in you, and Hermione's forgiveness, will not be misplaced."

Draco shook his head slowly, but there was no way for his parents to interpret what that meant. The young man was still too stunned, too shell-shocked to have any idea what potential he could find in himself. Inside him were a broken heart and a damaged soul that had a long way to go before they could begin to heal.

Among the numerous terrifying thoughts that were flowing through Draco's brain was the possibility that his warped aunt was not yet done with him. No one had yet mentioned her fate in the final battle and the thought that she might be out there somewhere, intent on reclaiming him for her own twisted purposes, was paralyzing. If his parents, two of the most capable magical people he knew, had not been able to protect him from her before, what chance did he stand alone? He was no novice, but he had not even finished his schooling. He was, by comparison, an untrained, untested wizard. So much of his war experience had been driven by anger and guided by Bella's manipulation that he didn't really know the limits of his own skill. He had no idea what he'd be up against when he had to face her again.

He'd been silent for a few moments and it was clear that there was something specific on his mind. His mother decided to probe.

"Draco, we know that you've had to absorb a lot today, but please let us help you. What's troubling you, dear?"

"What's not troubling me, mother, would get you the significantly shorter answer," he observed. He paused for a moment before continuing. "What will I do if Aunt Bella comes after me? I'm sure she won't be happy that I'm no longer under her control, and as much as I'd like to rip the perverted bitch to shreds, I doubt I'm capable of taking her on right now."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged glances, and she nodded to him. He put his arm around his son's shoulders and steered him to the bench, sitting beside him. "You will not need to worry about that, Draco, because Bella and Rodolphus did not survive."

While Draco breathed a great sigh of relief, his parents had a silent debate with their eyes over how much – if anything - to tell their son about the ignominious demise of his aunt and her husband. If he had no curiosity, they'd keep the circumstances to themselves. They'd follow his lead.

"How? What happened?" he wondered.

The disappointment on Narcissa's face that they'd have to discuss this was clear. She tried to deflect his questions. "Does it really matter, dear? They're gone and they can never hurt us again."

"Your mother is right, Draco. How they died is immaterial. Just know that we are both one hundred percent certain that they are gone. They lacked the skill to make Horcruxes, so they will not be resurrected. I saw to the disposal of their bodies personally and there was absolutely nothing left of them to reconstruct. Their time on this earth is forever finished."

Draco seemed satisfied with his father's reassurances and he let it drop. As long as his father was sure that the thoroughly wicked woman would never again have the opportunity to harm anyone, he would be satisfied.

"Fine. I'm glad to hear it," he said. No one would begrudge the man this small bit of unkindness.

"Draco, we can't stay much longer. Your cousin has already pulled more strings than I can count to allow us to see you. What else do you need?"

"Have you secured a solicitor to defend me?" Draco wondered, practical thought regaining a hold.

"Of course, and with Albus' testimony and that of a few additional witnesses, we feel quite confident in a favorable outcome."

"Yes, Father. Will I see you again before my trial?"

"I'm quite sure. I will be speaking with Albus as soon as we leave here, and I'll return no later than tomorrow morning with as much information as I can. I'm hoping that he will have news by then about the date of your trial."

"Thank you, Father."

"You must be exhausted, dear. Why don't you stretch out and get a little rest? Nymphadora has told us that they will be keeping you here, and that she will look out for you during your stay. You should be perfectly safe."

"Yes, Mother. I am quite tired. Maybe a little rest will help me clear my head."

"Good. We'll see you in the morning, dear. I love you," Narcissa said as she reached out to hug him.

"I love you, too, Mother," Draco mumbled into her shoulder.

Lucius did not speak, couldn't if truth were told, but wrapped his arms around his wife and son and pressed his lips against the younger man's forehead. After a moment he turned toward the door and called for his wife's niece, who opened the magical barrier for them to pass. They crossed the threshold without looking back; it would have been impossible to leave otherwise.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucius and Narcissa had returned to Malfoy Manor with heavy hearts and turbulent thoughts. It had been incredibly difficult to leave their son behind, even knowing he was under the care and protection of his cousin. Their hope had been to bring him home with them but they'd been unable to convince Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Acting Chief Auror, that Draco was not a flight risk regardless of Albus Dumbledore's entreaties on his behalf. In retrospect, they had to acknowledge that they would have likely made the same decision were they in Kingsley's position. It didn't change their disappointment, however.

The Lord of the Manor wandered the sunlit atrium in search of his wife. This was always where she took refuge when she was troubled and he felt certain that this day would be no different. He found her sitting in a cushioned white wicker rocking chair, nestled under a trellis of climbing vines that had been crossbred with pink tea roses. The fragrance was heady. He swallowed thickly as he remembered that this was the very chair in which she had nursed Draco and rocked him to sleep when he was a newborn. The summer he'd been born was warm but wet and she often sought shelter from June and July showers in this very spot with their tiny son. It had been more than twenty years ago but he could see it as though it had happened just this morning: the boy's tiny pink mouth latched on to his mother's breast, wisps of white blond hair rustled by the light magical breezes that kept the enclosure comfortable no matter what the weather conditions outside. He wished for a moment that he could return to those days and make different choices; their lives might be much less complex today.

Even a Time-Turner, however, could not help him undo all the horrors that had been wrought in Voldemort's name and he recognized the folly of wishing. They would have no choice but to move forward from here. None of them had clean hands after this conflict, but he recognized that they had all been fighting for survival. There had been one more stain, one that he and his wife shared, but this was one action about which he would never feel guilt or remorse. The victims would likely be listed as casualties of the war, but he and Narcissa knew better. He'd do his best to ensure that it remained that way.

"Ma coeur, are you alright?" he inquired as she finally noticed his presence.

"Oui, cher. I'm as alright as I'll be until Draco's fate is decided," she acknowledged with a sad smile.

"Fretting over that is not helping anyone, my dear. We have done everything possible to help him. Albus has vial upon vial of memories and all of his notes and records of the research you both conducted. That alone should be more than enough to ensure that he's not found guilty," he reminded her.

"I know, but I'm his mother and it's in my nature to worry."

"And I'm his father. I worry no less, I just hide it better," he revealed, pulling up another chair to sit beside her.

"I received an owl earlier from Miss Granger," Narcissa noted.

"You don't say," Lucius exclaimed with surprise.

"Yes. I must admit that I was a bit taken aback by it myself," she allowed.

"What did she write?" he asked, his curiosity burning.

"It was quite a lengthy note. Would you like to read it?" she offered, producing the scroll from her pocket.

Lucius reached for the parchment and donned the reading glasses that he now always carried. He noted the neat, swirling script and slight upward angle of each line of prose.

Dear Lady Malfoy,

I know we don't know each other well, but since we have met on a few occasions I felt it appropriate to correspond with you as we all recover from a most trying ordeal. I'm told by Professor Dumbledore that you were here at Hogwarts for months on end under heavy disguises. I wish I had known; I would have liked to get to know you better. Maybe someday we'll have that opportunity. He tells me that you and I are somewhat alike in our "dogged determination" as he termed it.

I am writing primarily because I wanted you to know firsthand that I do not fault your son for what happened in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor, nor do I place any blame on you or your husband. I recognize that Draco was in no way in control of his own actions during my unfortunate stay at your home.

My memory of the attack on me is a bit spotty, but I know from your niece Nymphadora's account that you and Lord Malfoy were actively trying to assist me when Draco and I were sealed in the cell. I also know that you heard and saw at least part of that sad event. Please, Lady Malfoy, do not let Draco wallow in self-recriminations over that. I know he was highly distressed at the thought that you might have seen his "crime." In my view, the crime was not his at all, but can be laid squarely at the feet of the Lestranges. Nymphadora has also informed me that they did not survive. I know that Mrs. Lestrange was your sister, but I cannot say that I am sad to hear of her demise. I imagine you have mixed feelings.

I have also learned in the last few hours of the extreme risks and sacrifices both you and your husband took to help ensure a victory of Light over Dark, and I am personally enormously grateful for the help I received from Lord Malfoy in identifying and destroying certain artifacts that were critical to defeating Voldemort once and for all. Our success was only assured because of that assistance. I know that I would have faced many months of additional work, and many more lives would have likely been lost if it had not been for your husband's timely and precise aid.

Please do let Draco know that I am healed and feeling fine. He need not worry. I have forgiven him, though my forgiveness was not really necessary because he should have no guilt for actions that he could not control. I want you to know directly from me that within minutes of his own awakening in that cold, lonely cottage, his first thoughts and actions were to tend to my needs. He fought against powerful negative influences and excruciating pain of his own to ensure that I was clean, warm, and even fed. He could have left me to die and he chose to stay for me. I told him and I will tell you, for that I will be eternally grateful.

I also told Draco that I thought he could be a good man, even with the horrible influences that shaped his behavior over the last several years. I firmly do believe that. So, I am offering now to testify on his behalf when he comes to trial. I will tell the truth about what happened, and that truth includes his great remorse and genuine efforts to ensure that I survived despite daunting odds.

Thank you, Lady Malfoy, for reading my correspondence and please extend my thanks to Lord Malfoy for his invaluable assistance. I wish you and your family well.

Respectfully,

Hermione J. Granger

Lucius rolled the parchment and handed it back to his wife while pocketing his reading glasses. He seemed to be absorbing the import and impact of what he'd read.

"What an extraordinary young woman she is, Narcissa. I understand how you grew fond of her, even with your limited time together," Lucius observed.

"Yes. When you think about it, it's rather a shame, isn't it?"

"What, dearest? I don't understand."

"Under different circumstances, she would have made a wonderful match for our Draco, don't you think?"

"Indeed, she might have been."

"I expect that Draco will not be thinking of taking a bride for some time anyway, with everything considered. He'll need a few years to come into his own before he can think about starting a family."

"Quite so, dear, quite so," Lucius said, confirming her opinion. "You know, dear, Miss Granger was also probably right on another account that you and I have not really discussed."

"What's that, cher?"

"Your mixed feelings about your sister's demise."

"I have no mixed feelings on that in the least," she snapped, not eager to revisit the topic of her sister's betrayal.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. With everything that she did to our family, she was no real sister of mine. I'll feel no guilt and no sadness over what we did, with the possible exception that I wish we had done it sooner."

Lucius looked at his wife with wide eyes and a raised brow. It was uncanny how much she looked like her dead sister when she was angry; he'd certainly not tell her that, though. "Of course, dear."

"Have you given any thought to what we will tell Draco when he asks more questions about what happened to them?"

Lucius sighed. "I've thought of little else for the last couple of hours. He's always been insatiably curious and I fear the only reason he didn't press further today was that there were so many bigger issues with which to contend. It will not surprise me when he raises the subject again."

"What will we tell him, then?"

"As I see it, there are three choices. We can tell him exactly what we did – every last gory detail; he might find it gratifying on some level. We can give him an edited version of the truth. Or we can lie through our teeth and tell him they were killed by Dumbledore's Army in the final battle."

"Well, the one problem with the latter is that no one would be able to corroborate that story. They never made it that far, Lucius, and you'd not find a single witness to say that they were there."

"There is that," he assented. "So we need to tell him at least an edited version of the truth. Why wouldn't we tell him everything?"

She didn't know quite how to answer that. Did she want her son to know how utterly and completely they had destroyed the Lestranges? Would his respect for them be damaged by what they'd done? They'd been merciless and brutal, but certainly no more so than their victims had ever been. She reached a conclusion. "He's seen and experienced enough violence in his short life. I think he should not have to add any more drama and hate."

"So how do we deal with it?" Lucius pressed.

"Short of obliviating ourselves? We remove our memories and lock them away somewhere that they'll never be found, and we tell him a greatly edited account. This is our issue, not his. He only needs to know that they can never hurt him again."

"Fine. I guess we're agreed then. Let's get it over with." Lucius extended his hand and Narcissa accepted it gratefully. She wasn't sure she could walk unaided at the moment. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they walked slowly together through the peaceful atrium to confront their joint memories of the day they'd together killed two killers.

Lucius' study was dark and cool in the late afternoon. He'd not spent much time there today and the fireplace had gone cold. He waved his wand to light the hearth along with several wall sconces. He guided Narcissa to the leather arm chair directly opposite his own on the other side of his large wooden desk. He turned to the locked armoire behind him and produced a tiny skeleton key from his waistcoat pocket. He breathed deeply and inserted the key into the lock, turning it clockwise and swinging the doors open. The large stone Pensieve on the bottom shelf was heavy and ungainly, and he directed his wand at it to maneuver it magically out of its resting place. He brought it to a stop when it reached the desk, allowing it to settle with the faintest thump onto the oak surface.

Narcissa leaned forward with wand in hand and brought the thin piece of wood to her temple. She closed her eyes and withdrew the threads that represented her entire recollection of the events that ended Bella's and Rodolphus' lives.

Lucius watched as the tendrils swirled in the liquid suspension. He lifted his own wand and repeated his wife's action. By silent and mutual agreement, they joined hands and dipped their heads into the churning mist.

The Dark Lord had left about an hour before and the tension level in Malfoy Manor had not abated one single iota. It was abundantly clear that big things were beginning to happen and had already happened. Narcissa was frantic over the fate of Draco and Miss Granger. The Portkey she and Lucius had created had activated barely one hundred seconds before Voldemort swept into the dungeons, a cadre of minions in tow. He had initially been enraged that the Granger girl had been removed from the premises. Only Lucius' quick thinking had saved himself and the "servant girls" – his wife and sister-in-law, Andy – from an immediate Avada or Crucio. The Dark Lord had departed after spending only a short quarter hour in their presence; it appeared he had other things that required his attention. To their own detriment, not all of his entourage left with him.

When this opportunity presented itself, Lucius seized it; the likelihood of another such happenstance was slim, particularly with what he knew was coming in the form of a culminating offensive from Dumbledore's forces. The silent, wandless compulsion he placed upon his sister-in-law and her husband to stay behind was but the first poetic echo he would issue.

The two were disarmed and separated from one another, then placed into cells on opposite sides of the dark, stone corridor. Silencing spells had ensured that their shocked, furious hollering went unheard. Lucius freed the remaining imprisoned Light fighters and turned them over to his wife and her other sister for healing and a quick meal. They would be fit and eager for battle in moments; that they'd been released by Lord Malfoy told them that there was something more to the story and they departed Malfoy Manor without causing any ruckus or damage. Once they'd gone, Lucius reset the property's wards to ensure they'd have no other unexpected or unwanted company. Not even the Dark Lord himself could gain access to the refortified country manse.

The Malfoys hadn't really planned this, not to any great degree. Narcissa knew that her passionate, righteous anger would guide her hand and her magic. She felt reasonably certain, however, that her eldest sister would not still breathe when they were done with her. Another casualty of war, but the battlefield was decidedly smaller. Her son had been stolen from her and he would likely continue to pay some price for the remainder of his life; no one would expect him to emerge from the lengthy ordeal unaffected and unscathed. Narcissa stood outside the door to the cell where her maniacal sister was captive. She squared her shoulders and gathered her strength around her like a cloak. She opened the door, a binding spell already falling from her lips, and watched as Bella was magically attached to the limestone wall, now no threat to her. She lifted the silencing spell that Lucius had cast earlier, allowing her sister to speak.

When Narcissa lifted the glamours and disguises moments later, her sister just stared, not certain that she believed what she was seeing.

"Your eyes do not deceive you, Bella. I am very much alive," she answered the unvoiced question. "I have been waiting for two long years for this day."

"I don't understand," Bella replied flatly.

"Don't you? It would seem terribly plain to me. I've been playing my own part in the fight, Bella, but my goal has been opposite yours. It's time to reclaim my life, my son, my world from the insanity that you and your zealots have spread. And it all starts with you, I'm afraid."

"You are a blood traitor? You dare reject the greatest wizard who has ever lived? You dare reject what Mama and Papa taught us?" Bella challenged her youngest sister.

"I do. Everything you've been taught to believe is warped, twisted, and unsustainable. If your path were followed, there would be no Wizarding world left in just fifty years. Tens of thousands of years of history and heritage gone, for the ego and shortsightedness of one fool. The fool you follow," she argued. "And the fool for whom you nearly destroyed my family. Why, Bella? Why did you do it?" Narcissa asked, her voice eerily calm and quiet.

"Why did I do what, sister?" Bella taunted in her little-girl voice, a hysterical giggle escaping her throat.

"Don't play dumb, Bella, it doesn't suit you," she observed.

"I've done many things and I have many reasons, sister," the dark-haired witch hedged.

"Each one more heinous than the next, no doubt. How did you lose your humanity, your soul?" the youngest Black sister wondered.

"It was stolen from me twenty years ago, in a prison in the middle of the sea!" the elder one screeched.

"No, it wasn't, Bella. Your soul was long gone before you were sent to Azkaban," Narcissa insisted. "The minute you sold out to that megalomaniac hypocrite, your soul was forfeit. He was wrong about the world then and he's still wrong today. Your precious Dark Lord will fall to defeat at the hands of a wizard one-quarter his age and with ten times the heart."

"NOOOOO!" she screamed. "My Lord will rule over all of you and he will erase blood traitors like you from our world," she seethed, pinning her sister with a glazed stare.

"I have faith that the outcome will favor the Light, and Lucius and I will do what we must to provide even the smallest advantage," she foreshadowed.

"Will you kill me, sister? Is your precious Dumbledore that important that you would destroy your own flesh and blood?"

"It's no less than what you've done, Bellatrix. You stole my son and tried to turn him into the same kind of twisted beast that you are. Why did you do that to him? Why did you do that to me?" she asked through tears that had begun to fall.

"I claimed Draco for the Dark Lord," she asserted.

"No, Bella, that was only a small part of it. You took him from us and made him do things, made him want things that no healthy, sane young man should want. He's my son, Bella, and he was not yours to claim, for the Dark Lord or for any other purpose. Why did you take him from me?"

"You selfish BITCH," she screamed. "You were always the precious one, the pretty one, the one who got everything she wanted. Well, I have news for you, Cissy, you got want I wanted too. I wanted Lucius, but you wheedled your way into his heart with your flaxen hair and delicate face. I wanted a baby to give to the cause, but YOU were the lucky one. I wanted a beautiful home and money to burn. But, no, you had all those things, and I had nothing. I took Draco from you because he was available to take. I gave him to the Dark Lord because he wanted him for the fight. You were selfish and you wouldn't give him to us. So we took him."

Narcissa was speechless. Bella had been jealous of her? That's why she did it? That was… crazy. She hadn't been known for her grip on reality, not for more than two decades, but this? Narcissa shook her head to refocus her thoughts and reframe her anger. If she had been the only target of her sister's instability, she might have been able to find some pity for her, but the older witch had harmed her family. She would not allow that to go unpunished. Her stunned musing was interrupted by the entrance of her husband into Bella's cell. Narcissa noted a speck or two of blood on his formerly crisp white shirt.

"And here is the other traitor, come to join us," Bella crowed in her childish sing-song.

"You won't need to worry about that much longer, I promise," Lucius stated in his familiar patrician drawl. "You'll be… joining your husband shortly. In hell."

"What have you done to my husband?" Bella asked, her voice low and dangerous. It might have caused them concern had she not been so thoroughly bound and incapacitated.

"I repaid him for the kindnesses he's shown to my family over the last five years." His manner had rarely seemed so cool, so composed. It was chilling.

When his wife asked a silent question with the lift of her brow, Lucius moved closer to the bound woman, his proximity as threatening as his demeanor. "I gutted him like the animal he was and watched him watch himself bleed to death. Then I set his corpse on fire and let him burn to ashes." He opened his clenched hand and let a tiny pile of gray particles fall from his palm to the floor. "Say goodbye to your husband, Bella."

"NOOOOO!" Bella screamed.

Narcissa showed no reaction to her own husband's pronouncement.

"Do you know that he pleaded for his life? He begged me to heal him. Offered me his entire fortune, even. If it were more than I earn in any given week, I'd have considered it. Maybe," he taunted. "Then again, no amount of money could repay what you and he have done to my family. He had the nerve to offer to intercede on my behalf with the Dark Lord. How utterly laughable that one was, don't you think, Narcissa? In more than three years, that simpleton still hasn't figured out that his defeat will have been funded and facilitated in large part by me. Quite amusing, I daresay."

Narcissa, who had simply nodded in response to her husband's rhetorical question, watched the icy, livid man stalk the fly in their spider web.

"Now it's your turn, Bella. You will pay for the transgressions you and your late husband committed against us. Shall you share the same demise as your Rodolphus, or shall we let the punishment fit the crime? After all, you were the blood relative who betrayed us so horribly."

Bella's screeching and yelling had been ceaseless and Lucius had tired of it. He cast a Silencio with the flick of his wand and advanced once more upon the hapless shrew.

"I know where we'll start," he announced. "So that you'll never again have the ability to lie, your tongue will go first." He cast a dark spell that Narcissa had never before heard. The result, however, was unmistakable. The witch's tongue shriveled and turned black in her mouth. Her eyes went wide with fear and shock.

"So that you'll never again wield a wand, you will forfeit your hands," he told her, casting a slicing hex that removed both appendages at the wrist. "Bleeding a bit, are we?" Lucius observed, as though the amputations were no more than nasty parchment cuts. He cast a spell that burned and cauterized the flowing wounds.

Narcissa stood by and watched, silent as she observed the destruction of her eldest sister.

"To ensure that you'll not walk the path of destruction again, it is necessary to remove your feet," he stated, using a spell that neatly removed her legs just below the knee. This blood he allowed to flow.

"Since you've clearly got no use for it, I think I'll cut out your heart," Lucius whispered, wielding the final spell that cut her chest from shoulder to hip. He used his wand one more time to cast Evanseco, and her heart vanished from her ribcage. She was dead.

Narcissa reached for her husband's hand. She was resolute as she raised her own wand to set the fragments of her sister's remains afire, creating a makeshift funeral pyre in the room. As the stench of burning flesh invaded her senses, she vanished the rest of it and marched out of the room, her husband's hand still firmly in her grasp.

The couple emerged from the Pensieve still holding hands in the present much as they had in the memory they'd just viewed. It only struck Narcissa now that Lucius had cast no Unforgiveable curses. He'd been ruthless and brutal, but he had refrained from doing what the Dark Lord would have expected in that situation. It struck her in that moment that she wasn't quite sure which approach was more wicked. She'd feel no guilt, however, nor place any on Lucius' shoulders; the woman had received no less than she'd dished out and no more than she deserved.

Lucius retrieved the parallel memories from the stone vessel and sealed each of them in a separate crystal vial. These he placed inside a small locking compartment inside the armoire, which he then hid with multiple layers of masking and concealment charms. He returned the Pensieve to the shelf in a reverse of the process he'd used to remove it and locked the cabinet once more, pocketing the skeleton key. He turned back to his wife and extended his hand. They left the study, resolved never to revisit those events again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Four days after Draco and Hermione were retrieved from the Tonks' family cottage, Lucius and his wife visited his temporary home in the Auror holding cells for the fifth time. On this occasion, they had important news to share. Albus Dumbledore had been true to his promise and had secured a trial date for their son.

Their meetings throughout the week had been brief and less emotional than their original reunion, but had still been filled with anxiety and fear. The young man had had enormous difficulty in reconciling his heart-felt guilt and remorse with his likely limited legal culpability. He was torn. Part of him wanted nothing more than to throw himself on the mercy of the court and pay a commensurate price with the brutality, breadth, and number of his crimes. The part of him that could still recall only a tiny fraction of those events rebelled against allowing his young life to be further wasted by a prison sentence for misdeeds he couldn't name or count.

Whatever he was feeling, Draco would be standing trial on the next day. He was nervous and quiet, and said little to reassure his parents that he'd be able to actively participate in his own defense.

Narcissa decided that it was better to keep Draco in the dark about some of the developments with regard to his defense witnesses. It was no use causing the boy more distress than he was already feeling. It wouldn't do to have him catatonic when called to testify. She and her husband were hopeful about the outcome, but the trial was not their only concern. Draco's mental health and stability were also at stake. They had no doubt that whatever the trial's result, Draco would likely need the help of Mind Healers for many years to come. When they took their leave of him that afternoon, with a promise to see him before he was brought before the Wizengamot in the morning, he'd become morose and silent once again.

None of the Malfoys slept particularly well on the night before the trial. Draco's dreams were haunted by unknown voices, screaming their pain and anguish. Narcissa had nightmares about her boy lost in a mist the thickness of London fog. Lucius tossed without rest, worried for both his son and his wife, should Draco's fate be less assured than he hoped.

The Ministry was crawling with reporters, witnesses, family members, and Wizengamot officials on the morning of the first Death Eater trials. It was testament to Albus Dumbledore's position of high regard that he'd been able to ensure that Draco's trial was assigned to the initial docket. There were three other trials to be heard within the next session, but Draco's was the highest profile. His father's previously secret long-term defection and aid to the Light side, meticulously documented and recorded by the former Hogwarts Headmaster, had caused a buzz unlike anything seen in the Wizarding world for generations. His wife's return to the land of the living after her self-imposed faux death sentence was a near second. Add the three circumstances together and they rivaled a media circus worthy of the Queen dancing naked in Trafalgar Square.

Draco's solicitor had visited for the third time early that morning, reviewing the order of presentation and ensuring that he knew exactly how Draco would answer the likely set of questions from the Prosecutor. Barrister Marcus Phillips was a little over fifty years old and sported closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a matching mustache. His eyes seemed to shift between green and blue, depending on the robes he was wearing. The little bit of extra padding around his middle was testament to his love of French food and wine, with a particular nod to flaky pastries. He seemed jovial and lighthearted, but the man had a mind like a steel trap along with a sharp wit that ensured the targets of his barbs rarely understood that they'd been brutally insulted while he smiled at them.

Accompanied by Nymphadora Tonks, Barrister Phillips led his client, who'd been dressed in unassuming standard black robes, into the courtroom on Level Ten and escorted him to the Defendant's Box, one man bound at the wrists and the other laden with dozens of scrolls of evidence. As they settled into their positions, the bailiff was called to remove young Mr. Malfoy's restraints and the members of the Wizengamot filed in.

The gallery was filled with spectators. Most were curiosity-seekers, but there were those who felt they had a vested interest in the outcome of one or more of the trials being heard today. Some were relatives of victims, a handful of others had been wronged themselves. The remainder were close relatives of the accused, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy among them. Seated next to her sister, lending moral and emotional support, was Andromeda Tonks. To her right was her husband, Ted, who had retrieved the day's first defendant from his temporary forest refuge. Their daughter was on duty in her role as an Auror, and in an unexpected development, was told that she could be called to testify against her cousin, regardless of her vehement protests against the possibility. Witnesses were sequestered elsewhere until their testimony was complete, at which time they could join the gallery.

The prosecutor stood as the presiding official called the court to order, indicating his readiness to present evidence in the case of Ministry of Magic v. Draco Malfoy, suspected Death Eater. His opening statement catalogued a long and horrifying list of the felonious acts of which Draco had been accused. Use of Cruciatus, an Unforgiveable Curse – seventy-four counts. Use of Imperio, an Unforgiveable Curse – fifty-nine counts. Use of Avada Kedavra, an Unforgiveable Curse – twenty-eight counts. Murder by spell – twenty-two counts. Forcible Rape – thirty-eight counts. Physical Assault – one hundred seventeen counts.

Draco listened to the charges being read and realized that he recalled details of less than one percent of the crimes with which he'd been charged. It was overwhelming to consider that he had, in all likelihood, actually committed each of these atrocities. He swallowed a gulp as he felt his throat constrict with fear.

Barrister Phillips, seeing the obvious misery of his young client, squeezed the man's shoulder lightly, hoping to offer some comfort and confidence. When he saw tiny beads of sweat forming on Draco's upper lip and forehead, he understood without offense that it couldn't possibly be enough.

The prosecutor, a wizard named Paulus Danburt, was of advanced age with snow-white hair and incredibly bushy eyebrows. He surprisingly called only three witnesses, one of whom was Auror Tonks, who was only asked to testify about the circumstances of Draco's "capture" at the cottage in the woods. Under cross-examination, she made it clear that he had not resisted, but had in fact been cooperative, contrite, and extremely remorseful over the misdeeds that he'd been told he'd committed yet couldn't remember.

When it was Barrister Phillips' turn to begin Draco's defense, he began with an opening statement that his client would never forget, if for no other reason than the stark shock of hearing the total number of his crimes.

"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, you may think we are here today to try a hardened, cruel, and vicious offender. It is my duty and privilege to tell you that this is not the case. The young man you see before you today is as much a victim as anyone he purportedly harmed during his five years in apparent servitude to the Dark Lord. We will present incontrovertible proof with the testimony of three witnesses, all of whom have taken the optional doses of Veritaserum, that Draco Malfoy holds no responsibility for any of the three hundred thirty-eight felonies with which he has been accused."

"The Defense summons Draco Malfoy to the stand," intoned the bailiff as he read the instructions handed to him by Barrister Phillips.

Draco rose from his seat and stood before the witness chair. The bailiff waved his wand over his torso and confirmed aloud for the court, "He is under the influence of a full dose of Veritaserum. Expected duration of effect is one hour and thirty minutes. The witness will be seated."

Draco took his seat and nervously wiped his sweaty palms against the fabric of his trousers. He waited apprehensively for Marcus Phillips to approach. He relaxed slightly when the man surreptitiously winked at him, a gesture that reminded him of Professor Dumbledore at his most mischievous.

"Please state your full name for the record," Phillips requested.

"Draco Abraxus Malfoy."

"You have been certified by the bailiff as having consumed and placed under the influence of Veritaserum. Do you further swear and promise to tell the whole truth?"

"I do, upon a wizard's oath."

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy. Would you tell us what you remember about the last five years of your life?"

"Very little, sir," Draco began. He recounted a couple of snippets of memories and gave a reasonably detailed account of the previous seven or eight days under prompting and direct questioning from his solicitor, but was remarkably unable to share any details or more than a handful of disconnected images of any single event.

"Are you unable to share any more details of your life during those five years, Mister Malfoy?"

"I am not. I have no additional memories of that time."

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy," Phillips said with a sharp nod as he took his seat once again.

The Chief Warlock then announced, "The Prosecution may cross-examine the witness."

Paulus Danburt rose to face Draco and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you really expect us to believe that you have so little recollection of the events of your life for the past five years?" he challenged.

"Yes, sir. It's the truth."

"Why can you not remember? Were you obliviated?"

"No, sir. To my knowledge, I have not been obliviated."

"Then why can you not remember your own life?"

"I wish I knew for certain, sir, but I don't. I only know what I've been told, that I was under a series of spells and potion influences for a very long time. I don't know the details beyond that, sir."

After a half-dozen additional questions, Danburt had determined that there was no more useful information to be gained from the young man and had announced with an audible sigh of frustration, "No more questions at this time."

Phillips then called his next witness, Albus Dumbledore, to the stand.

"Please state your full name for the record," Phillips requested, as the elder man took his seat.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"You have been certified by the bailiff as having consumed and placed under the influence of Veritaserum. Do you further swear and promise to tell the whole truth?"

"I do, upon a wizard's oath."

"Please tell us, Professor, how you are acquainted with the defendant, Draco Abraxus Malfoy."

"I have known Draco for just about ten years, since he enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the age of eleven. He was in my charge from then until the school was closed approximately three and a half years ago."

"What contact have you had with the defendant since that time?"

"I have had little direct contact with Draco since then, but I have had indirect contact through his parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and through observation of his public activities during that time."

"How are you acquainted with the defendant's parents?"

"I was first acquainted with each of them when they enrolled in Hogwarts approximately thirty years ago. Of course, Lord Malfoy and I have had substantial contact for at least a decade due to his appointment to the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Additionally, Lord and Lady Malfoy have been instrumental undercover agents for the Light for more than three years."

This statement caused predictable murmuring throughout the courtroom's gallery, and the Chief Warlock tapped his wand on the dais, calling for silence.

"It was widely rumored that Lady Malfoy perished two years ago of a disease. As we can see from her presence in the gallery today, that was clearly not the case. What do you know about that, Professor?"

"Objection, your Honor! What does Lady Malfoy's illness have to do with her son's crimes?"

"If I may, your Honor, this has direct bearing on our defense, as her disappearance and activities during that time are materially related to the defendant's claim of innocence."

"I'll allow it, but get to the point quickly, Barrister Phillips," the Chief Warlock warned. He turned to Dumbledore and stated, "You may answer the question."

"Thank you, sir. Lady Malfoy was my guest at Hogwarts during most of her feigned death. For more than a year prior to that, she had been passing information to me on behalf of her husband through her sister, Andromeda Black Tonks. It came to my attention early on that she intended to go into hiding, first to continue her undercover role in the war effort and second, to investigate suspicions she had about her son's behavior being magically influenced. I offered her refuge in the castle when she requested some assistance in the form of a potions laboratory to continue her research."

"What did you know about her research?"

"She shared her suspicions with me, as well as the results of her investigation as they emerged. I worked closely with her on some of the final elements of that research for several months."

"And what did your mutual research conclude?"

"We found irrefutable evidence that Draco had been forcibly dosed with a custom-made brew that delivered some rather nasty results."

"Would you tell the Wizengamot what those results were?"

"The potion combination was fundamentally a liquid form of the Imperius spell. It additionally greatly diminished his inhibitions for both violence and sexual activity, and it included several powerful addictive elements, the most insidious of which was a derivative of the Muggle drug, cocaine."

"Was there anything else that you found?"

"The packaging in which the delivery items were contained was charmed to activate specific compulsions and to reinforce obedience to the Potions Master who brewed the original concoction. There were also powerful memory charms that caused him to forget the things he'd done, and that caused terrible pain in the form of incapacitating headaches whenever he made any attempt to recall those events."

"What were the 'delivery items' you noted?"

"Chocolate truffles."

"Was there a reason for that?"

"It seems that young Mister Malfoy has a rather well-known penchant for sweets. That was purposely used to ensnare him."

"When did this happen?"

"We were fairly certain that it began when Draco was approximately fifteen years old."

"At that time, Draco was still a student at Hogwarts, was he not?"

"Yes, he was."

"Did you note any change in his behavior at that time?"

"Yes, in fact, we did. It was the topic of several staff meetings and faculty discussion. Young Draco underwent a fairly dramatic personality change at that time and we were all very concerned for his welfare."

"What kinds of changes did you and the Hogwarts staff observe?"

"He became violent at times, but we rather quickly put a stop to that. He was frequently disobedient to his teachers, which was unusual for him. He was often viciously caustic and rude. He began to verbally assault Muggle-born and Light-sympathizing pureblood witches and wizards. Though we were not able to prove it conclusively, we had strong suspicions that he had cast a Dark Mark over the Astronomy Tower on All Hallow's Eve that year."

"Did you attempt to discover what had prompted such drastic changes in the young man?"

"Yes, we made several unsuccessful attempts. While we inspected all of his incoming owl post and packages, we were never able to detect the potions that had been infused in the treats he received."

"How was it that you were able to find them more recently?"

"Pure dogged determination, and eighteen hours a day of analysis and testing for more than a year."

"Thank you, Professor. Just one more question, if you would. Were you able to discover who had delivered this poison to Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes, Lord Malfoy was able to secure positive proof of the culprit, which he shared with me."

"Would you tell the Wizengamot who was responsible for the drugging and resulting Imperius effect on Draco Malfoy?"

"It was done by Bellatrix Black Lestrange and her husband Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Thank you. What empirical evidence of your account is available?"

"I have submitted to the Wizengamot eighty-nine vials of memories and three hundred six scrolls of notes taken throughout the two year process of identifying the potion and creating its antidote."

"You say that there is an antidote?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Has the antidote been made available to Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes. He was fed the antidote without his knowledge beginning approximately two weeks ago for the prescribed duration of six days."

"Is Draco Malfoy still under the effect of the Imperius potion and compulsion spells?"

"As of about seven days ago, no, he is not."

"Thank you, Professor. I have no more questions at this time."

Prosecutor Danburt rose from his seat and paced the floor in front of the witness. He seemed to be debating with himself over what to ask the formidable wizard before him. He turned to face the man and looked directly into his eyes. The twinkling blue gaze of the well-respected leader did not waver but instead seemed to issue a challenge. Danburt was not a man to be cowed.

"What purpose or reason would the Lestranges have for placing their nephew under such influence?"

"I cannot pretend to know the motivations and thinking of two such wicked and unstable individuals."

"You are not an ignorant man, Professor Dumbledore. Indeed, you are well known for your ability to analyze people and their driving passions. Speculate for us, if you would."

Albus sighed, not with frustration but with sadness. "Bellatrix, for as long as I knew her, was as manically passionate about her hatred of Muggles and so-called Blood Traitors as she was about the goals and methods employed by Tom Riddle in his effort to rid the Wizarding world of what he viewed as a threat to the old ways. She would have done anything and everything in her power to ensure his success. That included giving over her nephew for their cause. Her husband was no less fanatic than she, and would have aided her in any effort."

"You speak of the Lestranges in the past tense, Professor. Should I take that to mean that they are dead?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us anything about how that came to be?"

"No," he answered truthfully, grateful beyond words for the Unbreakable Vow that he'd made the previous day with Lucius Malfoy regarding that very topic.

He heard the prosecutor harrumph with disbelief. "Then I suppose I have no further questions for this witness, your honor."

The Chief Warlock met Dumbledore's eyes for a fraction of a second before he released him from his responsibility. "You may step down."

To Marcus Phillips he said, "You may call your next witness."

"The Defense calls Hermione Granger."

The crowd whispered excitedly as the well-known young witch entered the courtroom and approached the witness stand.

"Please state your full name for the record," Phillips requested.

"I am Hermione Jean Granger."

"You have been certified by the bailiff as having consumed and placed under the influence of Veritaserum. Do you further swear and promise to tell the whole truth?"

"I do, upon a wizard's oath."

"Please tell us, Miss Granger, how you came to be acquainted with the defendant."

"We met when we were both first year students at Hogwarts. We shared several classes together for five and a half years."

"Would you describe your relationship with him during those years?"

"It was adversarial and taunting for the first four years. He would ridicule me about my heritage, my hair, my teeth, and my, uh, obsessive thirst for knowledge."

"Your testimony implies that the interactions between you changed after that time. How so?"

"When we were in our fifth year, Draco began to get more vicious and cruel in his behavior. He attacked me once when we were in sixth year and was about to cast the Avada Kedavra curse on me when he was interrupted by a teacher. He made another attempt on my life a couple of years later when we happened upon each other in Hogsmeade."

"What was your most recent encounter with Mister Malfoy?"

"I was captured by him in a raid on a planning meeting in which I was participating about two weeks ago."

"What happened then?"

"He imprisoned me and several other Light fighters in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor."

"What happened to you while you were there?"

"He interrogated me several times, and got a bit violent when I refused his attempts to gain information from me."

"Was that all?"

"No," she replied, taking a deep, steadying breath. "On the last morning of my imprisonment there, he removed me from my usual cell and placed me in another room which was segregated from the other prisoners and had no views in or out. He sealed us into the room and interrogated me once more. When I again refused to answer his questions, he became extremely agitated and began to beat me. That seemed to not be enough of a punishment to satisfy him, so he vanished my clothing, then his own, and he raped me."

There were stunned gasps echoing throughout the gallery, and more than one person wondered how this young woman's testimony could possibly benefit the defense. The spectators watching Hermione were surprised at the young woman's composure and matter-of-fact delivery of such damning facts. Those who eyed Draco were dumbfounded when the young man dropped his face into his hands in a vain attempt to hide the tears that he was no longer able to hold at bay. The prosecutor appeared confused; this woman was making the Ministry's case quite well and yet the defense barrister did not seem at all concerned.

"What happened next?" Phillips prompted once the murmurs died down.

"Someone gained entry to the cell Draco had sealed and activated a Portkey in the form of a cloak draped over both of us. It transported us away from Malfoy Manor and to a small cottage in Surrey, though I didn't know it at that moment."

"How and when did you become aware of your surroundings?"

"It was apparently several hours later. I'm quite certain that I lost consciousness because of the injuries I sustained, including having lost a good deal of blood. I awakened in a small bed with Draco standing over me. As I'm sure you can imagine, I was terrified."

"What happened next?"

"Draco began to speak, trying to reassure me that he wouldn't hurt me. He told me that he had tended to my wounds as best he could, cleaned me up, and placed me in the bed so that I'd be more comfortable."

"How did you feel about that?"

"I was… suspicious. He had made a total of three attempts on my life, and I had no reason to believe there wouldn't be a fourth."

"What happened then?"

"Well, that's when things started to shift. Over the next couple of days, Draco was completely true to his word. He took care of me, carrying me into another room so that I'd be warmer, continuing to care for my wounds, helping me to bathe and dress, even cooking meals for me."

"To what did you attribute this stark change in Mister Malfoy's behavior?"

"Well, at first I didn't have any idea. Then, he and I began to talk. We started to work out things that had been happening to him, and discovered that he had almost no memories of anything he'd done in the previous five years, including his attempts on my life."

"And you believed him?"

"At first, no. I thought he might have been trying to gain additional information by being nice to me, but it wasn't long before I saw evidence that this was not the case."

"And what was that evidence?"

"First, he was getting blinding headaches. They were so bad that he actually lost consciousness a couple of times. We talked about what seemed to be triggering these episodes and fairly quickly deduced that every time he either tried to fight against a compulsion or to remember something that he'd done, the headache would return in full force. The more pivotal the event, the worse Draco's headache would be.

"Then, he started to exhibit classic symptoms of addiction withdrawal. In the Muggle world, we call them DTs – delirium tremens. Since we had no medications or wands available to us, I encouraged him to drink as much water as he could to help clear his system of whatever drug or potion had been affecting him."

"And why did you believe that he'd been subject to a potion or spell?"

"I had three reasons. The dramatic behavior shift was the first clue. Second was the physical manifestation of symptoms. Third was the content of the conversations we had."

"And what was the content of those conversations?"

"Draco was horrified by what he'd done. He apologized to me in a dozen ways, both with his deeds and his words. He was incredibly emotional and wept with shame on more than one occasion. On our last night there, I had a dream reliving that last attack and woke up screaming. He was so upset that he was intent on committing suicide, and probably would have succeeded if I hadn't stopped him."

"Why did you stop him? He did, after all, try to kill you three times."

"Because I believed him. I believed in him. I was certain then, as I continue to be now, that he was being genuine and honest with his remorse. I didn't want Voldemort to claim another victim."

"Miss Granger, what would you like to see happen to Draco Malfoy now?"

"I know that there are many who would see him punished for what he did. I do not hold him responsible for his actions. I blame Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange for everything that they did using Draco's hands. He does not deserve to be punished. He's punishing himself enough. I wish for Draco to get help from Healers in coping with the knowledge that he was used so brutally for so long. I wish for Draco to rebuild and reclaim his own life, and to become the good and decent man I believe him capable of being." She fell silent, looking at the hands she'd folded in her lap. She seemed to struggle with her thoughts.

"Is there anything else you wish to say, Miss Granger?"

"I want you to know, Draco, that I meant what I said at the cabin. I have forgiven you, and my greatest wish now is that you forgive yourself," she said, addressing the defendant directly.

He raised his eyes to meet hers and it was obvious to anyone within ten meters that both young people had moist eyes and dry throats. There seemed to be a mutual respect between them, and it was clear by the number of sniffles heard in the gallery that more than one person was moved by Hermione's gesture. Narcissa Malfoy had a pained look on her face and seemed to be fighting back tears of her own as she watched her son's interaction with his final victim.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I have no further questions."

The prosecutor was on his feet before the Chief Warlock could speak. "Are you asking us to believe that you have completely forgiven Draco Malfoy for raping you and attempting to kill you not just once, but three times?" he asked, incredulous.

"I'm not asking you to believe anything. I am stating the truth, as you well know by virtue of the full dose of Veritaserum that you saw me consume."

Recognizing quickly that he had nothing to gain by pushing this witness, Mister Danburt reclaimed his seat, stating for the court, "I have no further questions for this witness."

"The testimony is now concluded. The Wizengamot will now retire to chambers to review exhibits submitted by the defense witnesses and to deliberate our verdict," the presiding official ordered. Amidst quiet murmurs, rustling of fabric, and the shuffling of feet, Draco was approached by Hermione Granger as she left the witness stand. In the most stunning act of the trial, she reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. He squeezed back, indicating his gratitude and humility with a nod and tight smile.

Now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

French translations:

Mon chou – my sweet.

Mère - Mother

Je promets, tout sera bien. - "I promise, everything will be alright."

Oui, Père, Je comprends, - Yes, Father, I understand.

Très bien, mon fils, - Very good, son.

Dites-moi. – Tell me.