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Chapter 1

Harry wandered through the ruins of the castle he had lived in for past six years. Aside from the crackling of lingering flames, it was silent. Ash drifted to the ground and rubble was everywhere. Harry hadn't seen a single other person in hours. He was alone in the ruins of his home. If he thought about it, he probably could have made a symbolic comparison between the crumbling school and his lost childhood innocence, but his mind felt strangely disconnected from his surroundings.

He found himself in what used to be the Great Hall, and saw the shattered tables, the missing decorations, the ruined walls. It hurt to see what his favorite place in the world had been reduced to. Harry's eyes drifted through the room as he walked the perimeter. As he rounded a particularly large bit of rubble, Harry's eyes widened in horror as he saw dozen's of corpses laid out in neat rows. They were clean of all blood, and their clothes were immaculate as they lay with their eyes closed and arms crossed across their chests.

His eyes scanned their faces, and he immediately recognized them as his classmates. Harry's heart nearly stopped as he caught sight of a particular group of bodies that made up his best friends and self-made family. He began running towards them, but in his detached state, it felt strange. It was like when he was playing a game on Dudley's computer and it ran slow, causing the characters to blip from one location to the next to the next until they reached their goal.

Harry crashed to his knees beside them, and he starred in shock at the pale and lifeless faces of Hermione and Ron. They had died in the battle after all, his sacrifice hadn't saved them in the end. He looked further, and saw Remus and Tonks laying beside each other, a small baby between them that seemed to be theirs. He saw the Weasley twins, their other siblings and parents, Luna, Neville, Dean and Seamus, and dozens of others he had become friends with over the years.

It all made a strange, horrible sense. They were all his friends, and he had failed to save them. Because they were his friends, they had been targeted by the Death Eaters and Voldemort. The scene made a strange, horrible sense until he saw Draco Malfoy among the dead, his arms crossed, his clothing clean, and appearance as immaculate as the rest.

Harry frowned. That wasn't right. He and Ron and Hermione had saved him and Goyle twice before Harry had even gone out into the forest. They had left the pair in a safe hallway away from the fight, and neither had looked like they were about to seek out any more conflict for a while. Harry had even told Narcissa that her son was safe after he'd died and come back to life, and Malfoy had been when he'd told her that. So when had he died?

Keeping his eyes on his rival, Harry stood and walked down the row of people towards him. Malfoy came from a family within Voldemort's inner circle, so other Death Eaters wouldn't have killed him. Harry also couldn't imagine any of the students killing one of their own during the battle. Knock out or injure, sure. But kill? No. So who had killed him, and when had he died?

Harry soon reached the other boy. He scanned him for any sign of injury, but like all the others, he bore no physical mark of injury. Curious and perplexed, Harry knelt down beside Malfoy to try and figure out what killed him. He reached out his hand (to look for what, he wasn't yet sure, but he had to look for something) but when his hand was only several inches away from touching Malfoy, it was seized in a vice-like grip.

His gaze shot up to meet the cold silver of his rival's now-open eyes. His face was twisted in rage and hate and fear. Harry tried to move away, but Malfoy's grip on his hand held him in place. Harry tried to pull free, but it was like a Permanent Sticking Charm had been used on the places where their hands met. Suddenly afraid, Harry looked back up at Malfoy just in time to see him sit up.

"It's your fault you know." His voice was quiet as he hissed out the accusation at Harry. "It's your fault we died. Precious Potter with his precious friends and precious life had to try to be the hero. Heroes may hold back darkness, but they leave a trail of rubble and pain and death behind them." Malfoy's eyes were accusing as he stared at Harry. Harry shook his head.

"No. No! I didn't mean to! I tried to save you all. I did! I didn't ask for any of this, and I didn't want it! I didn't have a choice, I couldn't just walk away when I could try to stop him from killing everyone who ever mattered to me! I didn't mean to kill you!" Malfoy's glare intensified at that, and his voice rose as he responded.

" You did have a choice! Do you hear me? It's your fault we're dead! You chose to be a hero, and didn't think twice about the danger you put the rest of us in! It's your fault Dumbledore and your friends all died! It's your fault I had to serve the Dark Lord! It's your fault I had to become a Death Eater! IT'S YOUR FAULT! DO YOU HEAR ME? IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

Malfoy launched forward as he began screaming, his hands reaching for Harry's throat. Memories of the Inferi at the lake suddenly surfaced in Harry's mind, and he tried to scramble away, but his feet refused to move. He could only watch in fear as Malfoy drew closer and closer as his hands reached to choke him. The blazing silver of his furious gaze grew bigger and bigger until it was all Harry could see. Just when Malfoy's fingers brushed his neck, Harry bolted upright.

His emerald eyes darted frantically around the dark room as his hand brandished his wand in front of him. He was confused for a moment until he recognized his surroundings as his room in the apartment he had gotten himself several weeks ago. His heart began to slow again as he realized that it had just been a dream. Harry closed his eyes and heaved a sigh as he flopped back down onto his bed.

This was the fifth time he'd had a nightmare like that this week, and it was only Wednesday. He'd been having them ever since Voldemort had been defeated. Sometimes it was Ron, or Fred, or Tonks, or even Snape who was accusing him. The most common face of his accuser though was Malfoy. Harry had tried to analyze what the dreams and Malfoy's role in them meant, but he was so exhausted from the lack of sleep that his thoughts had become muddled rather quickly.

Sighing again, Harry ran a hand over his face and glanced at the clock on the wall. Three forty-two in the morning. Well, it was better than the past couple of nights. He'd almost made it until four this time. Harry took another moment to lie in bed before swinging his legs down to the floor with a groan.

By now Harry knew the drill. Once he was awake from a nightmare, he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep again until the next evening, no matter how tired he was. So he decided to take a shower before deciding on what he was planning on doing for the rest of the day. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well wake up fully.

As he showered, he thought about the real state of things in the wizarding world, not the one his mind had conjured up. Hogwarts was actually still in ruins, but that was more due to a lack of manpower than anything else. The Ministry was working overtime in an attempt to repair the damage done by Voldemort and his followers. There were many empty positions where spies and puppets had been placed by the Death Eaters and their master, so they were short on enough staff from the start.

There were Aurors out searching for more of the enemy forces at pretty much every hour of the day. Dozens of trials were being held every day for the ones they did track down and bring in. There was also the matter of recording all of the dead and finding those who were missing. Hundreds of people were also trying to contact their families now that it was safe to, and others were clamoring at the Ministry for news and answers.

Among Harry's own friends, things were rather quiet. The Weasleys were grieving for the loss of Fred and their friends, and most needed some time to recover from the war. Harry understood completely. He was in the same boat as far as time was concerned, and if his dreams were anything to go by, he was also grieving in his own way.

Hermione had gone to Australia to track down her parents and fix their memories so they could return home. Harry knew that she was going to have some bridges to repair, because her parents probably wouldn't appreciate having their memories altered, however good Hermione's intentions had been when she'd done so. Still, Hermione had known she had to go, and had left as soon as she could to start her search.

All of Harry's other still-living friends were with their families, taking comfort with them as they too recovered. Harry had quietly sent a letter to his aunt, uncle, and cousin telling them that it was safe to return home, and that he wouldn't be coming back to live with them anymore. He told them they were welcome to write him back if they ever wanted news or just to talk. He didn't think that they would take him up on that offer anytime soon, but figured he'd offer it anyway.

The water going cold alerted Harry that he'd gotten lost in thought again, and he shut it off before stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. He'd been doing that a lot recently. It was a fairly new development in the course of things, but seemed to be most prominent in the early hours of the morning after he woke up from his nightmares. Harry would start thinking about something and before he knew it four hours would have passed and he was thinking about something completely different than he had before.

Harry made his way back into his room and got dressed, paying little mind to what he was putting on. It was clean, and he wasn't planning to go out of the house today, so it didn't particularly matter. He made his way out to the small kitchen and began making some toast. As he poured some juice into a glass, Harry glanced at the clock. It was nearly five in the morning, meaning the paper would be coming soon.

The Daily Prophet had been started up again, though its articles primarily dealt with the trials, searches for missing family members and Death Eaters, and the rebuilding efforts. Harry felt like it was probably a good idea to stay informed, even if he'd rather not get involved for a while. He had already had more than enough stress for the rest of his life, and was definitely not interested in adding more anytime soon.

His toast popped up out of the toaster and he put it on a plate and grabbed his glass of juice. Just as he'd put both on the two-person table in the corner, he heard a tap on the window. He recognized it as the owl delivering his paper, but he still felt slightly jittery at the sudden noise. Harry turned to see a large screech owl hovering by the window, carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet.

He walked over and opened the window, letting the owl swoop into the room. It landed on the counter, and now that it was inside, Harry could see that it was exhausted. Based on the condition of the Ministry, Harry understood why. It probably hadn't had a lot of chances to rest from delivering letters and papers.

Based on that, Harry walked over to his breakfast and tore the crust off of his toast and gave it to the owl, who gave a grateful hoot as it began munching. He also grabbed a saucer out of a cupboard and filled it with fresh water before setting it beside the crusts. Having cared for the owl, he picked up the paper it had dropped and tucked it under his arm.

Harry turned to a jar near the window filled with Knuts that he kept there to pay for deliveries and dug several out that he then placed in the owl's pouch. The owl had finished the crusts at that point, and was gulping down water. When it had its fill, it gave another grateful hoot and spread its wings before swooping back out of the window to get back to work.

After closing the window, Harry made his way back to his breakfast with his paper. He took several bites and drank some of his juice before unrolling the paper and spreading it out in front of him. He froze when he saw the headline and its accompanying picture before leaning in closer to read the article, giving it his full attention.

Malfoy Family Trial

The Malfoy family, well known for being a part of You-Know-Who's inner circle, goes on trial today to be judged for their crimes during the war. At the moment, no defending party has been announced, and it is uncertain whether it is by choice or a lack of support from the public. Many in the wizarding community believe that the family is likely to plead guilty in an attempt to lessen the severity of their sentences.

It appears likely that all three members of the family are going to be sentenced to time in Azkaban for their crimes whether they plead guilty or not, as they currently have no witnesses or attorneys to plead in their favor. The Wizengamot's decision regarding the family will be reached by the end of the day, and the report on the trial will be released in the next issue.

There was more in the article about the Malfoy family's history with Voldemort and their role in the war that was just finished, but Harry ignored it for the time being. He sat back and thought about the fact that all three of the Malfoys would most likely be in Azkaban within the next several days. The thought didn't please him as much as he thought it would.

He actually felt rather bad for Draco who had been dragged into the whole affair against his will, and for Narcissa who hadn't really done much to participate in the Death Eater campaign, and who had always seemed rather uninterested in it to Harry. He even felt a brief moment of sympathy for Lucius, despite his deep dislike of the man. Towards the end, Lucius had definitely given signs that he wanted out of the Death Eaters in general, and definitely out of Voldemort's inner circle.

Harry glanced back at the paper, and studied the picture of the Malfoys that had been included. Lucius still held his head high, but he looked like it was more for show than actual pride, and Narcissa was standing with her head bowed and eyes lowered despite her apparent composure. Draco, however, had very little of the composure his parents had. He looked both frightened and angry, but what stuck out most in his expression was the resignation. He didn't believe he had a chance, and was accepting his fate.

It's your fault I had to become a Death Eater! You chose to be a hero! The words from Harry's dream resurfaced, along with the image of blazing silver eyes shining in accusation. Unbidden, the memory of falsely uncertain words contrasting with certain eyes came to mind. Bright scarlet against a grimy white even as tear tracks dried. A lowering wand as green light flashed through the air and an expression of shock and horror.

Harry leaned forward again and scanned the article for the time of the trial. It started at eleven sharp this morning. He glanced at the clock, and realized that he must have been reading and lost in thought for longer than he'd realized as it was now a little after seven and the sun was shining through the window.

He bit his lip in indecision, until a second glance at the photograph made up his mind for him. With a sigh, Harry stood from the table. He had a lot to do if he was going to be presentable enough for the trial, and if he was planning to actually be able to help when he got there.